Paging Dr Steele
by Bronze Goddess
Summary: Anastasia Steele has seen her fair share of heartache and disappointment, so she set out to make a difference. She encounters billionaire Christian Grey when he finds himself in need of her services, and the battle of wills begins. Will these two hotheads break each other down in the war to supremacy or will they cross that thin line between love and hate? FSOG AU fanfic.
1. Chapter 1: Introducing

Chapter 1—Introducing…

_**MEET ANASTASTIA STEELE**_

I was scared and confused…and anxious to get away from everything that had happened to me before now. But after a year in college, I had had no idea what I was going to do with my life. I had to do something, I knew….but what?

So they have these little people they call "career counselors." They talk to you about your likes and dislikes—your hopes and your dreams—your childhood, your deepest, darkest secrets-blah blah blah…and then they come up with a career path for you.

Go into psychology, she said.  
You're a great listener, she said.  
It'll be just what you need—you can help others while you help yourself, she said.

So here I am—after undergrad, grad school, the internship, and the student loans—listening to another group of grown ass men and women whining about how their self-confidence was shattered beyond repair because in 7th grade, the kids picked them last for dodge ball on the playground. Now don't get me wrong, I understand what it's like to have problems; I know all about the issues that can affect you and shape the person you become. That's why I chose this field in the first place. But if I have to hear about one more blubbering crybaby suffering from low self-esteem because Mom bought her Malibu Barbie instead of Ballerina Barbie, thereby squashing her spirit and forever crushing her dancing dreams and aspirations, I'm going to fucking shoot myself!

People are dying of grave diseases. There is war and poverty all over the world. And here I sit facilitating yet another bi-weekly mind-numbing group therapy session listening to Melba Sornson going on about how she was never able to overcome her obstacles in life because Marvin Handley stood her up for the prom.

It's a good thing I've perfected "the look." You know…the _look._ That's where you sit with your legs crossed, elbow on your arm rest with your chin resting on two or three of your bent fingers and your thumb, looking _around_ the speaker's head, but never directly in their eyes—giving them the illusion that they have your undivided attention. Our current whiner, erm, I mean speaker is pouring her heart out for the hundredth time about how her parents' divorce when she was 14 left her with trust issues against men. Both of her parents have since remarried and are in long-lasting, loving relationships. They are even friendly with each other. From what she has shared of her childhood memories before they divorced, they were freaking miserable! Mom was creeping up on suicide, Dad was two steps behind homicide, and she herself sounds like she was battling depression.

She is now 33—or so she claims—and still can't wrap her mind around the fact that her parents were toxic to each other and chose to _move on _instead of continuing to kill each other slowly. She has decided to join us this evening sporting workout garb for the flirty 21-year-old. Her way-too-red hair is styled in this way-too-big bouffant that doesn't match her outfit in any way. She looks ridiculous—like "Clash of the Decades"—sort of Margaret Thatcher meets Flashdance (Sorry, Mrs. Thatcher, and sorry, Flashdance). I just want to scream at her, "Pick an era, Lady-preferably one that's suitable for your age!"

"So what do you think about that, Dr. Steele?" I am snapped out of my reflection by Flashdance Thatcher's need for the proverbial rub on the head. Without even knowing what her last statement was, I can automatically respond, "Well, Joyce, what have we repeatedly said about this particular situation? Aren't we rehashing the same questions over again?" And then I watch as she drops her head and replies, "I know. You're right, Ana. It's just that…" and then off she goes again rambling on about the same thing. I'm so surprised that no one else in the group has snapped on her by now, after having to listen to her drone on and on about wah-wah-wah-wah-wah. I can only assume that they are happy to hear someone else's issue and have the attention drawn away from their own pathetic little problems. I mean, not everyone can be as well adjusted as Anastasia Rose Steele, Psy.D., right?

If they only knew…

I relax on my sofa in my stylish apartment, sipping my favorite cabernet sauvignon and trying to forget the disaster that was today's group session. My only saving grace is that I will have a new group next week and I can finally ditch this current bunch of whiners. Unfortunately, I often find that one group is just as bad as the next. I will miss some of them, though. Mr. Charles Stoles, for example, made some real progress, and he really made me laugh. I called him "Stoley" for short, and he loved it. He was a sweet gentleman who just needed a little push over a bad time in his life. He even got to a point where he was helping others to see the light at the end of their proverbial tunnels. He was no help at all to Flashdance Thatcher, however. I don't think anyone can help someone who doesn't want to help themselves. But I am really going to miss Stoley.

I'm all for helping you sort out your issues. That's what I do. It's my job. But I can't take you by the hand and walk you into Mental Healthville while you fight me tooth and nail on all of the reasons that you can't go. And that's what I have been dealing with these last few groups—people who pretend they want to come into the light when in reality, they just want to stay right where they are and complain incessantly about being there.

_Well, aren't you the pot calling the kettle black? _And there she is—that nagging little Bitch that shows up in my quiet time that sounds strikingly like my mother. She's always there to try to put me in my place when I have the nerve to feel like I'm finally getting it all together or if I start to look down on someone else in their situation—like I wasn't there myself just a few years ago. Yeah, yeah, Bitch, I know. Now go back to your dusty little soot-filled corner and leave me the fuck alone. My blackberry buzzes that I have a text message.

****Hello my love. I know you are all alone dreaming of me. How about a drink, Baby?**  
**It's from my best friend Allen Forsythe. Talking to him is almost as soothing as the cabernet. I quickly type out my reply:

****Alas, my darling. Our love could never be since we are batting for the same team. And I am already drinking so you need to catch up**  
**It only takes him a few moments to send his response:

****Le gasp! Cabernet, no doubt? Without me?**  
**I laugh audibly and extend an invitation:

****Well, if you hurry, there is still a glass waiting for you.**  
**I know my answer before I see his response that he is on his way. I go to the kitchen to get a second glass from the cupboard when my phone rings. I answer without looking. "I said 'come over,' not call. Can't you follow instructions?" The voice that greeted me was definitely _not_ Allen.

"Oh really? So after all this trying, am I finally getting my invitation to see you, Rosie?"

Shit!

"Don't call me that if you expect me to answer." It's Edward. Edward David…a mistake that I made a few years back that keeps popping up to haunt me in hopes that I will make the same mistake again. The crisp tone in my voice was enough warning for him to know that the wrong response would quickly have him listening to dead air.

"I'm sorry. I see we are not in a playful mood today." He says, coolly.  
"When are _we_ ever in a playful mood, David?" I shoot before taking another sip of my wine.  
"Oh…'David'…definitely not laughs tonight." I sigh heavily.  
"What do you want?"

"Well, I was hoping to be able to take you out to dinner, but you act as if you are not happy to hear from me." Is he serious?  
"You're kidding, right?" His turn to sigh.  
"Not about the dinner part. Please, Ro…Anastasia. I would really love to you see. It's been a long time."

Three years, seven months, nine days….but who's counting?

"I can't, Edward. I have company coming." And like an angel from Heaven, there is a knock at my door. Allen…thank God!

"Yes, I know none other than Flamey Boy is on his way. But I would still like to see you, Ana." He never forgave Allen for telling about his indiscretions and always claimed that Allen wanted him for himself. But I refuse to let him insult my best friend.

"Do you want me to hang up on you!?" I snap.

"No, Ana, please. Don't hang up. You won't return any of my calls. I just feel like we would still be together if it weren't for him!" He spit.  
"No, Edward. We wouldn't. First of all, it wasn't _his_ fault that we broke up, it was _yours_. And second, I don't like to share, so it would've ended anyway, Dear!" I retorted.

"Oh, is that the 'double-dicker?'" Allen yelled in his gayest heavy phony Southern drawl.  
"Don't taunt the animals." I say to Allen, pointing to the glass on the counter and the bottle of cabernet on the coffee table.

"I see that your _friend_ has made his appearance, so I will talk to you another time." Edward's voice was dripping with his hatred toward Allen.  
"I don't really see what there is to talk about…"  
"Ana, please," he interrupted, "I miss you so much. I never stopped loving you…."

"Wow, that must be really painful for you," I say, my voice oozing mock sympathy. "I can truly say that I understand how you feel. I understand because of Charlotte, and Maggie, and Abigail, and Susan, and Whitney…"

"Okay, okay…I get it. But I do still love you, Ana. I so want to make things right between us." I almost laugh in his ear.

"And it only took you three and a half years and countless women to figure that out, huh?"

"I know I deserved that." He said after a defeated sigh. The nerve! You call me trying to sound all broken and contrite after all this time? After breaking my heart? Who cares that I still get a rush when I hear your voice? So what that nickname still makes me a little warm in the lower regions? Who cares that there are some nights that you still haunt my dreams? _Who are you trying to convince, _Rosie_? He can't hear your thoughts, you know. _Shut the fuck up and stay out of this, Bitch!

"Goodbye, Edward." I end the call before he can say anything and walk to my bedroom. I plug my blackberry into the charger, leave it on my nightstand, and close the door. "I _so _hate to hear that name, Al. Why do you keep doing that?"

"Well, that's what he is. He dipped his dick into two pussies in the same night. That makes him a double-dicker—and one of them was yours!" He finished, sitting on the loveseat. I threw the rest of my wine back and proceeded to refill my glass. Noting my obvious bad mood, he added, "Okay, okay, Jewel. I'm sorry. I don't say it to get under _your_ skin. I say it to get under _his._" He sits next to me and put his arm around me as I sit looking into my wine glass.

"It's still not…_completely_…healed, Al," I say solemnly. "I mean, I don't sit and pine over the guy…"  
_Much.  
_Shut up, Bitch.  
"…but the betrayal part still hurts a bit." I add, taking another sip of my wine.

"Well," Al begins, placing his wine glass on the coffee table and clapping his hands together loudly, "how about you tell me about some of the sick fucks in your group therapy sessions? I love to hear about people more fucked up than I am!" He turns to face me on the couch. Al has to be the sickest person I have ever met. Even though he knows I can't tell him anything, he takes such joy in other people's calamity….and I love him so.

Monday, I'm going to have a new set of whiners and rejects, so I plan to make the most of this weekend. God, I wish I could have a group full of Stoleys—people who really sought healing and knew that it was possible; people who really wanted to be in a better place and let go of the pain, for Christ's sake. _Oh, like you did, you mean? That fiasco with Edward had nothing to do with any old ghosts in your closet, right? _As a matter of fact, it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with old ghosts, Bitch! Unfortunately, it is causing some new ones to take up residence.

Tonight, I am having a few friends over for dinner. Nothing huge or fancy—it's summer in Seattle and I just want to see my friends. So we are just going to have some appetizers and drinks, followed by vinegar-braised chicken with leeks and peas with steamed baby carrots and cauliflower and whatever libations my friends choose to bring. The dinner will be rounded off with a "make-your-own-sundae" bar. Good food, good friends—that's how I want to spend my Saturday night.

I am just finishing loading the last of the groceries into the trunk of my Chrysler 300 when I spot him. He is standing across the street talking to one of the vendors in the marketplace. He hasn't seen me, so I can probably get in my car and make a clean getaway. I close the trunk and quickly hop into my driver's seat. Please don't look this way…please don't look this way…please don't look this way. I manage to get the car started after dropping my keys on the floor twice, and casually drive away without drawing any undue attention to myself. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as I drove away from Edward David. Edward David—never trust a man with two first names.

I really love to entertain in my humble abode. Well, maybe not so humble. I mean, it's no penthouse, but it's more than comfortable. I own a high-level condo in Seattle's Pike Market District with an unobstructed view of Mt. Rainier and Elliot Bay. Its 1,909 square feet of comfort that I got for a steal a couple of years ago when a disgruntled housewife chose to sell it quickly, which was ironic since I was a disgruntled ex-girlfriend who needed to move quickly. What I really love about it is the partially open floor plan. Although I love to cook for my friends, I hate being in the kitchen while the fun is in the dining room. I opted for track lighting throughout with a few strategically placed contemporary light fixtures here and there. No harsh lighting for me—I need my place to feel homey since most places I work or visit tend to be so clinical. My formal dining table is set for 10 since I know that the six friends I did invite are likely to drag a "do-drop" or two along with them. I call them "do-drops" because no matter how much you prepare, people DO tend to DROP by unexpectedly.

I have just pulled the chicken from the oven when my first guests arrive. Of course, it would be Allen and his latest boy-toy. Allen never seems to settle down with anyone for too long. He says his wings were made to fly and he is just not ready for them to be clipped yet. Strange though—he never seems to be without someone on his arm. I could psychoanalyze him for days, but he hates it when I do that.

"And who do we have here, Darling?" I say in an overly exaggerated manner once I close the door behind them.

"Jewel, this hunk of loveliness is James." Allen presents him like he's showing a new car.

"Pleasure to meet you, Jewel." James is a stunning piece of African-American man—tall with mocha colored skin and dark brown eyes. He is decked in a dress shirt with the top button open and a pair of black slacks that accentuate his lovely derriere. I find myself wanting to bang my head against the wall that this man is gay. I giggle shamelessly when he takes my hand.

"Only Al calls me Jewel. My name is Anastasia, James. But please, call me Ana."

"Pleasure to meet you, Ana." He kisses my hand. I want to slap him. Don't tease me if I can't have you! I just waive them over to the table and show Al where to deposit his wine offering.

"So we are the first ones here?" Allen asks.

"Aren't you always the first one here, Al?" I elbow him and he and James take a seat at the breakfast bar. I don't feel bad leaving them while I go change clothes since this is practically his second home.

After a quick shower, I change into my emerald chiffon strapless dress with the sweetheart neckline and uneven A-line skirt. I add my black belt and black strappy stiletto sandals. My hair held in a clip with ringlets falling along the side and down the back. I decide to wear the jade turtle necklace and earrings Al gave me for my last birthday, just because I think they're cute.

When I rejoin the boys, the rest of the revelers have arrived. First, there's Valerie Marshall. She and I met in junior college when neither of us knew what our major would be. After a year or so when we ran out of generic electives to take, we finally decided what we wanted to do (refer to earlier information regarding that freaking career counselor) but we've been friends ever since. During our years at WSU, we met Garrett Pope. Garrett is a couple of years behind us, but he is a wonderful guy. We don't know why he never settled down with anyone. I tried to hook him up once with Al, thinking that may have been his forte. He is uncomfortable in the room alone with Allen to this day. Finally there's Maxine Sanders and Phillip Guest. Maxie was one the psychologists in the office where I did my internship and Phil worked for an independent document services company that came in twice a week to handle disposal of our confidential records. We all went out to lunch one day and became fast friends. The next thing I knew, a few months later, Maxie and Phil were an item. Hey, you find love wherever you find it.

As we are finishing off the appetizers, Val goes right in about the latest guy she's dating—an advertising executive from some firm downtown, which is right up her alley since she decided to go into advertising as well. We still don't know why she tells us these stories because we are all fully acquainted with Val's dating habits. He can't be less than six feet, blonde preferably. No sports cars allowed because she is only too sure that his compensating for something. He has to work out AND his annual salary has to be six digits. Now, it's not that she's a floozy or a gold digger, but Val comes from money and she knows what she wants. She's a gorgeous, raven-haired bombshell and she will not accept anyone who cannot bring at least as much to the table as she can on her own. To that end, we are only too certain that Ms. Marshall has caught the latest up-and-coming GQ businessman in her net. I was almost relieved to be granted a reprieve by a knock at my door. Expecting this to be one of my friend's latest do-drops, I eagerly answer the door without checking first to see who's there.

Oh shit.  
_Oh shit.  
_For once, we agree.


	2. Chapter 2: Uninvited Guest

_**A/N: I normally won't post this close together. I will normally post AT LEAST once a week, but this chapter was already done, so I thought I'd give this to you as well.**_

_**To Guest Reviewer: I haven't yet decided if Kate and Jose will make appearances. As you can see, they will not appear in their expected capacity as Val is a lot like Kate, Gary is a little like Jose, and Allen is actually Ana's best friend in my story. Besides, I never really liked Kate...at ALL!**_

_**Having said all that, thank you all for my reviews, favorites, and follows. It makes me want to write more!**_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too. **_

Chapter 02—Uninvited Guest

"Aren't you going to invite me in? I come bearing libations." He's here. Fuck, he's here. I am trying to control my breathing and slow my pulse as I gaze upon the beautiful man who is Edward David. He is wearing a light blue shirt with dark blue jeans that are hugging not-too-tight in all the right places. His brown hair is combed back so as not to obstruct his beautiful big brown eyes and gorgeous chiseled features. I am struck dumb for a moment as I am temporarily teleported back to the time when those arms once held me and those lips did things that made me call out his name… _Get a fucking grip, Steele! Are we forgetting who we are talking about here? You know, that guy that cheated on you and broke your heart when you were already dealing with bullshit? Yeah, him. Slam the door in his face. Show him what you think of him!_

"Hey, Steele, who's at the door? Tell 'em to come in and join the party!" Phillip yells from the dining room. I am jolted from my trance and come back to myself.  
"I have company, Edward…" I try to protest.  
"I don't mind if you don't," he answers in that silky smooth voice. Then it dawns on me….  
"You brought wine."  
"Cabernet Sauvignon, if I remember correctly." He gently swings the bottle back and forth.  
"My guests always bring wine to my dinner parties…but of course, you knew that."  
Knowing that his secret is out, he confesses.

"I saw you at the Farmer's Market this afternoon. Once I saw your selection…I know your habits well, Rosie." Fuck! And here I thought I had gotten away.

"So you thought you'd crash my dinner party because I wouldn't return your calls?" I say with just enough salt in my voice to make him feel uncomfortable. He shifts on his feet a bit.

"I figure there's safety in numbers and maybe you would feel that way, too. " He dropped his head a bit in a show of contrition.

"Ana?" Garrett has come up behind me concerned about my extended absence from my own party. Upon seeing who was at the door, he asked, "Is everything okay?"  
I sigh heavily. "Everything's fine, Gary." I step back and open the door. "Come in, Edward."  
He looks like he just won the lottery. I wouldn't be so sure, Mr. David. You haven't seen the other guests, yet.

"We have a 'do-drop,'" Gary announces as he returned to the dining room. I'm walking behind him with my head down, clearly flustered.  
"Well, who is it…" Phil asked just as Edward is making his way into the room…and silence falls.  
"Good evening, Ladies. Gentleman." Edward greets the party as if he were an invited guest.  
"Edward." Al is the only one who acknowledged his presence.

"You know where the wine goes," I gesture towards the kitchen. Of course he does. Val starts in on me as soon as he is out of sight. "Did you _invite_ him?" She asks incredulously.  
"What the fuck do _you_ think?" I shot back.  
"Then why the hell isn't he on his ass on the sidewalk?" She folds her arm. I narrow my eyes at her.  
"Just let it go, Val!" I say through clenched teeth, just before Edward rejoins the party.

"I see I've missed the appetizers." He says.

"But you're just in time for the main course," Allen says, and we all know his words have a double meaning. Maxie and Phil go down in a snicker at the same time. Val is swirling her wine around in her glass, glaring at Edward and waiting for her chance to strike. I have got to diffuse this situation fast! I will not let this man ruin my dinner party. "So James, if I may ask, what do you do?" I start to serve the chicken.

It appears that we have gotten the party back on a social note with not too much awkwardness. Even Edward has managed to insert himself into conversations at appropriate times without too much difficulty. I draw my focus everywhere else but on him as much as I can, but I get the occasional kick under the table from Val when I drift off staring at his mouth every now and again.

This man did things to me…_hot_ things that made my body yearn for him when we were together, and for quite some time after we were apart. He had a talented tongue and his hands were instruments of pure pleasure. He played my body like a Stradivarius, like no one ever did before and no one has since…not that there has _been_ anyone since. I was often left dizzy, throbbing, or damn-near unconscious when he was done with me…but never wanting.

"Earth to Jewel!" Allen quietly nudged me out of my daydream as I sat pushing my vegetables around on my plate. "You alright, Girl?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just need another glass of wine." I go to the kitchen and return with yet another chilled bottle of red, offering it to my guests first of course before returning to my seat and refilling my own glass. The conversation had just about gotten back to safe territory when Edward decides to start talking about how well his web design business is doing. Various people were asking him various questions when Val demonstrates that she may have had one glass of wine too many.

"So, things are going well for you, are they, Edward?" She asks sarcastically.  
"They are going well enough, Valerie," he replies with just enough trepidation to know that she is setting him up to lower the boom.  
"And how is Charlotte? Or was it Susan…oh, wait, no, that was the goat. Was it Michelle? I have a hard time keeping up." She waves her hand nonchalantly like she's going to reach into the air and pull out yet another girl. He glares at her.  
"None of those, Valerie. I am currently unattached." His response is chilly. It amazes me that he didn't address the subtle "goat-fucker" reference.  
"_Unattached_," Valerie feigns surprise. "How convenient!" Okay, enough of this shit.  
"Okay, time for ice cream." I get up from the table and lead the charge to the breakfast bar. "C'mon, Kiddies, follow me. You know what to do with your plates."

As my guests clear their plates and load the dishwasher (hey, that's the rule—I'll cook, you clean), I set up the breakfast bar for do-it-yourself sundaes. Max and Phil seem to be having a little too much fun with strawberry topping while Val looks to be setting up a late-night booty call on her cell. Gary clears his throat as if to make an announcement. "Um….I've met someone." Silence falls again. My ice-cream spoon stops half-way to my mouth, Val stops mid-text and Maxie is nearly choking on strawberry syrup. Even Edward looks a little dumbstruck.

"Gary, that's wonderful!" I exclaim, setting my ice-cream on the counter. "Why didn't you bring her to the party so that we could meet her?"

He shrugged. "I hadn't told you guys about her yet and I didn't want to just spring her on you like 'surprise, here's my girl!'"

"Well, now you have to tell us all about her. We have to meet her soon!" Maxie squeals.

Gary begins to tell us about his young lady. They met at a music appreciation seminar a few months back and Gary asked her out for coffee. Coffee became dinner, dinner became movies, and the rest is history. He lights up when he talks about her, and I am so glad to see him happy. I was beginning to believe that he was going to be eternally celibate…kind of like I am now. So it's a very big deal that he has found someone. _Yeah, Heaven forbid he end up like you, right? _Bitch, I don't have time for you tonight. Just leave me alone and let me finish my damn ice-cream!

The party is finally winding down and my guests are starting to say their "goodnights." Val was the first to leave. Apparently, her midnight booty call wasn't going to wait all night, so she had to be going. Garrett, Maxie and Phil all left together as they were _very_ ready to call it a night. It hasn't slipped past me that Edward has excused himself to the restroom and is waiting for everyone to leave. It hasn't slipped past Allen either. He and James are sitting at the breakfast bar, trying to stick around until Mr. David comes back out of the bathroom.

"Girl, you know what's going on, right?" Al says, watching the hallway. "He's trying to get you alone."  
"If I'm not being to forward, it's safe to assume he's your ex?" James asked cautiously.

_Oh, you figured that out, did you? _If this cow doesn't shut the fuck up….

"Yes, he's my ex," I sighed. "He's been trying to talk to me for the last few months and…I've just been avoiding it." I rub my eyes.

"Well, listen, we won't leave if you don't want us to," James added. "I may not know you that well, but I'm not one to leave a woman at the hands of a guy she doesn't really want to deal with." Wow. Sexy _and_ chivalrous…and _gay_. Shit!

"No, I'll be fine." I dropped my head. "I never worried about him hurting me…_physically_, anyway." That familiar pang shot through my chest. "You guys can go. I'll be fine." Al looks at me through narrowed eyes.

"You be careful, Jewel. And you call me in the morning. Bright and early!" He said, standing up and walking to the door with James.  
"You know damn well that you are no more likely to be up 'bright and early' on a Sunday morning than I am!" I laugh.  
"I will if you call me." He winks at me and kisses me on the cheek as he is leaving.  
"It was wonderful meeting you, Ana. And thank you for having me." James gives me a hug.  
"You too, James. And thank you so much for coming. Drive safely." I close the door behind them and let out a heavy sigh.

"You can come out now. They're gone!" I yell to Edward. A few moments later, he coyly appears from the hallway.  
"Was I that obvious?"  
"Transparent!" I put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. He sits at one of the stools on the breakfast bar.  
"I was hoping we would have the chance to talk." There goes that silky voice again.  
"About what, Edward?"  
"About the elephant in the room." He says, matter-of-factly. "We've never talked about it. I cheated, you found out, you left…and that was it."

"There really wasn't anything to say, _Ed_!" I threw the dish towel in the sink and turned to face him. "What could you have possibly said to me? 'I'm sorry. I tripped and fell and my dick landed in this girl?' What was there to say? Seriously? You couldn't go back and undo what you had done! You couldn't 'un-fuck' the girl!" I put my hands over my face to compose myself. All of the anger and the feelings were rushing back to me. "I trusted you. I loved you. And you betrayed me…" When I open my eyes, he is no longer there. He is behind me, gently stroking my arms. Oh, God. I feel the goose bumps, and so does he.

"I was so wrong, Rosie," he is right at my ear. I can feel his breath and I am doing everything I can not to tilt my head to give him better access. I wrap my arms around myself. Be strong, Ana. Be strong. "I can't tell you how sorry I am. I was stupid and selfish and inconsiderate. I have never forgotten you…I can't get you out of my mind." Oh dear Lord, help me. I move away from the sink to put space between us. I have to breathe. I have to think clearly. I walk into the living room and take a few deep breaths with one hand on my forehead and the other on my hip. Maintain yourself, Steele. It's time for him to leave.

"Edward," I say as I turn around straight into a wall of man. Oh, hell. Don't look up at him. Don't look up at him. I keep my eyes on him chest. His big, strong, solid, muscular, sexy…oh shit.

"Yes?" It's almost a whisper. It's not until my back meets the wall that I realize he has been walking forward and I have been walking backward.

"You have to leave." I breathe. My breath is heavy now. He gently slides one hand on my hip just below my waist.

"Are you sure?" He whispers in my ear. Oh, Sweet Jesus. His lips brush against my shoulders, gently kissing until he is back to my neck just below my ear.

"Yes." I whimper. His teeth tug at my earlobe, then his tongue. "Yes, what, Baby?" His voice is soft and he is kissing my temple, then along my cheek.

"Ah," I let out a breathy sigh as I am quickly losing this battle. Three and a half years. Three and a half damn years! The next thing I know he is kissing my lips, the gentlest kiss I have ever felt in my life—soft and sucking the soul out of me ever so sweetly. With just a little pressure, he parts my lips and his tongue gently caresses mine. Oh Father of all things holy, help me! I have to get away. But this kiss! It's like no time has passed at all. He has reached in and flipped that switch that I thought I had turned off a long time ago and my body is on fire! He adds only the slightest bit of pressure and urgency to his kiss to reel me in, and I moan in his mouth. My legs are getting weak and I am losing this fight. _Wake the fuck up, Steele! This is the man that cheated on you and broke your heart! What's changed? Are you going to let him do it to you again? Wake up, Steele! WAKE UP!_

Fuck! The Bitch is right. I push him off of me and wiggle away from his kiss. "Edward, no!" My voice is shaking. I'm trying to find my footing as I walk away from him again. As if I am his last breath, I feel him snatch me back into his arms from behind, fiercely! He is holding me hard against him, my back to his front. Even in stilettos my feet don't touch the ground. His face is buried in my neck and he's breathing deeply in my hair. "You smell so good." My arms are pinned to my body and he has me in a bear hug. Oh…it's been so long…so long since someone held me. "I miss you so much, Rosie." He's kissing my hair, my neck, my bare shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

I moan, whimper, and sigh as he continues to ravage me with his mouth. "Oh, God, Rosie, I love you. Please, please forgive me." _Oh Edward, oh my God. You feel so good… _Wait a minute! Whose side are you on?

"Please…" I whimper. I'm not getting away this time. He has me in a death grip. "Edward, please…" He can't hear me. Oh, he's so strong, and he feels so good. But I have to get away. I can't let him hurt me again. I just can't.

"Edward, please, no….please." He's panting, tasting my skin, mumbling that he loves me and he can't let me go…and the damn bursts. Tears flow from my eyes and I start to shake with sobs. Edward holds me still against his body, breathing like he is trying to catch his breath. "Edward, please. Please put me down." I weep. After a few more steadying breaths, he gently puts me down and releases his arms from around me. I'm heaving now, sobbing uncontrollably. I stumble to a nearby chair and steady myself against it. I can't stop crying. He opened the gates and everything I felt came flooding back to me, just like it had just happened—the love, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it. I felt him touch my shoulder and it was like lightning! I jerked away from him quickly.

"Please! Please leave!" I wail as I take of as fast as my feet can carry me to my bedroom. I dash in and close the door unable to catch my breath from sobbing. A few moments later, I can hear him leave and close the door behind him. I fall on my bed, wrap myself in my duvet, and cry the cries of the brokenhearted…again.


	3. Chapter 3: And In This Corner…

**_I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too._**

Chapter 03—And In This Corner…

_**INTRODUCING CHRISTIAN GREY**_

I can't believe this fucking shit! I couldn't pay somebody to get out of this? You have _got_ to be kidding me!

Shit, I did the city a fucking favor! The asshole rear-ended me, for fuck's sake. And I was sitting at a goddamn stoplight! I could smell the alcohol a mile away, but when he saw who I was, he claimed he was hurt. I just bet you are—you reek of bourbon! Then when the cops get there, he tells them I slammed on my brakes and caused the accident! Excuse-fucking-me? I tripped over my own damn feet getting to this asshole. I had had all I could take from this situation. If he wants hurt, I'll fucking give him hurt. Thinking back, I probably shouldn't have decked the guy in front of the cop.

The worst was that fucking judge, though. Hammerville or Hammerstein—all I can remember was "Hammer." I wonder if I fucked somebody over in his family or something in one of my business deals because he really dropped that bitch on my head. He wanted to give me jail time—for decking the fucking drunk driver that totaled my R8! If it weren't for Carrick, I'd be doing six months for assault. Instead, I have to do community fucking service and 12 group sessions with some psychologist group at some damn community center. Community center! Man, the paparazzi are going to love this shit!

I'm going to have to get a sub really soon. That last one was a disaster! She could take a good caning but she was too damn clingy from day one. I should have taken that as a sign that this was a bad idea. She didn't last two weeks. That's what I get for trying a new service. I'll have to get in touch with Elena to see if there are any new prospects. In the meantime, I may have to get a quick fix somewhere. I have a feeling that Bastille is not going to be enough with this touchy-feely group shit in my future.

"Hello Christian," Elena's voice has that same purr every time she says my name. It would irritate me if I hadn't already become accustomed to it.

"Hello Elena. Are there any parties near the Sound tonight?"

"_Parties_? That's not your style…and on a Monday night. What's wrong?" She's prying again. Fuck, can't you just answer my question?

"I don't want to discuss it right now. Are they any parties tonight or not?"

"Well," this woman is so irritating sometimes, "I hadn't heard of any, but I can find out and give you a call back…or maybe _I _can assist you in some way?" Her voice was oozing seduction. It made me think of the times I was training to be a Dom. She was wicked with a cane, but she could take a whip like none other. I could feel my dick twitch…shit! I've been without a sub for too fucking long! Even for a quick fix, Elena and I stopped "engaging" each other long ago—though I get the feeling she wouldn't mind rekindling that relationship.

I definitely do _not_ concur.

"Let me know what you find out Elena." I hang up quickly, before the thought of her bent over my whipping bench became too appealing.

* * *

Luckily, we had scouted this place before I was due for my first session with whatever second-rate quack the city decided to unleash on me. We could park a block away and enter from a concealed entrance in a connecting building. Maybe I could avoid press after all…here's hoping.

It was more like a community _complex_ than a community _center_. The place looks like one of those urban, low-class high schools—tall ugly brick building—except that it has to be about 12 or 15 stories tall. The minute I walk in, I know that there is going to be problems. I have to ask the receptionist where I am supposed to be. Not only is she stricken by "the face," but she damn near swoons when I give her my name. "M-Mr. Grey…yes…room 239, Sir. Y-you'll be meeting with Dr. Steele's group, S-Sir."

"Thank you," I say coolly before shooting a look over to Taylor and shaking my head. "This is going to be a long night."

I make my way to room 239 and I have to sign in. This just keeps getting better and better. I don't want to sign shit! I see four other people here already and I wonder how many people are in the group. I tell Taylor to wait for me in the hallway since I'm sure some of this shit is going to be doctor-patient-privilege-type shit.

I make my way to one of the empty seats and pull out my blackberry. No response from Elena yet. I know I am going to need some release when I leave this place. I go to my regular service and send out an APB for parties and one-nighters. Normally, that's not my style. Being who I am, I have to be careful. But the more people I see coming into the room, the more I feel like this is going to be an emergency!

"Welcome everyone, please take a seat." I put my blackberry away to see who the quack is going to be.

Fuck. Me.

Who the hell is this? In walks this petite woman looking like a hot sexy school marm! I couldn't believe my fucking eyes! She's wearing these naughty librarian glasses that sit on her nose so that she can look over them at you with these huge ocean blue eyes and I immediately feel my pant tighten. I have to adjust myself before she joins the circle. This simple black dress is hugging her in all the right places and those black stilettos make her legs look like they go on for days. Her hair is in this bun of some type but the curls around her forehead keep falling delicately into her face, causing her to constantly push the stray hair behind her ears. What's worse? She's a brunette! A fucking brunette!

Why the hell am I being punished?

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Well, today is the day I meet the new wailers. I am not looking forward to this. I go in every time hoping for the best—hoping for a group that will be more receptive to change and throwing out the old way of thinking, moving on to a fresh new life and a start with a better outlook on things. And every time, I am disappointed. I get a group full of Flashdance Thatchers and maybe one Stoley if I'm lucky. On the first day of a new session, I usually wear something bright and colorful to make myself appear more approachable. Today, I just don't feel like it. Today, I'm going to be realistic and face this shit head on.

I opt for my black just above the knee-length pencil dress with cap sleeves. It has a squared neckline, button elastic belt and buttoned straps at both hips. I put my hair in a messy bun—I don't feel like dealing with it today either. A simple pair of diamond studs will do the trick. Just a touch of lip gloss and moisturizer so I don't look twice my age. Shoes are my weakness but I refuse to spend Louboutin money when I can find sexy stilettos for a fraction of the cost. Black for the black dress. Perfect. I look more like a school teacher than a psychologist who spent 7 years in school and internships just to end up babysitting a bunch of criers two days a week. Thank God for my outside practice and my other patients. I will be sure not to sign up for _this_ again once I have served my "time."

When I get to the Chinatown Community Center, I stop in the break area to partake of some of the "tastes-like-day-old" coffee to help me through this day. I spent most of the day working on my continued learning requirement to retain my license. I never see patients one-on-one on the days that I have to facilitate group counseling, so I have most of the day to organize my week and catch up on, well, whatever needs catching up on. Four o'clock comes all too soon for me, and I make my way down to 239 to see the latest motley crew.

I always peek in the window first to see who's wandering around, who's sitting down, who's trying to be social, etc. I try to tell by their faces, dress, and demeanor why they are here and what their problems may be. I'm almost always wrong because I have previously come to these things with the "glass half full" mentality. But not today. Today, I am on the verge of giving up on human kind completely, so when I look in the room, all I can see is a bunch of losers. _Get it together, Steele. You are supposed to be these peoples' saving grace—their savior. You are supposed to guide them to the light. You can't go _in _with this kind of outlook. Get your shit together, Girl._ Oh fuck-a-doodle-do! Now I _know_ I'm crazy when the Bitch is the voice of reason. I drop my head momentarily to collect myself, take a deep breath, and walk into the Lion's Den.

"Welcome everyone, please take a seat." I watch the roaches scatter to their seats when I enter the room. Yep, losers. Dammit Doctor, I scold myself, you need to get it together. If you are nothing else you are supposed to be professional.

I don't bother with the phony smile, but I do manage to wipe the scowl off my face while my…_group_…finds their seats. I immediately decide that I'm going to take a different approach with this group. I want to back off from the personal touch so much this time and see just where these people are and what they expect.

"My name is Dr. Anastasia Steele," I begin as I take one of the empty seats in the circle. "You can call me Dr. Steele or Ana, whichever you prefer." I cross my legs and start to skim blindly down the sign-in sheet, then open my portfolio to take some notes.

"What I would like to do is begin by having each of you introduce yourself, in whatever way you choose, and tell us why you are here. What I would really like to know is what you expect to achieve from these sessions over the next six weeks. To be honest with you all, you are only going to get out of this what you put into it. So I think it's very important that we all understand that none of us really want to waste anyone's time, right?"

A deafening silence falls over the room. Yeah, Bitches, this aint your church's weekend retreat where we all hug each other and sing "Kumbaya." If you don't want help, don't sit in my face—I don't have the patience for bullshit anymore.

"Having said that," I continue, "I am available for one-on-one sessions on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays either here or at my private office should you find the need or desire to do so. Just come talk to me during one of the breaks or after session and we can discuss an appointment. Are there any questions before we begin?"

Crickets.

"Right…so, let's start with the lady to my right. What is your name and why have you joined us today?"

This is the time where I do my best to pay close attention to each speaker—even if I never do so again. I'm looking for my Stoley, or I'm trying to get a feel for everyone individually to see if there really is a chance in hell that I can help them. Each group usually starts out with about 18 to 20 people and ends up with somewhere between 8 and 12. I'm trying to gauge by their answers which ones will be the first to drop and which will be the long-haulers. In my experience, it's the really fucked up ones that tend to drop out first. They are the ones that often hide from their issues and don't want anyone to see what's behind the mask. The ones that need the most attention—divorces, bad break-ups, and unfortunately, recent loss due to death—they tend to stick around. We've got a couple of live wires in this group.

As I listen and take notes, I remember that I have a couple of court-ordered attendees in this group and I fish the forms from my portfolio. They are going to be the most difficult to deal with. They already feel like they don't need to be here and their only purpose for coming is to avoid jail time. Just great! So now I'll have to deal with a couple of overly-bravado assholes who I will continuously have to tell to stop calling me "Sweetheart" or I won't sign their completion forms.

So, halfway through the group, I have to stop taking notes because I've noticed a deafening silence has fallen over the room again. I raise my head to see who is supposed to be talking and I come face-to-face with the most piercing grey eyes I have ever seen in my life. For a moment, I'm frozen in place. Good God, he's gorgeous! Steele, what the hell? Get it together! _Holy Cow! When did _he _get here? And why am I just now seeing him? _Oh, no, not you, too. Well, one of us has got to take control of this situation. I shake myself out of my trance, hoping that no one saw me, and put Dr. Steele back in front.

"Sir?" No response. "SIR!"

* * *

_**GREY**_

Control, Grey. Control. It's a good thing I was sitting down when she walked in. There's no way in hell I could have walked to a chair with this instant massive boner bursting out of my pants. I have to take my jacket off and lay it over my lap just to cover it. Fuck, what am I, 15 again?

"My name is Dr. Anastasia Steele." Anastasia Steele. Look at that mouth. Jesus Christ, those lips! The things I could do with those lips. She looks like a college kid. How long has _she_ been a doctor? Can't be long. She can't be more than 23 or 24 herself. And they send me here? Shit, how am I supposed to sit through 12 two-hour sessions with _that_ sitting across from me? She just said something about wasting her time. Hmmm. She's got a smart mouth on her. I could tame it, though. I could have her subdued in my playroom in no time, begging me to let her come. Oh, and she does one-on-one sessions? I have some wonderful one-on-one ideas for you, Ms. Steele, and they mostly involve bending you across your desk, spanking that pale little ass of yours until you are a lovely shade of dark pink, and then fucking you until you see stars. That would be a hell of a lot more interesting than Flynn. Fucking Flynn.

"SIR!"

Fuck! Did she just call me "Sir?" My dick is back at attention again, fighting to unleash itself from my pants.

"Ms. Steele," I respond, trying to maintain some façade of control, here. She adjusts herself a bit in the chair. Yeah, I know, Baby. I want to jump her and fuck her right here on the floor. I need a fucking sub…fast!

"Um, Sir," she says, clearing her throat. "It's _Dr. _Steele…or Ana, if you prefer." She's correcting me! That smart mouth… "It's your turn, Sir."

"My turn? For what?"

"To tell us who you are…and why you're here," she answers bemused, but with a slight tone of impatience. I pause for a moment. Little Girl, you don't know who you're dealing with. I used to eat cocky ass little therapists like you for breakfast. After a moment, I respond,

"Grey."

"Just Grey?" She says, expecting.

"Just Grey."

She takes a deep breath. Aw, am I trying your patience, Little Therapist? This is going to be fun.

"And why are you here, Grey?" For some reason, I don't like the way that sounded coming from her.

"Mr. Grey," I correct her. Now she's a bit taken aback.

"You said 'just Grey.'"

"Mr. Grey," I repeat dryly. She glares at me for a moment and then drops head and scribbles something feverishly in her little tablet, gnawing incessantly on her bottom lip.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I can feel my temperature rising and my dick is not going to stay contained much longer. I have to cross my foot over my knee to give it some room between my fucking legs!

"Fine!" She almost spits the word at me. "_Mr._ Grey…why are you here?" Shit, I think I liked _just Grey_ better.

"Court. Ordered." I say very slowly and coolly. She pauses before looking through her papers then announces, "Christian Grey?" I try not to flinch as 19 heads rubber-neck in my direction and 19 sets of eyes are suddenly focused on me. I am now counting backwards from ten to calm myself as I am beyond pissed.

"Yes, _Dr_. Steele. Christian Grey. And thank you for announcing to everyone in the class that Christian Grey has court ordered group therapy sessions!" I snap.

"Well, no, actually you did that, _Mr_. Grey." She responded, returning my glare without blinking. Oh, she definitely needs to heel. I so need to get my hands on her. I'd knock that haughty ass attitude down a few notches. "And what do you expect to get out of these sessions, _Mr_. Grey—that is, _besides_ your signed form of completion?" Well, there goes my smart ass answer. Boy, she can really be a pill! But I wonder how many times she's gotten that answer before.

"I'm not sure, Ms. Steele. What can you offer me?" I'm perfectly aware of the undertones in that statement, and I deliver it in a way that I know she will get both meanings without knowing which one to accept. She gasps.

Gotcha!

Little Ms. Steele seems a little flustered. And she's biting that lip again. I sit up a little in my seat. You wanna play, Ms. Steele? Let's play.

"_Mr_. Grey," her voice nearly seeps venom when she says _Mr_. "My name….is DOCTOR…Steele." She's says the words very slowly, like she is talking to a five-year-old. It's starting to piss me off again. Just as I begin my countdown…

"And when you're done counting, I would like to inform you that I would like to conduct this session with some modicum of professionalism and courtesy for all parties involved. So you can either tell us what you would like to get out of these sessions, or I will kindly move on to the next person." What the…?

Steele-1, Grey-0.

Fine, Ms. Steele. I'll give you this one. But trust me, this is not over. I wave my hand for her to go on to the next person and before she moves on, she rolls her eyes at me! Fucking hell! I need a fucking sub _now_. This shit is unbearable. I pull out my blackberry to see if there are any responses from Elena or the service. Nothing. This is unbelievable.

"Mr. Grey!" My head snaps up as _Dr_. Steele calls my name with ferocity. I look at her expecting. "Are we boring you, _Sir_?" There she goes again. I'm going to have to leave in a minute or my dick is going to explode! When I don't answer, she continues, "You will have to put your blackberry away, Mr. Grey. It is not allowed during the group session." What are we in kindergarten here? I run a multi-billion-dollar corporation and I've got Little Ms. Doctor Girl telling me I can't look at my blackberry? This will never do.

"I. Am. Sorry. Dr. Steele. But I am expecting a very important phone call that cannot wait." I say sternly.  
"Well unfortunately, it will _have_ to wait until the end of this session, Mr. Grey." She replies just as sternly.  
"I hope you realize that I am responsible for a major corporation, Dr. Steele." I reply in my Dom voice.

"Well hopefully your empire won't crumble in the next hour and 25 minutes, Mr. Grey. Please. Put your blackberry. Away." Not at all affected by the Dom voice. I begrudgingly put my blackberry away.

She is intriguing. I have never met a woman that I couldn't break down with my looks, my presence, or my charm…and _she_ is just not having it. I have _got_ to know more about her. Watching her take command of this group of sycophants is quite enticing, but I manage to calm my raging boner enough to put my feet flat on the floor. I listen just enough to find out that there is one other guy who is here by court order. I wonder what he did to get here—step on a crack in the sidewalk?

We take a break at the one-hour mark and it's everything I can do to keep from ripping my blackberry from my pocket. There's a response from Elena. No parties tonight. Shit! But she was able to find me a one-time fill-in if I'm interested. That's something Elena has never provided for me. It was always a party, a club, or a contract from her. So this offer has me a little on edge. I knew I could get this from the service, but never from Elena. But hell, tonight, I'm open to suggestions, as long as the candidate signs an NDA, I'll give it a go once. I respond to Elena to have her at Escala at 8:00pm sharp.


	4. Chapter 4: Mr CEO

**__****_Since I had a little time on hands, I thought I'd give you this little chapter to wrap up Christian's introduction. Since I work throughout the week, I will get you at least one more through the week. Gotta keep you happy!_**

**_I am truly blown away by the response to my story. I am really glad you all are liking it so far. Thank you so much for your reviews and thank you to my Facebook girls for support and encouragement. I wouldn't have done it without you!_**

**_To anailuj: sorry I couldn't respond by PM, but thank you for your review. I need Ana to have a little more depth which is why her support system is a little larger. There are very few stories I've read—including the original—where she didn't have more than just Kate, or someone associated with Christian. I think a more realistic "Ana" would have more friends. I'm truly glad you are enjoying the story!_**

**_And now, the boring legalese: _**

**_I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too._**

**_And now, the not-so-boring story!_**

Chapter 04—Mr. CEO

_**STEELE**_

Now this is classic. This group has to be the dullest bunch of losers I have _ever_ met. It's not that I get off on great calamities, but this is not what I envisaged when I got into Psychology. I mean, I knew I'd meet the odd crazy woman who wore purple shoes with a green hat and an orange dress and carried her dead husband's ashes around with her everywhere she went. But I never thought my legacy would be people who get depressed because the sunset is not the perfect shade of orange. I mean, it's just that trivial.

As I am sitting in my borrowed office at the community center going over my notes, I am dismayed to discover that I don't think I have one Stoley in this group—not _one_! Oh we've got some interesting characters. There's always at least one bottle-job that went a little too heavy on the color, trying to capture her long-lost youth and this time, it's Gwendolyn Harrison.

Poor Gwen married young in what I would consider a modern-day arranged marriage. Her parents "betrothed" her to young Mr. Harrison at the ripe old age of 17, after which she immediately began punching out his children. After seeing their third child through college, Mr. Harrison who was ten years her senior, proceeded to have the world's biggest midlife crisis and left his wife for a younger woman.

Gwen received most of his assets in the settlement, but now she is 45 years old with—as she puts it—the best years of her life behind her while her husband gets to go out and start all over again with his new hot tottie. And even though she is very well off, she still can't seem to find the happiness that always seemed to evade her all of the years that she was married to her husband. And as pitiful as this may sound, so far she's the most interesting member of the group.

And then there are my court-ordered attendees—Mr. Frank Wilbourne, who attacked a man he caught sexing his wife in _their_ bed, and Mr. Christian Grey, who apparently assaulted a drunk driver who ran into his car. Just what I need, a couple of hot heads—_justified_ hotheads, but hotheads nonetheless. So what does the great City of Seattle expect me to do with these guys? Gee, Mr. Wheeler, you pummeled this guy while he was in a pre-orgasmic state with the woman who vowed to honor and cherish you in the bed that you sleep in every night…how do you feel about that? Good fucking grief.

And Mr. Grey. Mr. Grey. Damn, those eyes. That man has a body like Zeus, a face like Ares, and the swooning power of Adonis. And that voice. Damn, that voice! The tones he took with me tonight, it was like he was trying to make me _yield_ to him. I can see why any woman would, but I'm not _any_ woman.

That arrogant bastard was trying to control me tonight. Getting on his fucking blackberry in the middle of the session—how _rude_! And the way he insisted on calling me _Ms_. Steele. Well, I guess it's better than Sweetheart, Darling, Doll, and all of the other names my being a petite woman seems to draw out of the average condescending male. He is going to be a handful. He's not accustomed to taking instructions from anybody and I am only too sure that he will not get all warm and squishy about his feelings with this lot!

But why was he looking at me that way? And what was he thinking that he didn't know what the group was talking about up until then? I mean, hell, the group had been talking for half an hour—where the hell was he? My mind wanders to when I first raised my head and met those heated grey eyes. It was like he was looking through me, right down into the darkest recesses of me and picking apart my most intimate secrets.

Nobody is supposed to be there but me, but when I shut the door and turned around, there he was—in my secret place—hooded grey eyes, sexy copper locks, and all. It only lasted a moment, but it felt like an eternity. He just gazed at me, through me…

He has this magnetism that draws you to him, and it's not just the face. It's something about him that makes you forget yourself if you're not careful—and he _knows_ it. He knows that he has that power over people and he is accustomed to exercising it to his advantage. And then when he speaks—his voice ranges from seductive and suggestive to commanding. He's like the male version of Helen of Troy; he could bring empires to their knees.

It would be so hot if he wasn't so fucking arrogant and annoying.

I remove my glasses to try to give my eyes a rest. I've been here long enough. It's nearly 7:00. I release my bun and fluff my hair while massaging my sore scalp. I feel a slight headache coming on. Nothing that a nice Cabernet and a little Michael Franks won't cure. I drop my head and rub the back of my neck as I ponder those eyes…that voice…..

"Dr. Steele? A moment?"

Now I am fucking _hearing_ the voice. I have _got_ to get this guy out of my head.

"Dr. Steele?"

I raise my head to see none other than Christian Grey standing in the doorway of my office. Oh shit, what does he want?

_Are you mad because he's here or are you mad because you were just mentally drooling over him _and now_ he's here?_  
Not now, Bitch. I can't deal with you right now. Not to mention that I just fluffed my hair and I probably look like I've was recently chased by banshees.

"Mr. Grey," I respond, trying to hide the weariness in my voice. I hope he doesn't want one-on-one sessions. I don't think I could take it. "What can I do for you?" He visibly pauses for a beat, but then he comes into the office a few steps.

"You keep late hours for a therapist, Dr. Steele. Difficult patient?" The words roll off of his tongue. Breathe, Steele.

"Not this evening, Mr. Grey. I don't see patients on Mondays, only the group sessions. How can I help you?"

"May I?" He gestures to one of the chairs in front of my desk. Just over his shoulder, I can see a gentleman standing outside my office. He looks like ex-CIA or Men In Black or something. Who knows? I mimic his gesture toward the chair letting him know that it is okay for him to take a seat.

"Friend of yours?" I ask, nodding toward the gentleman in the hallway.

"Private security." He crosses one leg over his knee and then folds his hands in his lap. Suddenly the room feels too small and I am very ready to go home. "What is it that you need, Mr. Grey?"

He leans forward resting his elbows on his knees. "I would like to talk to you about these…sessions." And here we go. At least one of my COA's always comes to me with some sort of attempt to get out of the sessions and still have me submit their completion paperwork. On more than one occasion, I have been very tempted to do just that, but for some reason the court has decided that these people have to come to these classes—who I am to say that they are wrong?

"Let me stop you right there, Mr. Grey. If you are trying to get me to say that you have attended classes you have not, that is not going to happen." He smirks at me and raises an eyebrow.

"I think it was you who mentioned not wanting to waste anyone's time, Dr. Steele. I can guarantee you that _group_ therapy…in my case…would be a complete and total waste of time."

This arrogant asshole.

"And why would you say that if you haven't even tried it?" I ask, bemused. He leans in further, closing the space between us even more. Thank God for the desk.

"You recognized my counting, so you already know I'm addressing some issues. I'm not going to discuss them in front of a group of strangers." His eyes are piecing again and his voice is sharp. Is it getting hot in here?

"Nonetheless, Mr. Grey," I try to wrangle my scattering thoughts, "the court says you must attend these sessions, so you must attend them. That decision is out of my hands. Why don't you just give them a try?" He laughs at my last statement, or more like scoffs at it.

Now, I'm really getting pissed.

"Dr. Steele, I wouldn't even begin to discuss my life in front of strangers unless everyone in the group was willing to sign an NDA…"

"A non-disclosure agreement…?" I say in disbelief. His face changes—a bit taken aback.

"You know what it is. Impressive." He shook his head as if to rid himself of some stray thought. "Anyway, that is a moot point as I have no desire to _share_ in a group setting." What is his big hang-up? And why would he need a non-disclosure agreement for group therapy? Has he committed some crime? Did he kill someone?

"I don't know how you could possibly dismiss something you haven't even tried, Mr. Grey. I have seen the right kind of therapy work wonders for people who were considered lost causes."

He smirks again. "Ms. Steele…" I glare at him again. "_Dr_. Steele…quite frankly, I've done it all. And let me assure you, I'm not new to this. I have stories that will shock and amaze anything you have ever seen in your little doctor mind." Somehow I doubt that.

Wait a minute! Did this jerk just say "little doctor mind?" This pompous, puffed-up fucker...what the fuck...!  
Easy, Steele...down, Girl...

"And I see that you, like many others, already have me figured out now, have you, Mr. Grey?" I sit back in my chair, resting my elbows on my armrests.

"I am an excellent judge of character, Dr. Steele. I make it my business to know with whom I am dealing." He says smugly. I give him a half smile.

"Well, Mr. Grey, let me assure you that if you underestimate me, I'm very likely to surprise you. You see," now it's my turn to lean in, "my 'little doctor mind' has seen a whole lot more than you think…in a very short amount of time. So it would be to your benefit not to try to manipulate me in any way because I can tell you now that your efforts will be futile. Now I am bound by my oath not to repeat specifics from our sessions anyway unless someone's safety is at risk. But I'm not going to ask 19 other people to sign NDA's so that you can feel comfortable telling your horror stories. So speak if you like—and if you don't like, _don't _speak. But either way, I'll see you on Thursday." I narrow my eyes at him hoping that he gets the clue that this conversation is _over_. Mr. Men In Black gently knocks on the open door.

"Excuse me, Sir, you indicated that you needed to be back at Escala at 8:00pm. We should be leaving soon if you don't want to be late." He stands without looking back at his hired arm. He straightens his jacket, and I would know that stance anywhere.

He's preparing for battle.

Shit, I don't need this, but hell if I'm going to back down to this pompous asshole.

"Ms. Steele," he says as a goodbye and turns to leave. I know he did it on purpose.

"Grey." I respond to his back. He pauses for a moment, then proceeds out of my office past his bodyguard, and I could swear I saw the guard trying to keep from laughing.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Infuriating little…who the fuck does she think…little social worker, do-gooder….I'm so fucking pissed, I can't even subconsciously finish a fucking sentence! She thinks she can play with me? Fine! You have no idea who you are dealing with, _Ms_. Steele. I am on my blackberry as soon as we get into the elevator.

"Welch, I want a background check on Anastasia Steele immediately." When I end the call, I can hear an almost inaudible sigh from Taylor.

"Something you want to say, Taylor?" I ask as we are leaving the building.

"Nothing at all, Sir," is his clipped response.

Yeah, I didn't think so.

"Hello Christian," Elena strides into the great room a few moments after I arrive back at Escala. Her fascination with black clothing is something that never really grew on me, but tonight she is laced up like a Thanksgiving turkey. She is wearing a black double-laced corset, front and back, that pushes her breasts almost up to her chin. Her black satin pants have similar lacings down the side of both legs, exposing the skin on her thigh. I am only too sure that you would be able to see the skin all the way down to her ankles were it not for the knee-high boots she is wearing, also laced up the back from ankle to knee. I would almost think this outfit was hot if it was on one of my subs.

"Elena," I say, going to the kitchen for a glass of wine, "I can't help but notice that you have arrived _alone_." I told this woman I needed a sub. After dealing with Ms. Steele this evening, I need one in the worst way.

"I'm sorry, Christian," she purrs with obvious fake contrition, "but something came up at the last minute and she cancelled on me. I hurried over to see if there was anything I could do to help."

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

My service didn't call back either so I guess I just gave too short notice for anybody to come and help me release tonight, assuming Elena actually put any effort into the task at all. I know what's next, but I can't seem to get this woman to understand that we are _not_ going to be involved that way, although tonight…in this get-up she's wearing…she's damn near bound already.

"You could have called, Elena. You didn't have to make a trip all the way over here."

"But I'm concerned about you, Christian," she coos. "After that nasty business with Naomi and how badly that turned out, I thought you may need a little….reconditioning." Her voice is oozing seduction and, for some reason, tonight, it's just making my skin crawl.

"Let me know when you find a suitable candidate. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."

"Christian," she's damn near moaning now, "you know I would be only too happy to help you release this tension you seem to be carrying. You seemed so eager when you called earlier." She sashays around the breakfast bar and strokes my arm. "You know how good we can be together. Let me help you ease this stress…for old times' sake."

The longer she stands here, the angrier I get. There never was a sub available; she simply came over to play this little game with me. What is it with these defiant women tonight? First Anastasia and now Elena…and I can't get that woman's face out of my head! Those sapphire eyes challenging me as I sit in her office, her long brown locks cascading over her shoulders—mussed up and unkempt like she had just been fucked. Fuck me. I have half a mind to take Elena to my playroom and beat the hell out of her—and I know I'd be pretending she was Ms. Steele the entire time. My dick is playing hockey with my balls again, fighting for room to get out of my pants. I have to get Elena out of here.

"Elena?"I command in my Dom voice. She gasps and removes her hand from my arm.

"Yes?" she breathes.

"Call me when you find a suitable candidate. You can go now." I take another drink of my wine. She is gaping at me in disbelief.

"You know you want it, Christian!" She snaps. "Look at you. You can barely keep it in your pants right now. Admit it. I have you all hot and bothered! Why would you resist it?" She is seething.

"I'm not bothered _for_ you, Elena. I'm bothered _by_ you. Now leave!" I say between clenched teeth. A myriad of emotions come over her face—disbelief, crestfallen, anger. She turns on her heels and storms out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her. Some poor sucker is going to get the shit beaten out of him tonight. And where the fuck does that leave me?

Standing here duly frustrated over defiant brunettes and predatory blondes, with a raging hard-on and no closer to any release. Nice job, Grey. Time for a strenuous workout and one hell of a cold ass shower.


	5. Chapter 5: Let The Games Begin!

_**A/N: I get some of the best "Guest" reviews! I wish I could respond to them. I got one that was a little enigmatic, too, but hey, you took the time to review and I appreciated it!**_

_**Thank you guys so much for your response. It's truly amazing and I am humbled. If I have forgotten to respond to you, please remember that I am new at this and charge it to my head, not my heart.**_

_**TO anailuj: I love your reviews! Yes, you will see more from Ana's friends and unfortunately, from Mr. Edward David as well. He is not done groveling yet….**_

_**Continued thanks to my Facebook crew—I can't call them all by name; there are so many of us—and to each and every one of you who have taken time to read my story and leave a review. It means a lot to me.**_

_**On a not-so-lighter note, I had someone tell me that if my story went in a certain direction, they wouldn't read it anymore. That's your prerogative, but please know this…I'm going to write MY story MY way. I am a fan, and this is MY fanfic. You have the option to read it or not to read it just like with any story on this site, but please do not think that your telling me that you're not going to read it is going to change the way that I'm going to write it. As CG says, "We aim to please," but you can't please everybody.**_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

_**And now…on with the show!**_

Chapter 05—Let The Games Begin!

That workout was just what I needed. I didn't think I would ever rid my mind of the thought of Ms. Steele gagged and suspended in my playroom. Even now, after nearly destroying the treadmill in the gym downstairs and the shock shower that followed, I'm still suffering from a minor throb in my pants—but at least I've gotten control of it. A minor throb that I can control beats a massive, raging, painful boner that can't be satisfied any day.

When I return to my study, I see that Welch has forwarded to me the background check on one Dr. Anastasia Rose Steele, Psy.D. Let's see what makes her think she is so fucking high and mighty.

Upon closer examination, there's nothing really extraordinary about Ms. Steele. It looks like she puttered aimlessly around Bates Community College for a while until she got a scholarship from the Seattle Business and Professional Women's Association and subsequently attended University of Washington in Seattle for undergrad and grad school. She did her internship at the Center for Child and Family Well-Being…interesting choice. She has a practice in downtown Seattle, not too far from Grey House in fact. So what's with this community center thing? I was right, though, she's only 26—three years younger that I but she feels like she can tell _me_ something about life? Presumptuous little thing, isn't she?

Her childhood seems pretty uneventful. Her father died shortly after she was born. Even though her parents were married, she doesn't carry her father's last name. "Steele" is her stepfather's name—her mother's second husband. Strange. They lived in Montesano a couple of hours from Seattle until Ms. Steele was 14 and then relocated to a suburb of Nevada when her mother Carla married for a third time to some guy named Stephen Morton. I wonder if Carla is as insufferable as her daughter. It looks like they lived in one of the more affluent areas just outside of Vegas, even though Morton didn't make much money.

I can't help but notice that there aren't any records from ages 15 to 17. She went to Green Valley High School in Henderson for her freshman and part of her sophomore year. Then she appears to have dropped off the map. However, she miraculously shows up back in Tacoma just before her 18th birthday. So here's this unremarkable psychologist doing this group therapy thing on a volunteer basis two nights a week at a community center, and she has me by the balls for another 22 hours out of the next six weeks. This has to be some kind of comic tragedy!

My blackberry buzzes with a call from Elena. You had your chance, now go away. I ignore the call and dial Welch instead.

"Welch, there are two years missing on Anastasia Steele's background check. What the fuck is going on?"

"_I'm trying to figure that out myself, Sir,"_ Welch explains. _"Records show that Ms. Steele left Green Valley High near the end of her sophomore year but there's no indication why she left or information concerning where she may have gone back to school."_ This doesn't make any sense.

"Well, find out what happened. Did she leave the country? Go into witness protection? Abducted by aliens? You've got the resources—find out what happened!"

"_Yes sir."_

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I have just finished my yoga class at _8 Limbs_ and I decide to get some skewers from _Chicken Valley_ on my way home. I think I may have overdone it a bit today because my hamstring is hurting like hell. I just need to get home and soak in a hot bath. Today was light in terms of my patient load, a lot lighter than a normal Wednesday. Tuesday and Wednesday are usually back-to-back patients and long days since I don't see them on Monday and Thursday. Today, however, I chose to keep it a little light since my weekend was ruined by an unexpected visitor and my group sessions seem like they are going to be a bit more trying than usual this round.

I drop my keys, purse, and briefcase on the dining table and go to the kitchen to "prepare" my dinner. I have some steamed broccoli and some leftover tomato and basil topping in the refrigerator. I arrange my skewers and broccoli on a plate and put them in the microwave while I top a few pieces of bruschetta with the tomato and basil mixture. I forgo the Cabernet tonight for a fruity chardonnay. Just as I sit down at the breakfast bar to eat my dinner, my blackberry buzzes with a text:

****Jewel, I think I'm in love.****

It's Al. These are words I never thought I would hear from him. This must be a test.

****Sure, you are.****

I wait for a response as I take another bite of my dinner.

****Seriously, Jewel. I think I have found the one.****

_The One?_ These words…from Al? Am I being punked? Seriously, where's Ashton Kutcher?

****Is it James?****

Almost immediately, he responds:

****Of course it's James! Who else would I be talking about?****

Okay, I was taught to never talk with food in my mouth but my blackberry is getting all greasy and gross and this conversation is way too intense for text. I hit speed dial 3 and put my blackberry on speaker.

"_Hello." _Al's disembodied voice comes over the speakerphone.

"How the hell was I supposed to know it was James? You change men like you change ties, Slut!" Al laughed loudly.

"_Well, that is true, but I just had the man over to your place three days ago. You had to know I was talking about him."_

"So is he any good in the sack?" Al giggles like a little girl.

"_Oh Em Gee, he is the best! I'm glad you didn't call Sunday morning 'cuz he wore me out!" _Now I'm jealous of my gay friend.

"So is there any reason why you wouldn't pursue this? I mean, he's a beautiful, chivalrous, delicious black man who makes a great living and…how does he feel about you?" There is a pause.

"_I don't know."_ I almost choke on my food.

"You don't know? What do you mean you don't know? You're falling head over heels for this guy and you don't know how he feels about you have I taught you nothing?" I say that last part all in one breath.

"_I know, Jewel, I know. I just can't help it…"_ I start thumbing through my mail as I listen to my friend drone on about his lovely bronze god and how he has unwittingly allowed James to sweep him off his feet. Although I mentally chastise him for not being more careful with his feelings, I totally understand how he could be so taken with James. I mean the guy is gay and _I_ was drooling over him on Saturday night…that is, before Edward showed up.

"So now what, Al? Do you just walk around with your heart on your sleeve and hope for the best or are you going to ask him how he feels about you? You don't want to get…" I stop mid-sentence when my eyes roll across a hand-written envelope from Montesano.

Ray.

I haven't spoken to him in a while, but that's more my fault than anybody's. Why didn't he just call me? Why did he write a letter? Is everything okay? Oh God, I am suddenly afraid to open the letter.

"_Jewel? Jewel? What's going on? Are you alright?"_ I completely forgot I was on the phone with Al.

"Yes Al, I'm fine. Listen, I have to call you back."

"_Jewel, is everything okay? Do you need me to come over there?_" He's concerned now.

"No. No, really, I'm fine. There's just something I need to do. I'll call you back." I end the call before he has a chance to ask any more questions. I shakily open the envelope and begin to read the letter:

_**Dear Annie,**_

_**I know it's been a while since we've talked. I haven't heard from you in a while and I would really like to know how you are doing. You know your mother and I don't talk unless there's a funeral involved, so I don't know much about what's going on in your life these days. I have something I really need to discuss with you and it needs to be face to face. I will be in Seattle next weekend. I'll be staying at the Inn at the Market. Please get in touch with me if you will be available to meet with me while I'm there. I'm really sorry about the letter, Annie, but I felt a little strange calling you after we hadn't talked for so long and I didn't want it to be awkward for either of us. I hope to hear from you soon and I hope you're doing well. **_

_**Love,  
**__**Ray**_

I am dumbfounded. Why wouldn't he just call? He's the only real "daddy" I've ever known, yet he sends me a letter to request a meeting? And why is he staying at a hotel? Why didn't he just ask to stay with me? I have plenty of room, he knows that. And what's going on that he has to stay in a hotel to visit in the first place? He lives less than 2 hours away! I know it's been a while since we talked (9 months to be exact), but he's still Ray and I'm still Annie. I just don't understand. It's not too late and I hope this is not too awkward. I pick up my blackberry and press speed dial 2.

"_Hello."_

"Hi Ray."

"_Hi, Annie. I guess you got my letter."_ I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Nobody writes letters anymore but bill collectors and lawyers, Ray. You had me scared." I answer softly.

"_I'm sorry, Annie. We just hadn't talked in a while and, well, you know—I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy."_

"You can always call me, Ray. I've been busy and I'm sorry we don't talk as much. But you can call me anytime…okay?" I say, almost pleading.

"_Okay, Annie. I won't forget."_ I can hear him smiling through the phone.

"So, what has you staying in Seattle overnight?"

"_Actually, it'll be more like a couple of days maybe, but I'd like to see you while I'm there."_

"Ray, why are you staying at a hotel? And the 'Inn?' That's never been your kind of place. Why don't you just stay with me?"

"_Well, Annie…" _he's having a hard time with this. Spit it out, Ray!

"What is it, Ray? Is something wrong?"

After another pause, he says, _"I'll be meeting someone there." _

"Meeting who?" I still didn't understand.

"_Well…"_ He's still pretty hesitant. Then the penny finally drops. He's meeting a woman!

"Oooooh!" I exclaim. You would think that as smart as I claim to be, I would have figured this out sooner. "Well, why didn't you just say so? Why all the secrecy?"

"_Well, I haven't seen anyone since your mother, and I just didn't want it to be awkward for you."_ He's so cute.

"You really are old fashioned, Dad. Mom remarried…and I'm not a kid anymore. I'm sure I can take it."

"_I love it when you call me that."_

"Call you what?"

"_Dad."_ I can hear him smiling again.

"Me too, Dad." I smile back. "So when will you be here?"

_"I'll drive in on Friday. I was thinking we could meet for dinner on Saturday?" _He questioned.

"Sure. I'll see you then."

"_Okay."_

"I love you, Dad."

"_I love you, too, Annie."_ I hang up the phone.

I could just choke Ray Steele! Why would he do that to me? Now I've got butterflies in my stomach and my dinner's gone cold. I cover the chicken and broccoli and put it in the refrigerator. Maybe I'll eat it later. I top off my chardonnay and take it along with the rest of the bruschetta over to the living room. My living room is also decorated to entertain small parties. I may not have a _significant_ _other _at this time, but I do love having my friends around.

The coffee table is actually four Bahama short legged coffee tables in a four-square pattern. On three sides of this creation are four Jax suede armless sofas. Two cream sofas sit side by side to make one long bench in the center. Two tan suede ottomans with mahogany trays sit on either end of the white sofas and act as end tables. Two chocolate brown Jax suede sofas are on either side forming a "C," also facing the coffee table arrangement. Each sofa has complimenting pillows and throws. On the wall opposite the white sofas is a built in gas fireplace and a large flat-screen television. Behind the white sofas are four large floor to ceiling windows that boast the Seattle skyline.

Before I have the opportunity to get comfortable with my bruschetta and chardonnay, there is a most earnest knock at the door. It's nearly 9:00! Who's coming to see me now? I'm looking through the peephole this time. The last time I had an uninvited guest, I ended up crying myself to sleep. I see the distorted view of a very perturbed Al on the other side of my door.

"Jewel, open this damn door!" I sigh heavily. I'm going to hear it for hanging up on him.

"Come in, Al," I groan, as I open the door.

"Don't take that tone with me, Missy! What the hell is going on?" Al strides in likes he owns the place.

"I told you I was fine. What are you doing here?"

He put his hands on his hips. "You stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. Then you got all creepy quiet, and then you hung up on me! What the hell did you expect me to do, Heifer?"

"Okay," I shift my weight to one foot and point in his face, "I'm not going to be too many more names, Al!"

"Save that sensitivity for somebody who cares! What the hell is going on?" He's dug his heels in and I'm not going to win this. I go back to the coffee table where I have left my chardonnay and bruschetta and take a seat on the couch.

"I got a letter from Ray." That got his attention.

"A letter? What are we in the 18th century? What did he say?"

"He's coming to Seattle in a couple of weeks and he wants to see me." I take a bite of the bruschetta.

"Why didn't he just call?" Al asked as he goes to the kitchen for his own glass of wine.

"I know, right? Scared the shit out of me! Who sends letters anymore? Letters are _always_ bad news!"

"So why did he send it?"

"He said that he was nervous because we hadn't talked in a few months, so he sent a letter instead of calling." Al makes a smacking noise with his lips.

"_Your_ dad." He chuckles as he takes a sip of his wine and sits next to me on the sofa.

"There's more." He leans in. "He's met someone. I've got a feeling he wants me to meet her."

"Well, go, Ray!" Al does a little wiggle of his head. "I guess he still got it, huh?"

"I guess he does." We laugh as we clink our wine glasses.

* * *

It's Thursday again. I am both looking forward to as well as dreading this day. I don't know which is more prevalent, but I guess we'll see after this afternoon's group session. For reasons of which I am not _entirely_ sure, I've decided to wear my Club L Fit and Flare cobalt blue dress with capped sleeves, fitted high waist, and soft pleated flare skirt. My uncertainty with this dress comes from the fact that it is cut to mini-length and I have completed the outfit with a black skinny belt with the gold buckle and black suede platform stiletto shoes. I could very easily wear this outfit out clubbing, but today I have decided to wear it to work. My hair is completely straightened, and I am always minimal on my make-up.

When I get to 239, they are all mulling around again like they need instructions before they take a seat. I soon discover why this is the case—at least with the women. As Mr. Grey stealthily makes his way to a seat, the women all shamelessly clamber to get the seat next to him. Evelyn went so far as to snatch one of the chairs next to Mr. Grey before Michelle was actually able to sit down. Not to be thwarted, Michelle dragged the next chair over to the space next to Mr. Grey and quietly declared victory. It was absolutely embarrassing to watch! It's a good thing that I let the participants be seated first and then I take whatever seat is left. I conspicuously drop my head, pop my neck, and get ready for another "thrilling" session.

"Good afternoon, everyone." The lemmings all respond with some various murmurings. "I normally like to start our sessions by asking if anyone has anything to share. I know that we don't really know each other yet, so I understand if no one is comfortable doing that right now. But hopefully as time goes on, we'll all loosen up a bit and get more relaxed around one another to open up a little more. So I'll start by asking –_does_ anyone have anything they would like to share? It can be anything—something good that happened through your day, somebody pissed you off, you had a bad hair day—anything? Anyone?"

Yet again, crickets.

"Okay, so for this session we are going to be doing some 'opening up' exercises. Last week we discovered why you were here and what you hoped to get out of these sessions. This week we are going to try to learn some things about you and maybe get you to open up a little to see how we can help you help yourselves. So I want you to take one of these and pass the rest around," I give a stack of handouts to the person on my right, which happens to be Frank—my other COA. "Just look it over, it should help to get you started on what you might want to say today."

I take a moment to let everyone read over the handouts then I say, "I like to make it easy for everyone by going first. This way, no one is put on the spot." I look over and notice that Mr. Grey is glaring at me and he has not taken his eyes off of me once, not even to take the handout. I start to speak anyway.

"As you all know, my name is Ana, short for Anastasia. It's a Russian name after Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna. It's not that my mother is a history buff or wanted me to have a strongly significant name, or anything like that…she just liked Ingrid Bergman a lot." This statement got a little chuckle out of the group. Thank God, they're alive!

"My favorite color is blue, I love jazz music—smooth jazz…words, horns, guitar, percussion...anything but Dixieland!"

Another laugh, we're getting warmer.

"I like to read…_like_, not a huge fan, just _like_…although I adore movies with subtitles. My favorite movie of all time is Breakfast at Tiffany's." Now the laughs get louder. I stand and put my hands on hips indignantly. "Don't laugh at me," I say, feigning hurt. "It is my dream to one day wear that black Givenchy Audrey Hepburn dress…or some cheaper knock-off anyway," I say waving my hands. Yet more laughter. "Then I'll put my hair in a bun, find myself a tiara, and eat my pastry while gazing into the window at all of that _delicious_ jewelry." I drop my head on the word _delicious_ as if I need to catch my breath. My audience applauds and I do a little mock curtsey before taking my seat. Mr. Grey has still not moved a muscle. He just sits there glaring at me. This guy is really starting to creep me out.

"Okay enough about me. Who wants to go next?"

"I'll go." A blonde a few seats over on the left raises her hand. I sit down and surrender the floor to her. "My name is Liz. And, like you, I have a 'Hollywood connection.'" She makes the quotation marks with her fingers. "My mom was completely obsessed with Elizabeth Taylor…when she was married to Richard Burton…the first time."

There's always one.

"I really love to dance…I've always wanted to dance professionally, but it never worked out for me…." I start to take notes as Liz goes on and on about her favorite things and her aspirations—after all, the whole idea is to get them to open up, right? I can't help but notice that Liz sounds a bit like a valley girl...

…And he's still glaring at me.

Kathy jumps at the opportunity to go next. No "Hollywood connection" or namesake to speak of, just Kathy—a Midwest girl who followed a job opportunity to Seattle…

…And he's still glaring at me.

Then came Evelyn, the lady who lost her bid for a seat next to Mr. Grey. Evelyn speaks with that practiced high society slur that sounds so pretentious that you want to just shake her and tell her "Shut up and start over." The entire time she's talking, she is using unnecessarily ostentatious wording so that nobody is really following what the hell she's saying, which is what I write in my notes…

…And he is still fucking glaring at me!

* * *

_**GREY**_

Let's see what you've got today, Ms. Steele. I will say she looks hot in this little blue number that she's wearing. It really brings out her eyes…hardly appropriate for work, though. And what the hell is this zoo going on next to me? One woman grabs a chair and the next one drags a seat over in its place. It's just a face, Ladies. _Control_ yourselves!

So now, she's going on about sharing—fuck if _that's_ going to happen—and then she passes out these instructions about breaking the ice and opening up. Yeah, give it up, Little Miss Doctor Girl. Not Christian Grey, and _certainly_ not here. I wonder how she likes really being the center of attention? Let's just see.

It takes a lot of control to stare at someone for 56 minutes. Elliot used to play that staring game with me when we were kids, and he always lost. The difference with that game is that you couldn't blink. Mine and Elliot's record is 97 minutes. With this little game, blinking doesn't matter. You see, with most adults, when you discover that you're staring at someone, the first reflex is break eye contact. I watch as she animatedly tells her story about wanting to be Audrey Hepburn and wear a tiara to Tiffany's.

No one does that sort of thing anymore, Sweetheart, but it is kind of cute.

Each time she turns her gaze to me, I fix my eyes on hers—like I'm trying to read her eyes and see what's behind them. What stories do those two missing years from your background check hold for you, Ms. Steele? I've conquered many companies, won many negotiations with that stare. Thanks, Lelliot. As expected, she breaks her gaze with me and moves on. I would expect that in this setting, though. I can concentrate my attention solely on you, Ms. Steele, but you can't concentrate your attention solely on me.

She looks over at me again, and I can see that I am starting to unnerve her. Good. Learn, Ms. Steele, _I_ am in control of this situation—even if I don't say a word. I guess she decides to grant herself a reprieve from these mindless drones (and my non-stop gaze, no doubt) by announcing the half-time break, at which time she beats a somewhat hasty retreat to the door. I know I've got her on edge, and I relish this kind of control. I haven't touched her, haven't said one word in an hour, but I've got her all flustered and unable to concentrate.

I check my blackberry and it appears that Elena has finally found a sub for me. Good, it only took you four fucking days. She's slipping. She's going to be really pissed off if I stop using her services, so she had better get it together. I see the puppy-dog-eye women trying to inch their way over to me. Oh, fuck, time to go. I dial Elena's number and start walking to the door for some privacy.

"Don't waste my time, Elena. What do you have for me?"

"_Well, hello to you, too, Christian!"_ She says, clearly affronted. Is she fucking kidding me?

"Are you honestly going to pretend like you didn't show up at my apartment three days ago pretending to have a sub for me when you didn't?" I say, brusquely. I am in the hallway now standing a few feet away from Taylor.

"_Oh, I _had_ a sub for you, Christian. You just didn't _want_ her. I did the best I could on such short notice."_ She whimpered, feigning injury. I so don't have time for this.

"Do you have one for me or not?" I say sternly. I am quickly losing my patience.

"_Yes, I do have one. _We_ will be at Escala at 8:00. Does that work out for you, _Mr. Grey_?"_ Oh, now she's attempting to be hurt as she stresses the "we." Just as I am about to tell Elena how full of shit she can be, Ms. Steele steps off the elevator and spots me. I can tell that she coming straight for me even though I am standing in front of the door to room 239. There's determination in her gaze. She's not going to the door, she's coming to me. That's right, Baby. Come on.

Where the fuck did that come from?

"_Christian, did you hear what I said?"_

"Yes, Elena. I'll see you at 8." I end the call just as Ms. Steele gets to me.

"Mr. Grey, may I speak to you for a moment please?" I pull my attention away from my blackberry.

"Is there something you need, Ms. Steele?" Yes, I'm still calling her "Ms." She sighs heavily. I can see her getting more and more irritated as each second passes.

"I would like to know why you are staring at me throughout the entire session!" She folds her arms.

"I don't know what you mean, Ms. Steele. I'm just paying attention." I say flatly.

"Yes, just to _me_! There are 19 other people in the class, most of which had the floor today, and you spend the last hour staring at _me_!"

"Maybe I find you interesting, Ms. Steele." I'm really starting to like this little game. She's rubbing her forehead like she's trying to rid herself of a headache.

"Mr. Grey," she hasn't raised her head yet or released her forehead, "I have a job to do, and I am only trying to do my job. I don't have anything against you personally. I think things would go a lot better for both of us if we both just do what we need to do to get through this as easily as possible." She looks up at me with frustrated, hopeful eyes. Poor little naïve Doctor Girl.

"But that's what I'm doing, Ms. Steele." I smirk. "I'm not going to talk about myself at all in that group of people so that someone can sell a story to the first tabloid that will listen. And quite frankly, the life stories of poor deserted housewives and mentally impotent men don't interest me in the slightest." I take a step closer and close the distance between us a bit. "The most interesting thing in that room to me is _you_." I can hear her breath hitch. I laugh to myself as I watch her swallow heavily and walk around me back into the room. I looked over at Taylor, who just dropped his head as I chuckle to myself. This is more fun than I thought it would be.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

What the hell is this man doing? What is the purpose of this exercise? I'm not trying to win a battle of wills here, I'm just trying to do my damn job! He is not accustomed to not getting his way and he is clearly not going to stand for losing. I really can't deal with this shit.

During the second half of the class, I have decided to close my eyes and hold my forehead while I listen to the bios, except for when I open my eyes to take some notes. It is an attempt to keep eyes from darting over to Mr. Grey every five minutes as well as a futile attempt to quell this headache that has now decided to wreak havoc on my psyche.

I am listening to one of the participants doing their "opening up" exercise when she stops to ask me if I am paying attention. Since she has been droning on for about the last 15 minutes, I am able to basically recite back to her the last few sentences that she said, after which I apologize to the class for my posture, informing them that I am fighting off a massive headache. I never look up at Mr. Grey again for the rest of the session, or anyone else for that matter. I am sure that I cannot effectively facilitate these classes this way, but today, I'm just trying to get through it.

I was almost too thrilled when this particular session was over. I couldn't wait to get out of the room. I was stopped by Ronald Carlisle—the director of the center—just as I was passing his office.

"How's the class going, Ana?" He said, meeting me in the hallway. I wanted to throw my papers in the air and run down the hallway screaming.

"Same as always, Ron," I say rubbing my head, "except…" Just as I was about to formulate my sentence, I feel him before I see him. Mr. Grey and Mr. MIB are coming up behind me. Please let them pass, I think to myself. The last thing I want is to have a conversation with this man right now. With my head still down, I watch his Cesare Paciotti Italian leather shoes stride past me and over to the elevator.

"Was that Christian Grey?" Ron asked, keeping his voice low.

"Yes. Yes, it was," I say, my voice full of dread as Mr. Grey and his shadow enter the elevator. "Ron, he is the worst. I can't begin to tell you how miserable he is making me."

"Oh, come on, Ana, it can't be _that_ bad," Ron answers incredulously, leaning against the door frame.

"It's worse, Ron. He's a power player and he wants everyone around him to know it…at all costs."

"How did he end up here?" Ron asked.

"Court-ordered."

"Ugh!" Ron shook his head. I guess it's all becoming clear now. "Of course he tried to bribe you get out of the sessions." I shook my head.

"I never gave him the chance. He was in my office the _first night_, and I just told him that it wasn't going to happen before he even asked." I'm still rubbing my forehead, but I guess I had better stop before I draw blood.

"So, you guys certainly aren't friends right now." Ron muses.

"Let's just say I don't see any cocktail parties in our future!" I say, mocking happy excitement.

"I wouldn't want to be you right now, Kid." He said, patting me on the back. I walked over to the elevator and pushed the button.

"Ron," he turned to look at me, "Don't call me 'Kid,'" I said stepping into the elevator.

* * *

**A/N: Review are always appreciated! **


	6. Chapter 6: Grey Nights

**_To Jaiminidave23: Fanfiction wouldn't let me send you a PM but thank you so much for your review. As you requested, HERE'S MORE! _**

**_To anailuj: Thanks for your continued support. I wish I could respond to you personally, but I do appreciate your reviews._**

**_To my "kinkers": Love you all—you know who you are._**

**_I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too._**

**Chapter 06—Grey Nights**

I am sitting on my couch in the great room when Elena arrives. She gives me her phony little air kiss then presents me with this beautiful bite-size brunette doll. She is magnificent. I don't know where Elena found this one, but she is a true beauty. Long natural eyelashes that frame deep green eyes, a luscious pouty mouth, lovely pale skin and beautiful supple breasts.

"What's your name?" I ask the tender little morsel in front of me.

"Greta Ellison, Sir." She says, softly. I felt my cock twitch watching her mouth move. I want to do some unthinkable things to this little dish. I walk around her to examine the merchandise. Greta…is that her real name? I don't do pseudonyms, but Elena knows that.

"You've done the preliminary background check?" I ask Elena.

"Of course, Christian," she say slightly affronted. "I'm not new to this you know." She reaches into her purse and pulls out some documentation. "Here is her NDA and a list of her hard limits." I take the list from Elena and scan it briefly before telling Elena, "Leave us. I would like some time alone with Ms. Ellison. I will contact you when we are done."

Elena and Greta exchange glances, after which Elena air kisses me once more and leaves. "Please, sit, Ms. Ellison." I watch her as she walks over to my sofa to take a seat. She's knows I'm watching her walk. I want her to know. I want her to want to please me. Her long chocolate hair stops just short of her round, firm ass. Very nice ass. I can do wonderful things to that ass. I have to adjust my pants before I go over to the sofa.

"How long have you been a sub, Ms. Ellison?"

"I've been in the community for seven years, Sir." She says, her head down, hands on her thighs. Nice.

"You may look at me." She raises her head slowly and makes eye contact. Control, Grey. She hasn't signed anything yet. I caught the distinction in her answer. That's what makes me a shrewd businessman.

"Have you always been a sub?"

"No, Sir." Intriguing.

"You've been a Domme before." It's more a statement than a question.

"Yes, Sir, I have." There's still something else. I can hear it.

"What was your last position?"

"Sub, Sir."

"And why did you leave your Dom?'

"She locked me in her playroom for three days, Sir." _She_. "Captivity is a hard limit for me."

"So you're bisexual?"

"Yes Sir."

"Which do you prefer?" I lean back on the sofa.

"May I speak freely, Sir?"

"Right now, I'd prefer it." She smiles seductively. She sits back on the sofa and crosses her legs.

"I can't say that I like one more than the other because I like them both for different reasons. A woman's body is soft and supple. She has the curve of her breast and her hips, the pliancy of her thighs and her ass. You touch her in the right way and her body sings. All you want to do is explore the mysteries of her skin. Her smell is intoxicating and her taste is divine." I am fascinated. She's not telling me anything I didn't already know; it's just interesting to hear it from a woman—from _anyone_ else's mouth for that matter.

"And a man?" I ask, using a little of my Dom voice. She smiles seductively again.

"Ah, a man…now that's a different flavor altogether. You see, most men are dominant by nature. Their bodies are strong and chiseled, made to conquer. With a man, it's more about _him_ taking _me_ than it is with _me_ taking _him_. Strong chests, arms, and backs. There is a force in his handling and his demeanor." She's squirming a bit as she speaks and I can tell, she prefers men over women, but I won't expose her—at least not yet.

"Men have strong thighs that get hard when they fuck, just like their dick. And their ass contract and flex. Their arousal scent is much different. It's musky and enticing. There are parts of a woman that has to be taken, but a man has to _allow_ you to take him. A woman gets hot, and she moans, but a man gets _hard_." For fuck's sake, it's everything I can do not to jump this woman right here on the couch.

"He has his own little toy that you can play with. Nothing else feels like it, smells like it, or tastes like it. You get to play with it and watch it grow and suck it and when you're done, you get a prize." She smiles fiendishly when she says that. I am sure that my cock is going to explode out of my pants any minute.

"But that's not the best part."

Oh shit, there's more.

"When a woman comes, she arches her back. When a man comes, he grabs whatever part of your body is satisfying him and thrusts his hips forward." I never really paid attention to that…but she's right. "That is…_if_ you're doing it right." She adds. Oh, she's good.

"So which do you prefer as subs and which as Doms?" She has me so intrigued.

"As subs, either…both serve a purpose. As Doms, definitely men." Oh, now she really has my attention.

"Why is that, Ms. Ellison?"

"It seems like women as Dommes feel like they have something to prove. It's not about satisfaction or pleasure or tension release or any of those things. It's almost always about pure dominance—total control and _nothing_ _else_. It's like she has to prove that she has as much power as a man, and that's not what the community should be about. It's about trust and of course control, but not like that."

"But how does that differ from a man?"

"Well," she folds her hands and contemplates her answer, "I can't speak for everyone, but all of my Doms…it's been about pleasure and pain; about control, yes, that's the definition of a Dom, but controlling my pleasure, my pain, my punishments, my orgasms, my obedience...not my mind and my behavior and everything about me." She seems to be going back to a time and place where this has happened to her before, but she waved it away. "Case and point, most female Dommes are boss with a whip, while most male Doms prefer floggers and cats."

"You got me there, but I must warn you. I am a master with a cane." Her eyes widen a bit. We may have to discuss that one in soft limits. "Why do you think that is, Ms. Ellison?" She looks at me bemused.

"Why you're a master with a cane?" I chuckle a bit. That _is_ the last thing I said, isn't it?

"I mean why do you think women prefer whips and men prefer floggers and cats?"

"Oh, that's easy. It's all about purpose. Whips are _all_ about pain. It takes no finesse to crack a whip, maybe a little style and a lot of power, but no finesse. But the things a cat can do…" She looks almost dreamy, longing…fucking hell! "The perfect flick of a flogger or a cat can be exquisitely excruciating…or excruciatingly exquisite. Whichever works for you."

"And which do you prefer, being a sub or being a Domme?" She turns to me and rests her elbow on the back of the sofa while leaning her head on her fist.

"Whatever the situation calls for." She purrs.

She is topping from the bottom, and it's almost unbearable. I pull out my blackberry and text Elena the Ms. Ellison is ready to leave. Elena is at my door almost immediately. What the hell…did she sit in the fucking parking lot?

I walk Elena and Ms. Ellison to the door where we shake hands. "It has been _most_ enlightening, Ms. Ellison."

"Yes, it has, Sir. I hope we meet again." She coos. I smile.

Elena is a bit bewildered and says in my ear, "Did it go well, Christian?" She's masking her question. What she really wants to know is why Ms. Ellison is not staying.

"I'll be in touch." I respond.

"Should I keep looking?" She's still looking for answers.

"I'll be in touch." I repeat, and she knows that's the only answer she's going to get. She turns around almost military style and marches out of the room. She was my Domme for six years—a position she clearly doesn't seem to understand is not in effect anymore.

I walk into my bedroom running my hands through my hair. I turn on the shower and watch the steam fill the en suite.

Greta Ellison is perfect. Abso-fucking-lutely perfect. Where has Elena been hiding _her_ all of this time?

So why aren't we discussing hard and soft limits right now?  
Why didn't I have her sign a contract and proceed with a full background check?  
Why aren't I making arrangements to decorate the sub's room to her specifications?  
Or for Carolyn Acton to provide me with a new wardrobe in her size?  
Or for a new A8 to be delivered next week?

I get undressed for my shower and I noticed that our conversation has left me, once again, hard as a fucking rock. Fuck! I step into the shower and begin to wash my hair. My dick is pulsating like a horny teenager, and exercise and cold water are _not_ going to take care of this one. I'm going to have to take matters into my own hand.

I grab my cock and start to stroke slowly. I close my eyes and there is the vision of a brown-haired beauty tied to the four-poster bed in my playroom, eagle-spread and ready. She is blindfolded and waiting for me, her beautiful pink bud open and glistening.

"Fuck."

I am stroking the soft skin of her thighs as I crawl on top of her, but I don't stop at her sex. I crawl up to her mouth and part her lips with the tip of my cock. Her lips close over the head and she licks the slit with her tongue.

"Shit!" I stroke harder as I imagine pushing my dick further into her pink pouty lips while she is lying on red satin sheets. I am fucking her mouth, slowly and deeply. I push myself further in and grind my hips until I am filling her hot, wet orifice over and over as I support my weight on my arms.

"Fuck! Fuck!" I'm stroking myself fast and hard now as I see her raise her head to meet my thrust. With one of my hands, I remove her blindfold—and her eyes are blue!

It's Anastasia!

She is sucking me hard and fast and I am fucking her mouth relentlessly on the bed in my playroom!

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" I come ferociously in the shower. If this were anywhere else, I'd have one hell of a mess to clean up. I can hardly fucking breathe. I lean against the shower wall while I try to get some air into my lungs and some strength back in my legs.

"Fuck me…" I can't remember the last time I came that hard, much less from jerking myself off! What the hell is this? I've got the perfect sub just _waiting_ for a contract. Why the fuck am I thinking about Little Miss Doctor Girl?

* * *

_**STEELE**_

_He is hovering over me and I can feel his hot breath on my lips. _

"_Edward, no." I protest weakly. _

"_Please, Baby, just let me take care of you." He's kissing my neck and his hand goes to my breast. I moan softly as he teases my breast with his finger tip, no pinching, just rubbing. Then he's kissing my chest, my navel, and right at my pubic line. _

"_Edward!" I moan. He feels so good, and it's been so long. _

"_Oh Baby. Let me taste you." His lips move to my sex and gently he licks my clitoris once, twice… "Oh, Eddie…"At the mention of his nickname, he heightens his assault. He is relentless. His hands are clamped down on my thighs, holding me open and preventing my escape. _

"_Ah…ah…Eddie…oh…my God…Eddie…" I am building higher and higher until I explode, loudly calling his name and arching my back off the bed as he licks and teases every bit of my release from me. He starts to kiss his way back up my body as I am breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat covering my skin. And when I look up at him, I come face to face with piercing grey eyes and flopsy copper-colored hair. _

"_Grey!" I gasp._

I sit straight up in my bed, alone—no Edward, no Grey—still breathing hard, still sweating, my clit still throbbing from my nocturnal orgasm. What the fuck was that? Fucking hell! I can't have a wet dream about Gilles Marini or Patrick Dempsey. No, I have to fucking come on myself dreaming of a no-good lying cheating ass bastard and a self-absorbed, egotistical, arrogant asshole! I say again, fucking hell! I look at the clock. 5:34a.m. I might as well get up. It looks like I'm going to need a shower anyway!

"Good morning, Marilyn," I say as I walk into the waiting room of my practice.

"Good morning, Dr. Steele. Coffee?" Marilyn is extra chipper this morning.

"Please? Thank you." I take my mail from her desk and walk into my office. Nothing of any real importance this morning. I turn on my computer to look at my calendar. Three appointments this morning and one for this afternoon. Oh, and Ray will be here this evening. Not that I forgot, but it's not like I have to set up the guest room or anything. I like days like this. I like dealing with my one-on-one patients enough, but short days and then afternoons to myself, I really like that. The three days that I am in the office are usually jam packed with patients from morning to late evening and sometimes into the night, but not today. I can't help feeling a bit bereft though. I do my group sessions at the community center on a volunteer basis, but I just don't feel like I'm getting through to these people. I want to be able to help them, but they all seem to have their fists clenched so tightly on the past that they can't open up to the future.

_Sounds familiar, doesn't it?  
_Oh hell, do I really have to spend my day with this Bitch?  
_Get over it, Steele. There's only one way to get rid of me and you don't strike me as the suicidal type._

If I were, I sure as hell would be dead by now, wouldn't I?

_Why the hell do you think you're having wet dreams about men that you say you don't want?"  
_Fuck if I know.  
_Oh, you know.  
_Oh Great Guru! Please tell me! I can probably figure out why I'm dreaming about Edward, but why Grey?  
_One represents your past, and one your future. I have to tell you this, really? You're the one with the degree!_

Okay, I'm crazy! I'm officially crazy. I'm literally having an argument in my head with myself—and I'M LOSING! Wait a minute...

How the fuck does Grey represent my future?  
_When is the last time you got some?_ Snarky Bitch.  
You know the last man I was with was Edward.  
_And now this hot hunk of deliciousness walks into your life and as much as he is pissing you off, you're having wet dreams about him. YOU NEED TO GET LAID!_

Oh, I so hate when that Bitch is right. But I'm not going to go out and offer myself up to just anybody. And my battery-operated-boyfriend is just not cutting it these days.

It's been three and a half years…  
_Nearly four…  
_I get it, okay?

Maybe it _is_ time for me to get back out there. And all of this before I've even had my coffee…

* * *

"Hi Ray. How was your drive?" I called Ray as soon as I got home.

"_It was fine, Annie. A little tiring, but overall it was okay."_

"Did you get settled in okay?"

"_Just fine, Just fine. I'm probably going to order up some room service or something and watch the Mariners game." _

"Do you want me to come see you, Ray?"

"_It's Friday night. I know you must have some kind of plans other than spending the night with a cantankerous old man!"_ I laugh.

"You're not old and you're not cantankerous, Ray!"

_"Well, I'm glad you said that. Nonetheless, you need to go out and be young!"_

"Well, as a matter of fact, I do have plans. The gang and I are going out to meet Garrett's new girlfriend." I think I heard my father gasp.

"_Garrett has a girlfriend?"_ He asked incredulously.

"I know, right?" I laugh. "But it's true. He dropped the bomb on us last week."

"_Well,_ w_ell, well._" Ray got a little quiet. I could smell the smoke from across town. His gears are turning.

"Ray…." I begin scolding.

"_I know, Annie. I know. It just seems like that Edward guy _broke_ you, and after everything that's happened…"_

"Please, Dad," I plead, "Let's not bring it up right now." I heard my father sigh.

"_I just don't want to see you end up alone, Annie. No one deserves to be alone. Remember that."_ I wipe a stray tear from my cheek.

"Okay, Dad. I will. I'll see you at dinner tomorrow?"

"_Sure, Annie. Talk to you soon."_

Goodnight, Dad."

We have agreed to gather at a charming little spot called "The Hideout" to meet Garrett's girl. At first, the name made me a little uneasy. It turns out that it's this kind of cute artsy bar downtown, and I know Garrett had to pick it. From the outside, you would never know it was a bar. It looks like someone's small office, like legal aid or something. But once you cross the threshold, it's like a time warp! The bar is dimly lit by large crystal chandeliers, with just the right amount of glamour, style, and culture. The dark red walls are covered in eclectic artwork all by local artists. It has a "speakeasy" charm to it. Al, James, and I sat on the green leather bench that lined the wall underneath some of the artwork while Maxie and Phil sat in chairs opposite us sipping their drinks. We were all talking about how our week had gone and I did everything possible to steer the conversation away from me. I could not dodge the bullet for long, but luckily when it finally did get to me, Vivacious Valerie showed up with her latest conquest and stole the show.

"This is Charles Knight everyone. Charles, this is Ana, Maxie, Phil, Al and…I'm so sorry, I forgot your name," Val looks at James contritely. He showed all 32 of his pearly whites as he offered his hand for Charles to shake.

"Don't worry about it, Valerie. Hi, I'm James." Charles shakes his hand.

"Nice to meet you all." He says as he and Valerie take a seat. And true to Val's prototype, he's six two, blonde hair, blue eyes, gorgeous, but way too metro-sexual for my taste…perfect for Val, though.

"So," she leans in to the table like she is about to reveal government secrets, "What do you guys think? Is she going to be a bookworm, the artsy type, or a real hottie?" As everyone is throwing in their votes on what they think Garrett's new girlfriend looks like, I have a bird's-eye view of the door…and here they come. Without taking my eyes off of the couple headed towards us, I announce, "I vote for hottie."

Everyone at the table follows my gaze and then fall silent. Our shy, six-foot, bookworm Garrett has gone out and found himself a butterfly…and she is gorgeous! She can't be taller than 5' 3" and Gary towers over her. She's got short, curly strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. Her figure is a astounding and her skin is flawless.

"Hi everybody," Garrett said nervously as he approached the table.

"Well, hi, Gary. Who's your friend?" Maxie breaks the ice for us all.

"This is Bethany Shepherd." Gary is sporting the biggest smile I have ever seen in the entire six years that I've known him. We all welcome Bethany to our little group and she seems to fit right in. We all get our rags in at poor little Gary's expense, but hey, he's like the little brother none of us have…I think. Bethany hangs on to him for dear life, but I think it's more because of the new people and surroundings.

I take this moment to look around at the beautiful artwork on the walls. They range from animals to people to abstract shapes and colors. There's even a picture of a retro big-wheel as well as a full-figured woman in a polka-dot bikini hanging over the bar. I suddenly feel a little guilty letting my mind wander off instead of talking to my friends, and then I realize they wouldn't have missed me anyway. Maxie and Phil are always all over each other and every other couple—Allen and James, Valerie and Charles, and Garrett and Bethany—are all cooing at each other submerged in their new love. And that's when it hits me—like a freight train. I am officially the third wheel—or in this case, the ninth wheel. There is not another "single" person in this group now…it's just me. And after the discussion that I had with The Bitch earlier, I feel like the bearded lady in the circus sitting amongst a band of super models. I have to get out of here—now!

I reach for my purse and pull out my wallet. I hand Allen $20 for the sodas that I drank. "I have to go home. I really have a massive headache." I lie.

"Do you need me to drive you, Babe?" He looks concerned and James is looking over his shoulder at me.

"Oh no, please, stay. I'll be fine. I think I just really need some rest. It's been one hell of a week." I rub my forehead and I have learned that is my tell-tale sign that all is definitely not well.

"Are you sure?" Al is very skeptical.

"What's wrong, Ana?" Val has now picked up on my "tell," and now the attention of the entire table is focused on me. Oh God, the very _last_ thing I need right now is pity.

"Please, guys, it's no big deal. I'm going home. I'm tired and my head hurts. It felt the headache coming on before I got here but I really wanted to meet Bethany. Please don't let me spoil your fun. It'll just make me feel worse." I plead.

"Well, at least let one of us take you home," Maxie bargains. I sigh. I realize that I cannot negotiate with these people. I just have to leave. I stand up and pick up my purse. Time to make a speedy getaway.

"No really, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself." I bend down and kiss Al. "It was so nice meeting you Bethany, Charles. You guys have a good time!" I plaster on my biggest fake smile and wave as I make my escape.

I am so glad to get out into the air…and so depressed at the same time. I get in the car and sit in the driver's seat for a moment. If I sit here for too long, I am sure that one of them is going to follow me out to the parking lot. I start the ignition, throw that puppy in gear, and drive home as fast as I can.

I now find myself sitting in the parking garage, alone. I've turned off the car and I just sit there. I just walked out on all of my dearest friends at one of the coolest hangouts I have ever seen at 9:30 on a Friday night because I was the only one in the group that didn't have a date. I feel the tears streaming down my face before I even realize that I am crying. I am waiting for The Bitch to say something snarky right now. I realize that she must be cuddled in a corner wrapped in a Snuggie wallowing in self-pity as well because she has nothing to say.

Edward sent me to the furthest reaches of paranoia when he cheated on me. I knew something was going on all along, but I didn't have any proof. I was running around like a crazy woman trying to connect the dots. It was right there in my face all along. Everybody knew it, but I couldn't swallow it. I don't know if I was hopelessly in love, afraid to be alone, or simply didn't want to lose him.

He so vehemently denied everything and I was living on the very edge of sanity. I knew what my gut was telling me; I knew what the signs were telling me; but he was steering my fragile heart and mind in a completely different direction. I lived in Paranoiaville for months until Al literally dragged me to the restaurant where he and Charlotte were having dinner that night. There was absolutely no mistaking the intimacy between them, and in what I like to call the "three-second-funnel," our entire relationship flashed through my mind:

All of the times that I _knew_ something was going on and he told me I was wrong.  
The times that I begged him not to stay out all night and asked him what the hell was going on and he convinced me that I was being paranoid.  
The times that I pleaded with him to make love to me, but instead he left and was gone for hours, leaving me unsatisfied time and time again.  
The strange phone calls, all the secrecy, women being so cozy with him when we went out to functions, different pseudonyms that he had—it was as clear as day.

But I chose to ignore it.

I was miserable, unhappy, and lonely for months.

And he just let me suffer while he ran the streets doing what he wanted to do with whomever he wanted to do it.

I doubted myself, I doubted my worth, I doubted everything.

I almost dropped out of school.

In that three seconds of clarity, standing in that restaurant, watching him snuggle up to this other woman, all of the heartache and crap and madness ran through my head and five words came out of the funnel:

_**I was right all along. **_

I remember walking over to the table, looking at him directly in his face, and walking out without saying a word. There was really nothing to say. I could never be that woman again—that paranoid, lonely, broken woman. I would never be her again.

He didn't come home that night. He always felt like it was better ask forgiveness than permission. Whoever thought of that rule should have added a qualifier. Be prepared to lose that fight if you make that decision, because hearing "no" when you ask for permission is a easier than hearing "no" when you ask for forgiveness. That night, I had a 24-hour locksmith come and change my locks for me. The next day, I asked Allen to come over and pack his things for me, which he was only too happy to do. Edward didn't even have any remorse until several months later when he came back begging for forgiveness and I refused to talk to him.

And now every few months for the past three and a half years, that's what he has done. He never leaves me alone and as soon as I think he's gone, he shows up again trying to insert himself back into my life like nothing has happened. And now I get it. I get what the Bitch was trying to get me to see. When I said that the members of the group sessions all seem to have their fists clenched so tightly on the past that they can't open up to the future, it was a mirror into myself. I have shut myself off from love and affection for three and a half years because Edward _broke_ me, just like Ray said! He really _broke_ me! And while I'm running around trying to fix the ails of the world, I haven't even fixed what's wrong with me yet! It's high school all back over again.

_Physician, heal thyself.  
_Her only three words all night.

I put my head on the steering wheel and cried until it felt like my chest was going to cave in.

* * *

"ANA! Fuck! Ana! Wake the fuck up!" It's not the yelling that wakes me. It's the banging. And it's right next to my head. Where the hell am I?

"ANASTASIA ROSE STEELE!"

Okay, somebody used my full name. I am in _trouble_! I open my eyes to see that I am still in my car in the parking garage. Shit, I fell asleep in my car? I turn to my left and I see a very irate Allen looking at me though the window. He is _pissed_! He rarely ever calls me Ana, let alone Anastasia, but this time he has used my full _government_ name. I hit the automatic locks to open the door.

"Why are you here, Al?" My head is banging now.

"I could ask you the same damn thing! What the hell, Heifer?" He's standing there with his hands on his hips as I try to gather myself to get out of the damn car. "Well?"

"I fell asleep." I finally get out of the car.

"No shit, Sherlock!" He said, closing the car door behind me. "You scared the shit out of me! I thought you were dead, Cow!"

"Well, I'm not!" I say walking to the elevator. "I just have a massive headache." Allen stops walking.

"Are you telling me that your head hurt so bad that you couldn't make it up to the apartment?" He is concerned.

"No," I say, honestly. "I'm telling you my head hurts now."

"Mm hmm," he's shaking his head as he enters the elevator, "that's what I thought."

"Really, Allen, why are you here at..." I look at my watch, "...12:30 on a Friday night?" I ask, sitting at my dining room table.

"Actually, it's Saturday morning, and I came to see about you." He handed me two Advil and a glass of orange juice.

"Well, I'm fine." He snapped his head at me like I had just slapped him.

"The hell you are! I just found you passed out in your car in the parking lot in the wee hours of the morning. I think it's safe to say you are definitely _not_ _fine_!" He's rolling his head on every word. Dear God, he's worse than a father.

FATHER! I have to meet Ray later! Shit.

"Why are you here instead of with James?" I put my elbows on the bar and lean my forehead in my hands. Al takes a seat and sighs heavily.

"Because we have been friends for 14 years and I know when you're handing me a load of bullshit." I look into the eyes of my best friend and I know I can't hide anything from him.

"What exactly do you think is going on, Al?" I say, fighting back the tears.

"I think you were smack dab in the middle of 'summer love' and you were the only 'stag' at the party." With his usual precision, he has hit the nail on the head. I fight the tears—I will _not_ cry again. He sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulders.

"Does everybody know?" I say, my voice thick and heavy.

"I think Val may have a clue but everybody else is pretty much zoned." My shoulders shake as my body shivers from unshed tears. I am completely humiliated.

"He broke me, Al," I squeak. "I'm so closed off, I don't even know _how_ to put myself out there anymore." Al rubs my back.

"As hot as you are, you don't know how to put yourself out there? It's time to go clubbin', Honey."

"Oh-ho, no…" I groan. "I don't want to meet some random guy from a club." Al laughs at me.

"You're not trying to marry him, Honey. You're just trying to get yourself out there again, break the ice, maybe even dust the pipes a bit…"

"Al!" I exclaim, horrified.

"Seriously, Jewel, when's the last time you got some? Edward?" Oh good God, and the Bitch's words come back to haunt me.

"Al, please…." I get up from the breakfast bar and walk to my bedroom, knowing that he will follow me.

"I'm just saying, Jewel. A good dustin' and cleanin' might be just what you need!" He can be so vulgar sometimes. I reach in my chest of drawers and pull out my light blue Shimera silk pajama short set. I know he might be right, but casual sex has just never been my thing.

"Al, you know I'm not into that kind of thing. I never have been." I go into my en suite to change into my pajamas.

"Well it might be time for a change!" He yells through the door. "Try something new! You never know what might happen."

"Yes, I do know what might happen! I go into a club looking for a little fun and I come out with a stalker, a loser, a cheater, or a disease."

"Come on, Jewel. We're not talking about some North Seattle, Aurora Avenue hole in to wall. I wouldn't do that to you. We're talking about the McElvoy, Honey. Classy crowd, good food and drink, and great music. And I will be your designated driver, so I do intend to get you drunk." I surface from the bathroom in my pajamas.

"And, pray tell, when will this revelry take place?" I ask, removing the duvet from my bed.

"Tomorrow night, my precious flower…well, tonight I should say."

"Did you forget I have this thing with Ray tonight?" I protest.

"You are pretty certain that Ray is meeting you to tell you about his woman, right?"

"Right." I say, yawning and climbing into bed.

"You won't be with Ray all night." Al comes over and pulls the covers over me. Kissing me on the forehead, he says, "Love you, Jewel."

"Love you more." I almost start crying again. He turns of the light as he's leaving.

"Call me when you're done with Ray, and we are breaking you out of jail." He winks at me and closed my bedroom door. I can hear him leave the apartment and lock my deadbolt with his emergency key. I'm going clubbing tomorrow. Not necessarily something that I'm really looking forward to, but he's right. I have to get back out there. I've been living like a hermit for years now.

I close my eyes and slip into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_**GREY**_

My fingers flow effortlessly over the ebony and ivory keys of my piano. The music is beautiful and soothing and, as usual, I can't sleep.

Once I have completed the piece, I go over to the glass wall and look out over sleeping Seattle. Business has been going very well. I have closed three acquisitions this week and I am working on a fourth. What's more, I have found the perfect potential sub in Greta. Her background check confirms everything in our conversation; she is beautiful, sexy, and experienced. I don't doubt that she would be everything that I need.

So why is it that chestnut hair and blue eyes haunt me when I close my eyes?

* * *

_**A/N: "Physician, heal thyself." The Holy Bible, KJV Luke 4:23**_

_**Please review!**_


	7. Chapter 7: Let Your Hair Down

**_There is something that happened in the original FSOG when Christian first met Ana that most people are aware of (I think), but some people seem to have missed it, so I thought I'd address it here. For those of you who may have missed the fact or just looked over it, when Christian first met Ana—HE WAS LOOKING FOR A SUB! ("Le gasp—say it aint so!") Yep, that's what he was doing! _**

**_Now, I thought that was common knowledge by now, but I keep getting continual guest reviews telling me that they will stop reading my story if Christian fucks a sub. So I just thought I would bring it to your attention that THAT'S WHAT HE DOES…HE FUCKS SUBS—HARD! ("Blasphemer! Stop your lies!"). No, really, it's true! _**

**_He met Ana, he liked Ana—but he wanted her to be his SUB! In my story, he met Ana, they hate each other, but he's still looking for a SUB! Is he going to fuck the sub? I'll tell you when and if it happens. Until then, stop _telling_ me that you are not going to read my story if he fucks a sub and just STOP READING. I'll be fine…I promise. If you stop reading my story because Christian fucked a sub, I promise you that I will still most likely wake up tomorrow with a pulse. That is all…_**

**_On to better things:_**

**_Hey jaiminidave23: Thanks again for your review, Hon. Click on your name in gold on the fanfiction website in the upper right corner next to "Logout". In the menu on the left hand side, click "Account" and then "settings" in the drop down. On that page, scroll down to "account options" and click the "Yes" button for "Accept Private Messages" and you should be all set to get private messages. Keep reading me! I love your reviews!_**

**_To anailuj: Thank you again for sticking with me. I always love reading your reviews!_**

**_I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too._**

Chapter 07—Let Your Hair Down

_**STEELE**_

I'm at the front desk of the Inn at the Market waiting for Ray to come down from his room. I'm wondering if his new girlfriend will be joining us right away? I would like a little time with my dad first but who knows? I didn't really know what to wear tonight, so I settled on a grey Alfani sleeveless ruched blouse with the matching Alfani black skinny zip-pocket pants with grey kidskin stilettos with lightly jeweled platforms and heels. Ray is always kind of casual. So I'm not surprised when I see him step off the elevator in black jeans and white polo…alone.

"Hi Dad." I hug Ray as he approaches the front desk.

"Hey Annie. You're looking good." He returns my hug. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, Dad. No more letting this much time go by again, okay?" Ray holds up three fingers close together.

"Scouts honor."

Ray has reservations at Mache' and the reservation is for three, so I assume that our guest should be joining us soon. I take this time to find out what has brought my dad to Seattle, besides the obvious.

"Well, I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone. I'm trying to get this new client. It could really make or break my business right now."

"I didn't the business was in trouble," I say bemused.

"I've been doing okay so far, more or less breaking even with a little profit, but you know I can't go on like that indefinitely. So, hopefully I'll get this contract which could lead to some other smaller contracts and everything will be okay."

"And what if you don't get the contract?" Ray sighs heavily.

"Then I might have to consider bankruptcy."

"Bankruptcy?" I ask horrified. "Is that the only other option?"

"It might be, Annie. I tried to get a loan from the bank but my financials aren't that strong, so the bank considers me a bad risk." I shake my head.

"Is there anything I can do?" I ask.

"Now, Annie. I did _not_ come down here for a hand out." I knew Ray wouldn't accept any help from me. He's too proud, but I had to ask. "Don't worry about your old man. I'll be just fine." He smiles that warm smile that always makes everything okay. "So…tell me what's been going on with you lately? It's been a while since we talked."

I don't bother asking when our guest is going to show up because I keep expecting her to walk in any second. We ordered drinks and I told Ray about the volunteer work that I'm doing at the community center.

"Well, it sounds like a really good thing you're doing, but…you don't sound really excited about it." He observes. I sip my wine and sigh.

"It's just not what I thought it would be." I have to admit that I am completely disillusioned about my work at the community center. "When I interned at CCFW, those people had real problems and they were looking for real solutions. These people," I shake my head, "it seems like they just want to whine about where they are, but they don't want to change. You know I got into this because of…well…what happened to me…" We never talk about that in detail; we just kind of brush over it. Ray nodded as he respects my feelings on that particular topic. "I wanted to make a difference, Ray, but it just seems like I'm wasting my time. There are so many people in this for the money. Don't get me wrong—the money is great, but that's not why I do this."

"But you said this is 'volunteer…'" he states, a bit puzzled.

"That's my problem! The volunteer part! I'm putting in my time two days a week—time that I could be devoting to paying patients, but no. I'm putting in my time and effort to try to help these people. I don't know if they can't afford group therapy or if one-on-one therapy didn't work…I don't know why most of them are even there. I had this one lady, middle-aged, children off to college, _very_ well off—why is this woman at a community center? She's got the money to pay for a good psychologist. Hell, she could pay _me_, but I wouldn't take her. I wouldn't take her because I couldn't _tolerate_ her. Her husband left her for another woman. She got nearly his whole fortune, but she's not mourning the break-up of the marriage or the loneliness. She's mourning the years she _lost_, over and over and over again. She spent these years of her life raising her children and living, traveling and making friends. But she acts like the only thing of any importance in those years was her marriage. Her marriage was a huge aspect of her life, I understand that, and I don't expect her to wave her magic wand and just get over it-I live in the real world. But it wasn't the _only_ aspect of her life. She can't move on, and her divorce has been final for three years!" I put my hand on my forehead.

"Oh they can't all be that bad, Annie." Ray takes a drag of his beer. I look up at him.

"Oh, Dad, you have no idea. She's one of the good ones. Don't even let me get started on my court-ordered participants." Visions of Grey flash through my brain and literally make me shiver. "Macho, conceited, self-centered, arrogant, testosterone-driven…they give me nightmares!"

_You call that a nightmare?  
_BITCH, not fucking now, okay?

"Maybe you should consider stepping away from that aspect of it." Ray seems logical, but there's more to it than that.

"Won't that make me a failure?" I really feel like I can do this. I just don't know why I can't get through to these people.

"No, it doesn't. It means that you can't fix everything, Honey; that some situations are just unreachable and unfixable, and you have to let them go." Ray rests his hand on mine and smiles warmly at me. Just when I thought I was all grown up, it turns out I just needed my dad. I squeeze his hand.

"Thanks, Dad." I smile back. "I'll give it some thought."

So we've been talking for 25 minutes and our mystery guest has still not arrived. Now would be the time to ask Ray what this is all about.

"So, Ray. Tell me about this young lady who will be joining us for dinner." Ray gets immediately tense. This is unfamiliar territory for both of us.

"Well," he swallows hard, "her name is Amanda. I met her the last time I was down here taking care of some business. We were both going into a sandwich shop and I dropped my cell. She picked it up and handed it to me, and we had lunch together. We hit it off really well."

"How long have you been seeing her?" I take another drink of my wine. I've been nursing the same glass for half an hour.

"It's been about six months now. We're just now starting to get kind of serious, so…I want you to meet her."

"What does she do?"

"She's a court reporter." Just as Ray says that, his attention is drawn to the door. He stands and I know our mystery guest has arrived. He puts his arm around her and kisses her chastely.

Holy. Cow. Batman.

Standing before me is 30-something gorgeous woman with long blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a figure to die for. We could be friends! What the hell does this hussy want with my dad?...? He's an average-looking guy, nearly 50, no big money to speak of, and just told me that his business could be failing. What the hell?

_Could it be that she really likes him?_

I don't even acknowledge the presence of the Bitch. I have to put on a happy face and be pleasant to _Mandy. _Good grief.

"You must be Ana. Ray's told me a lot about you." She smiles a perfect smile at me.

"I wish I could say the same," I reply facetiously. "It's nice to meet you, Amanda."

"Please, call me Mandy." See? I was right.

"Mandy." I say as I gesture to the empty seat between me and my father. We all take a seat, and I finish the bottom of my wine.

Dinner was a bit awkward, but only because I couldn't wrap my head around this youngster hanging on my dad's every word. Does she have a daddy complex or something? And why _my_ daddy? Geez!

"So, Mandy," I ask when dessert is served. "If you don't mind my asking, how old are you?" Ray shoots a death glare at me and I look back at him.

"Seriously, Ray, did you _not_ expect me to ask?" I ask bewildered.

"Honestly, I'm surprised it took you so long," Mandy says, with no malice. "I'm 35."

Thirty-five? Dad's 48! The horror must have shown on my face.

"Annie, we are both consenting adults."

"I know, Dad." I say calmly. How do you tell your father that you don't expect for the first woman he dates in something like 15 years to be a toddler?

_She's older than you!  
_She still nearly 15 years younger than him!  
_Get over it! Look how happy he is! And she seems to just dote on him._

I look at them looking at me, and they do seem very happy together. Who am I to stand in the way of possible true love?

"Well, it is a shock to me. You have to know that," I said, holding my head down.

"I know, Annie. I didn't go looking for a younger woman. It just…happened." Dad says, almost apologetically.

"And your father is one of the most remarkable men I have ever met, Ana. I don't know _how_ no one has snapped him up before now, but I'm sure glad they didn't." She looks over at Ray with genuine adoration.

"Well, if you are truly happy, then I'm happy for you both." I plaster that smile on my face again. Ray let go of a breath I don't think he knew he was holding.

"Thank you, Annie." He said, relieved.

"You're welcome, Dad."

When the waitress came over with the check, I handed her my credit card.

"No, Annie," Dad protested. "We invited _you_ to dinner. This is on me." _We_. They're a "_we_" already.

"Please, Daddy. Let me do this." I say contritely, and I think he knows there's not fighting me on this one, so he concedes. "I'll be right back, I need the ladies room."

I just need to gather my wits a bit. I check myself in the mirror and decide I better look like I had a reason for coming in here. So I touch up my lip gloss just a bit. As I am putting it back in my purse, Mandy comes to join me in the ladies room.

"I know what you're thinking," she begins.

"And what would that be?" I'm intrigued.

"'What is this 35-year-old woman doing with my father?'" I nod.

"Yep. You hit that nail right on the head. I have no clue what a young, attractive woman would want with my 50-year-old father."

"He's 48." I cock my head to the side like _two years really makes a difference? _She holds her hands up in resignation. "Okay. Okay. I get it." She sighs heavily. "All I can tell you, Ana, is that in 35 years, I've never felt what I feel with your father. He makes me feel alive and treasured and loved. I feel like I can do anything as long as he is by my side. He makes me feel special, like a teenager in high school. I know it sounds ridiculous…" She trails off.

"No, it doesn't," I say almost defeated. "I see my dad with you and he looks young and vibrant. I haven't seen him like this in years, and I can only attribute that to you. And if what you say is true, then I wish you guys every happiness. But know this," I put my clutch under my arm and turned to face her. "If you hurt my daddy, I will hunt you down like a dog—and I don't care if you tell him I said that." I am glaring straight in her eyes because I want her to know that game time is over! She meets my glare head on.

"For you to say that, you must really love him. And that's fine, because I really love him, too. So I'd say we have a deal." She proffers her hand for me to shake it. I accept the gesture and we shake.

"Don't expect me to call you 'Mom.'" I tease.

"God, I hope not." She laughs.

I was okay to drive since I stuck to one glass of wine at the beginning of dinner. With my phone in the carriage, I say "Call Allen." Siri obeys my command and Allen's voice is booming through my car.

"Hey, Jewel. Don't even think about cancelling, Girlfriend."

"Au contraire! I need libations in the worst way. I will be home in five. When does the merriment begin?"

"_French_…that must have been some dinner with Ray!"

"Il était tout à fait tragique. Je dois boire pour noyer mes problèmes et danser pour oublier ma douleur!"

"English, Baby, English!" Allen knows it's a really bad day in the neighborhood when I resort to French. It's like I was a French maid in a past life and I resort to my native tongue when I'm really flustered. I've been doing it since we were kids.

"I need to party in the worst way!" I confirm.

"How long before you're home?"

"I'm turning into the parking lot as we speak!"

"Be ready in an hour."

"I'll be ready in half!"

Thank God Allen gave me an hour. Forty-five minutes after I hung up from him, I am showered, plucked, waxed and ready to go. I am donning a lavender Rare strapless bandeau mini-dress with a silver sequin bodice and a draping flare skirt with silver strappy heels. My hair is pinned up on the top with a swoop in the front and long curly waves cascading down my back. Long earrings and a matching necklace complete the ensemble. I am ready to party.

"Hot damn! I thought you said you _didn't_ want stalkers!" Allen exclaims as I get into his SUV.

"Oh, shut up, Al." I blush

"You're going to have every guy in the place all over you in that outfit. Garrett and I are going to have to keep an eye on you all night."

"Gary's coming?" I say with trepidation, suddenly feeling the 9th wheel syndrome creeping up on me again.

"Yes, and Val too. Strictly stag, Baby. Strictly stag." I relax into the seat and await our arrival at the McElvoy.

There's a short line outside when we get there, but we are inside within 20 minutes. I've always loved the McElvoy, but I stopped coming when I broke up with Edward. It was called something else back then…the Viceroy? I don't remember. But the atmosphere was still the same. The music was eclectic. Depending on the DJ's mood, you could get Motown or funk one minute and pop or jazz the next. The bar takes up a large portion of the left wall and protrudes out into the center of the room with large cream-colored leather barstools. There are tables and booths scattered about and lining the walls, but the rest is dance floor, including a stage with mirrors. Like most nightclubs, the room is dimly lit and there is a "den" off of the main hall for quieter more intimate exchanges. We find Val and Gary and I quickly order my first Cosmo.

"So Steele, I hear Ray has a new love interest," Val is prodding me for information three Cosmos later. I throw a death glare at Allen. "Don't look at Allen! You should have told me yourself!" I am finishing my second Cosmo and waving the waitress over for a third when I start the story.

"She a teenager." The occupants of the table gasp. Okay, let me clarify that…my father is not a pedophile. "She's not that much older than me."

"How old is she?" Gary asked.

"Thirty-five."

"She _is_ that much older than you, Ana." Val said.

"Yes, but Dad is 50!" I protest.

"I thought he was 48," Al corrected.

"Dammit to hell mother fucker, what's two years?" I get a little sweary when I start drinking.

"The difference between 48 and 50." Val said, matter-of-factly. The only reason why I didn't throw my third Cosmo on her is because I didn't want to waste a perfectly good drink.

"She's tall, with blonde hair down to there, a perfect size six, blue eyes, perky tits, no kids, and she's 35. What does she want with my dad?" I think I may be starting to slur a bit.

"Your dad's not a bad looking guy, Ana," Val interjects, "Maybe she likes him."

"You're supposed to be my friends!" I don't _want_ to listen to reason! I want you to agree with me.

"You're right. We hate her. Don't we guys?" Gary leads the charge.

"Can't stand her," Al chimes in.

"Hate her guts," Val agrees.

"Good! Thank you! That's all I'm saying." I slur.

"Come on, let's dance. You need to burn off some of this alcohol." Gary takes my hand and drags me to the dance floor. At first, I'm having a hard time standing. Then I find my footing when I hear Marvin Gaye piping out one of Ray's favorite.

_Oooo, I bet you're wondering how I knew  
_'_bout your plans to make me blue…_

Now my hips are rolling and my fingers are snapping and Gary and I are gliding across the floor having the time of our lives.

_It took me by surprise I must say  
__When I found out yesterday  
__Don't you know that  
__I heard it through the grapevine  
__Not much longer would you be mine…_

Gary grabs me around the waist and is dancing with me dramatically. He spins me out and spins me back in and dips me in dramatic Hollywood fashion and we are cracking up.

I love my crazy friends.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Since I don't do "dates," I recruited Elliot to join me to check out this club downtown. The owners have fallen on some financial trouble and, even though it's supposed to be a Seattle hot-spot, the business is in need of investors. I already have one club, but I agree to check it out anyway just to see if it would be worth my time. Elliot The Man Whore was only too happy to tag along with me.

Since I didn't want to have to fight crowds to get in, I showed up early to talk to the owner, Richard Costa. The McElvoy is centrally located near the market district. Early evening on weekdays is Happy Hour catering to the after work crowd and after 9 (and all night on Saturday) is when the drinkers and the dance crowd shows up. I'm curious as to why the bar has fallen on hard times—great location, good ambience, caters to the perfect crowd, good music—what's the problem? It turns out that he had another partner that was siphoning money out of the business. In order to avoid criminal charges, the partner sold his shares to Richard for a song, but now he needs financial backing to stay afloat. Let's see how I feel before the night is out.

I get a brandy and Elliot gets a beer. We settle into one of the booths near the back to watch the crowd and the door. I'm looking because I want to know just how profitable this club can really be. Elliot's looking for his next piece of ass.

I'm nursing the second brandy of the night. I've been here for hours and Elliot is off somewhere setting up his latest conquest. I have to admit that the place certainly does have potential from a business standpoint. It's not necessarily a "meat market" scene—thank fuck for that—but it does have that potential, too. Wherever Elliot is, he should feel right at home. I had tried not to make eye contact with these women for more than a second or two since most of them appear to be on the prowl and I am sitting here alone looking like I just might be on the menu. Yeah, this place has profit written all over it. I can go, now. Just when I thought I've seen enough, I get the glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd.

Is that…?

It couldn't be!

I sit very still and strain my eyes through the crowd. It is! Ms Steele. Well, well, well. Not as stiff as I thought you were, are you Little Ms. Doctor Girl? Her dress is just long enough to be decent…just barely. She's wearing strappy sandals that make her legs go on and on and on...

I watch her dance for a while, watching the hem of her dress brush against her creamy pale thighs. Damn! My mouth is starting to water. What the fuck is this? Wait a minute. Who is this fucker grabbing all over her? He's tossing her around like a rag doll…and she seems to like it. I wonder if she has sub potential?

Fuck, Grey! You're still considering Greta—you know, the absolutely perfect sub? Why are you fantasizing about _this_ ball-busting bimbo? Just as I am sure that I've seen enough and I rise to leave, her "dance partner" dips her on the dance floor. Ms. Steele's leg comes up and wraps around her partner to maintain her balance. Fuck…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

That leg is a mile long. The front hem of her barely-there dress lies delicately tucked between her and her dance partner. She is laughing hysterically, obviously having a good time—and every time she chuckles, the back of her dress sways just enough for me to see the mound of her ass cheek. I find myself slipping back down into my seat. I am intrigued and mesmerized by this creature. And right now, all I want to do is watch.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Oh, this dancing is cathartic! I can't remember the last time I had so much fun.

_You've been cooped up in that apartment of yours mourning the loss of Edward!  
_You know what, Bitch? You're right! Let's have another drink!  
_Sounds good to me._

I drag Gary over to the bar and we order two double-shots of Grey Goose. "¡Salud!" We yell at each other before throwing back the shots and slamming our glasses on the counter. I start to hear the drum beat of Enigma playing, and Gary can see it in my eyes.

"This is all you, Ana. I'm exhausted! I'll see you back at the crew, Hon."

"Okay, I'm going on the stage with the single dancers!" I bounce off my bar stool.

"I'll be at the table!" He yells behind me. I put up the "okay" sign and proceeded to the stage.

I turn around briefly and see Gary walking back to the table. Funny, it feels like someone is watching me. I look around the bar, but I recognize no one but my friends at the table, waving at me.

_It's the Cosmos.  
_Right. Let's dance!  
_Lead the way!_

I (and the Bitch) find my place on the stage, near the mirrors. I like to watch myself. The beat from the music is hypnotic.

_Cum angelis et pueris, fideles inveniamur_

_Attollite portas, principles, vestras…_

I let the music start in my hips. They sway from left to right. I close my eyes.

_Sade, dis-moi…_

_Sade, donnes-moi…_

I bend my knees and continue to sway. My arms are in the air and the music transports me to another level—a celestial time and place.

_Sade, dis-moi, qu'est-ce que tu cas chercher?_

_Le bien par le mal? La virtue par le vice?_

_Sade, dis-moi,pourquoi l'evangile du mal?_

_Quelle est ta religion? Ousnt tes fideles?_

I am floating on the notes now. The feeling is euphoric. No concerns for young tarts who may hurt my father; or disappointing results for disastrous group sessions; or cheating boyfriends who charmed and sexed me into submission and stole my identity; or vicious angry mobs of jealous, teenage girls; or hospitals…

_The principles of lust are easy to understand._

_Do what you feel, feel until the end._

_The principles of lust are burned in your mind._

_Do what you want, do it until you find love._

I know someone is here. I know they are near. But I am floating. I am flying above every care in the world. The stars are my companions and I am enjoying a heavenly escape as my hips, my hands, my arms, my legs, my feet succumb to the changing tempo of the music.

_The principles of lust are easy to understand._

_Do what you feel, feel until the end._

_The principles of lust are burned in your mind._

_Do what you want, do it until you find love._

_I am to come…_

I am transported to my own Nirvana where nothing matters but me and the music. I feel the presence. The connection is electric. The girl in the song breathes heavily, like she is in the throes of passion. I find myself mimicking her breathing. I'm afraid to open my eyes. I am floating in a different realm now. Electric blues and shock waves. It's energizing—and the tempo changes again.

_Sade, dis-moi…_

_Sade, donnes-moi…_

I'm coming back to earth now. My subconscious knows the song is about to end. I let my arms fall as I continue to gently sway from side to side.

_Sade, dis-moi…Hosanna_

_Sade, donnes-moi… Hosanna_

_Sade, dis-moi…Hosanna_

I have returned now. The aura has disintegrated. The electric blues have faded leaving me with a delicious aftershock. I have no idea what happened while I was lost in the music. I finally open my eyes and look around. Nothing seems amiss—the same single dancers on stage with me, now gyrating to an 80's pop tune. I indulge in a sensual stretch and walk back to the table with my friends.

"Damn, Steele. I haven't seen those moves since college!" Val playfully punches me in the arm and hands me another Cosmo. "You still got it, Girl. You looked hot!" I smiled coyly at her.

"And who was the hottie dancing with you?" Allen squealed. I look at him, bemused.

"Excuse me?" There was someone dancing with me?

"Oh, come on, Jewel. You didn't see him?" My expression doesn't change. "He was delicious! We thought you shut him down because just before the song ended, he did a bee-line to the door!" Dammit! I had a hottie?

I didn't even get to see who it was…

* * *

_**GREY**_

I never paid attention to how captivating she is. I always thought of her as attractive, but this is different. True, she showed up in my fantasies once…and now I know why. She always looks so serious, so stressed at those damn sessions; but now, she's vibrant and youthful and beautiful. Her long, chestnut curls are fondling her bare back. Her smile…her smile is mesmerizing; and her laugh…to watch her be this carefree—she's enchanting.

I take another drink of my brandy. I need the amber liquid to wake me out of this trance. How can I be this drawn to her? She's not some random beautiful woman in the club. I _know_ her. I know her personally and I _don't_ particularly like her. But tonight, watching her dance and be free, it's so different. Where is _this_ Ana in group session?

She and her dance partner have just downed a couple of shots at the bar and now she's headed for the stage alone. Exhibitionist, are we, Ms. Steele? I watch as she connects with the music. It's like she's all alone up there. Her moves are sensual, the way she curves her body, like she's a puppet to the notes. Her hands lift her hair and then allow it to fall onto her back. She rolls her head and then throws it back as if she is in ecstasy.

Good God, she is hot!

Although she is not moving in my direction, I find that she is getting closer to me. We are being drawn to one another. She is right in front of me, now. I trace her beautiful frame without touching her. Her hands are in the air, moving slowly and begging to be held. As I watch her move, something is awakened in me—something unfamiliar—and a jolt of electricity surges through me. It stunned me a bit. I haven't even touched her!

Her breath catches. She felt it, too! Does she know I'm here? I look at her reflection and her eyes are still closed. I lean down and take a deep breath, breathing in the scent of her hair. It's strangely comforting, like…home. I stand there for a few more moments and let this feeling wash over me.

Not realizing I had closed my eyes, I open them and she is standing nearly still, her back to my front, gently swaying from side to side. We are so close, I can feel the heat from her body. Shit, Grey! What the fuck are you doing? If this woman turns around and sees you behind her, she's likely to scream. I take one final look at the exquisite temptress and begrudgingly tear myself away from her and head for the door.

"Taylor. I'm at the McElvoy. I've had a couple of brandies. Bring Sawyer with you to pick up the RS7."

I end the call and text Elliot.

****I'm leaving now. Are you coming?****

In true Elliot fashion, he responds:

****Not yet, but it's looking good for later! It's all good, Bro.****

Ask a stupid question…

I don't bother responding as my mind drifts to the vision of Ms. Steele on the dance floor and her beautifully fluid movements. Talk about seeing someone in a whole new light. She was mesmerizing. Her scent was magical. And I'm standing outside of a fucking nightclub daydreaming about a woman who really doesn't like me as a person.

"My special gift is impossible relationships." I groan as I run my hands through my hair. Taylor and Sawyer arrive a few moments later to escort me to sweet solitude…well, tonight, maybe not so sweet…

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Saturday night was a blast. I had the time of my life. It took all of Sunday to recover from the numerous Cosmos and shots I drank, but it was soooooo worth it! I miss those days; I really must do that more often. I don't know how I'm going to do that, though, with all of my friends having significant others now. There are only so many pity outings you can do, even for a close friend. I hate that I didn't get to meet the hottie that was apparently stalking me on the dance floor. Oh well, everything happens for a reason.

And now, I am back at the dreaded community center. Session 3 of 12 for this group, and I am not looking forward to it. Christian Grey sat there staring at me for two hours last week, and I wonder if he's going to take the same tactic tonight. I'm not sure I'm ready for it if he does. I'm still feeling a bit euphoric from Saturday night's dance party. I'm trying to hold on to the feeling as long as possible.

I don't prepare anything for this class. I want these people to talk. I am tired of prompting them and prodding them. They are adults. It's time for them to tell me what they need so I can give it to them or stop beating myself up because I don't have it. I'm sitting in 239, twenty minutes before class is supposed to start. The lights are out and I'm just contemplating. Ray is meeting with his potential new client today. I hope everything goes well for him. Dad has put everything he is into that business and I would hate to see him lose it. I think about my current situation and our talk about it:

"_Maybe you should consider stepping away from that aspect of it."  
_"_Won't that make me a failure?"  
_"_No, it doesn't. It means that you can't fix everything, Honey; that some situations are just unreachable and unfixable, and you have to let them go."_

My dad is very taciturn, not too cultured in any way, but he's the wisest man I've ever met.

My thoughts are interrupted when the lights come on the classroom. I'm a little embarrassed that I was sitting here alone in the dark. I turn around and Ron is standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing sitting in here in the dark?"

"Just thinking about some things." I stand up and straighten my shirt.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, concerned.

"Everything's fine, Ron. Don't worry about me." I give his arm a squeeze. He tilts his head at me.

"Well, okay. But you know where to find me if you need me, Kid. Now look lively. Your group is starting to arrive." Oh, joy! And here we go.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"I think I may have found something, Sir." Welch says as he comes into my office on Monday morning handing me a file. "This may answer our questions about the missing two years for Anastasia Steele." I'm damn near chomping at the bit to get this information. This woman has been the only thing I have thought about for the past two days ever since I saw her at that damn club. Nothing has changed. I'm going to group session this evening and she is likely to be the same miserable, self-righteous little tart she's been for the last two sessions.

So why is she dancing in my dreams?

"Lambert?" I question Welch, "I'm not quite following."

"The procedure for enrolling a child in school in Las Vegas is a little more relaxed than in other areas, Sir. Her birth father's last name was Lambert. It's very likely that she was enrolled in Chaparral High School in Las Vegas as Anastasia Lambert, but there are a few things involved in doing that."

"Like what?"

"First, she would have to be rezoned by the Clark County School District, which would not have been impossible but would not have been particularly easy in this case considering that Chaparral is a good distance from Green Valley."

"She would have had to come up with a really good reason for wanting to transfer somewhere so far from home." I say, thumbing through the other papers in the file. This Lambert kid's information is all "undisclosed" including her address.

"That's the other thing, Sir. Most times you can rezone if you have been expelled from school for some reason or if a school doesn't have the curriculum that you seek. But even then, they would have zoned her somewhere closer to home. There aren't many reasons to zone someone to a public school that's 10 miles away, especially since Green Valley is one of the prominent areas just outside of Las Vegas—so it's unlikely that they didn't have the necessary curriculum."

"What about expulsion?"

"It's a possibility, but that wouldn't explain why she changed her name. The only logical reason that she would have changed her name would be if…"

"…Her safety was threatened or she was in some kind of danger." I finish the sentence for him. Now more than ever, I want to find out what happened with Ms. Steele during those two years. "See what you can tie to this 'Lambert' kid; find out everything you possibly can."

"Yes Sir."

My original reasons for wanting a background check on Ms. Steele were simply to get inside her head, to see what was important to her…what I could use against her if I needed to. Now, I simply must know what happened during those two years. Was she in danger? Is that danger still prevalent? If so, why did she resume using her original name after high school? I run my hands through my hair. She was a 15-year-old kid. We shouldn't have this much trouble finding information on a 15-year-old kid!

Why is this so important to me, now? I can't let her have this much control over me! It's ridiculous! She's just the psychologist in the fucking community center that won't sign off on the fucking papers I need to get my Monday and Thursday nights back—nothing more. Speaking of which… I snatch my suit coat off my chair and call Taylor to meet me downstairs.

* * *

_**A/N:  
**__**Marvin Gaye—Heard It Through The Grapevine  
**__**Enigma—Principles of Lust (Extended Version)  
**_"_**My special gift is impossible relationships." Richard Gere, Pretty Woman**_

_**Though most of my locations are actual locations, the McElvoy is fictional because I couldn't find a bar in Seattle that served my purposes. If you want to get an idea of what it looks like, Google "The Viceroy," "The Triple Door," and "Baltic Room." I took aspects from all three clubs to make my "McElvoy."**_

It really is a bit easy to register a kid in a Las Vegas school without the proper documentation. I did it twice.

_**Want to see Ana's fashions, clothes, car, and places she visits? See my pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Please review!**_


	8. Chapter 8: The Showdown

_**They're still at it-so sad. I had a reviewer—guest again—tell me that I shouldn't ridicule someone because they don't like what I am writing. YES, I SHOULD! You want to know why? Because this is MY STORY! If you want a story to take a certain direction, WRITE IT YOURSELF. You have no idea how RIDICULOUS it is for you to send someone a review on THEIR story and tell them what they should do with THEIR characters (or at least the characters they are borrowing)! It is ridicule-worthy and for you not to see that is RIDICULOUS (the root word being "ridicule" by the way). That's why I handled the A/N the way that I did…because the whole thing was RIDICULOUS which is why I turned it into a big joke. Put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard) and write the story that you want to see and STOP DEGRADING MINE just because it happens to NOT be what you want to see. **_

_**Please note that there is a difference between **_**"I really hope Christian doesn't sleep with a sub" **_**or **_**"I would prefer it if Christian doesn't sleep with a sub" **_**and "**_**I'M GOING TO STOP READING YOUR STORY IF CHRISTIAN SLEEPS WITH A SUB!" **_**The first and second ones are examples of opinions about the story and the way that you **_**hope**_** the story will go. **__**Thank you to Pielietje for demonstrating the CORRECT METHOD of making this point. **_The third one equals I'm going to ridicule your ass all up and down my author's note because that is MY opinion of your asinine statement. 

_**What's so bad is that I haven't decided what's going to happen with Christian and the sub yet. However, the more I have people in my ear telling me "I'm not going to read your story if Christian fucks a sub" and sending me ridiculous dissertations under the guise of helping me or giving me advice, the more I want to make Christian fuck a sub! (take a drink or three, contrite shadow-there's our drinking game, lol). Luckily I'm mature and I won't let someone dictate how I'm going to use the characters in my story. However, I will make a joke out of it every chance I get! So deal with it or move the FUCK on! (and there's another drink)**_

_**To better things!**_

**_To anailuj: You need to get a login so I can talk to you more often! As always, your review made me very happy. _**

**_To Twinings: Don't feel bad about dragging your feet, Hon. I was dragging my feet writing it. Now I can't stop! Thank you for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate it and I'm so glad that you like it! _**

_**Special thanks to Killashandra Falta for pointing out that "Salud" is "Cheers" in Spanish, which is what I meant to type (not "Salute" which is what I did type) when Ana and Gary did their Vodka shots at the bar. Good looking out! I HATE using words out of context, so thank you so much!**_

_**Thank you to all of my wonderful followers for your wonderful reviews and kind PMs. A special thanks to my Facebook girls! We do have a good time, don't we? Like my mother always says, "One monkey don't stop no show." So I WILL keep writing MY story MY way because I'm having the time of my life! Thank you for sticking in there with me. Now back to the Tale of Two Hotheads! **_

**_I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too._**

Chapter 08—The Showdown

_**STEELE**_

Mother fucking snow bitches and goat fuckers from hell! This son-of-a-bitch is staring at me again! What the hell is he playing at? Does he plan on staring at me for the next ten damn sessions? I have let the inmates take over the asylum—the floor is open. They can do and say whatever tickles their fancy. However, that does not include sitting there _staring_ at me.

After about 35 minutes of this, I turn to make direct eye-contact with him. I'm not staring at him to make him stop staring at me—that's a fight that I know I won't win. I'm really trying to get into his head a bit. He has this little smirk on his face and a small part of me is dying to know what he's thinking while another part of me is afraid that, in his head, I'm sitting here naked. That would be a tragedy on so many levels.

"Well, I think we should hear something from Mr. Grey," a voice to the left of me purrs. I don't even turn to see who it is. I'm assuming she's one of his many fans and only suggested it because she saw us staring at each other. Another fan to my right chimed in, "Yes, yes, Mr. Grey. We haven't heard anything from you since you've been here. We'd love to hear more about you," she cooed. I looked over at her with half a smile, mentally asking her _Good God Woman, can you be any more obvious?_ I actually wrote in my notes that two other participants attempt to engage Mr. Grey in a conversation in class. Imagine my surprise when I heard the voice of one Mr. Christian Grey say…

"Google me."

A lone, high-pitched laugh escaped my throat before I had a chance to stop it. I hold my head down, cover my mouth, and keep writing.

"Something you find amusing, Ms. Steele?" Holy cow, he spoke again, and directly to me this time. Wonder of wonders. What do I tell him—that he's so damn arrogant it's laughable? Nope, that won't go over too well.

"No, Mr. Grey," I say flatly. "As a matter of fact, I find the situation very uncomfortable. But then again, you already knew that." I add sarcastically. The smirk on his lips transforms into a flat line. I. Have. Had. Enough. Of. This. Shit. I look at my watch. 4:42pm.

"Break to 5:00. Mr. Grey, may I see you in the hall please?" I stand up, turn on my heels, and walk out the door without waiting for a response. I look at Mr. MIB.

"Tell your boss he's got five minutes to meet me in the stairwell or he's going to regret he ever met me at all!" I march to the stairwell and wait. I am fucking livid. Threatening him was probably not the best way to get him to come out here, but I meant every word that I said.

* * *

_**GREY**_

She did _not_ just summarily _order_ me to come and talk to her, and then have the nerve to send Taylor in here to retrieve me like I'm being summoned to the principal's office. I have a good mind to leave her standing right there in the damn stairwell, which I do for approximately four minutes. Then my curiosity got the better of me. I follow Taylor to the stairwell where I find a very agitated Anastasia Steele.

"You wanted to speak to me, Ms. Steele?" I ask snidely. She turns around with her hands her hips. Fuck, I forgot how hot she was…even hotter when she's mad.

"What the hell is going on in there? And don't tell me you're just trying to pay attention, because we both know that's bullshit." She is seething.

"Ms. Steele! Language!" I state in a placating manner.

"Are you learning disabled? Mentally challenged?" she asked before I even got the words out of my mouth. "Because on top of having an apparent issue with staring, you can't seem to grasp the concept although you've been told repeatedly that my name is DOCTOR STEELE." She's screaming now. I've got this woman at the very end of her rope…exactly where I want her as a matter of fact. I close the distance between us, just enough to make her feel uncomfortable. And there's that electricity—the same electricity I felt when I stood behind her on the dance floor. Focus, Grey.

"You don't want me here," I say in my Dom voice. "And I don't want to be here. And we both know that there is one sure way to get rid of me."

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Did he just get taller or is it just my imagination? Is it getting hot in here? What the hell?

He's trying to intimidate me. Mother fucking arrogant ass bastard is trying to break me down! You want it, Grey? You got it.

"You're right. There is only one way." I brush past him through the doors and back into the hallway. I call the elevator. Before it comes I open Ron's door.

"Ron, my class will be back in session at 5:00. Please go in and tell them I'll be another ten minutes." I hear the elevator come behind me.

"Is everything okay, Ana?" Ron calls after me as I'm marching back to the elevator, whizzing past Christian Grey—1/2 inch off of knocking him on his ass.

"Everything's fine, Ron." I say as the wind of my departure leaves Grey standing in the hallway a bit stunned.

When I get to the 10th floor, I go to my office and pull out Mr. Grey's court report. I fill it out completely and leave it in a file on my desk. Then I walk back to the elevator to proceed with the second half of the class.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"How did it go, Sir?" Taylor asked as I approached the door to 239. "Ms. Steele didn't seem too pleased."

"No, she didn't," I confirm, which was strange to me. I thought we agreed on what needed to be done just a moment ago. She still seemed pissed. I guess I'll go back in and wait to see what happens next.

You know that moment when you walk into a room and all the conversation stops, so you know that the conversation was about you? Yeah. So I just look from face to face to face and respond, "Carry on." I think I stunned the sycophants, but they soon start jabbering away again. I take this time to go through a few of my emails. Some guy, Ron I suppose, comes in to tell us that _Ms_. Steele will be a few more minutes. Sure enough, a few minutes later, she's strolling quickly into the room and silently takes her seat.

Once we are all seated, she states, "I would like to apologize to you all for my seeming lack of attention through these last two sessions. I can assure you that I have heard every word that has been said, but I have been a bit distracted because—in case no one noticed—Mr. Grey has been staring at me non-stop for the past two sessions." She, along with the 19 other people in class, turn their gaze to me. "Up to this point," she continues, "that's three hours of nothing but staring at me while I'm trying to facilitate these meetings!" She spits. Taking a deep breath and resuming her address to the group, she says, "So please forgive me for being distracted. If it appears that I am not giving you my undivided attention, I sincerely apologize. I assure you that it won't happen again. But you have to admit that it is very hard to concentrate when someone is staring at you like they haven't eaten in three days and you're a steak sandwich!"

I think I gasp. How dare she imply to all of these people that this is _sexual!_ Okay, she's a hot little number, but…that's not what this is about at all! Is it? "Ms. Steele…!" I bark.

"_IF_," she interrupts me by yelling the word, "you expect me to respond to you at all, you will address me as DOCTOR Steele!" Her eyes are narrow and she is nearly growling. _Fine_!

"_Dr_. Steele, _that_ was complete unnecessary!" I say through clenched teeth.

"Oh, on the contrary, it was completely necessary. I have addressed this issue with you _twice_ to no avail. There are 19 other people in this group, and your behavior is affecting my ability to serve these 19 other people. If you don't want or need my services, fine! Leave! But please, for the sake of the 20 other adults in this room, myself included, stop acting like a petulant 3-year-old at recess who just dropped his lollipop!" This haughty little…

"_Dr_. Steele…" My blood is boiling.

"I am done addressing this issue with you in front of the group. If you would like to talk about it further, you can see me in my office ½ hour after the group has ended. You know where it is." Did she just dismiss me?

"What the…" I begin to protest.

"My. OFFICE. Mr. Grey!" She nearly shouts.

I think I am stunned into silence. I continue to glare at her for the rest of the session, and this time it's because I am so pissed that I am imagining her in every humiliating position in my playroom that I can possibly put her in, gagged and collared and silently begging me to let her come.

She was true to her word. She paid close attention to every person who spoke, breaking eye contact with them only to take notes in her little tablet. For the last 45 minutes of class, every set of eyes looked at me at least once to see if I was still staring…every set, that is, except for Ms. Steele.

When the session was over, she mingled only momentarily with a few of the participants before walking out of the room. I was hot on her heels, but she went into that guy Ron's office before I could catch her. A few moments later, she walked out and called the elevator, Ron walking behind her. They disappeared inside shortly thereafter. I guess I'll just have to wait my turn, but I fucking hate waiting.

I march off the elevator to _Dr_. Steele's office, ready for the showdown of the century. Her door is closed and her shade is drawn. I knock. I can hear voices, but they are clearly ignoring me. Fine. I'll stand here for another 10 minutes—that will officially be ½ hour after the session.

Sure enough, nine minutes later, Ron comes strolling out the office, smiling at me! Were they _fucking_ in there? I would've been.

"Dr. Steele." I step inside without knocking.

"Mr. Grey. Have a seat." I sit in the same chair I occupied during my last visit.

"Mr. Grey, I am sending your documentation back to the court this week along with my participants from last group session." Finally! I was just about to bring out the big guns in this little game we were playing. But I do so love to win.

"Thank you, Ms. Steele," I say matter-of-factly as I rise and turn to leave. No use dealing with the false formalities anymore, right?

"Don't you want to know what my report says?" I freeze. Report? What do I care? Just sign the damn thing. I turn to face her again.

"Quite frankly, I don't give a fuck what the report says."

"Oh, in this case, I'm sure you do." She informs me.

"Ms. Steele, I'm sure I do _not_." I say and I take a few steps to leave again. She starts to read.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

_"Mr. Grey is a classic example of narcissistic personality disorder. He shows ample signs of megalomania and severe egocentrism, making him extremely uncooperative and difficult to accommodate. Mr. Grey has not participated in any of the group sessions in any way except to antagonize the facilitator. I would even go so far as to say that Mr. Grey is so consumed with his own self-importance that there is absolutely nothing that I can do for him as he is convinced that my station is beneath him. Although he is a rich and powerful man, Mr. Grey has highly inflated delusions of grandeur in relation to his responsibility in the exercise as well as his treatment of others. His behavior can be characterized as disruptive on a good day and offensive on a bad day. It is my recommendation that Mr. Grey be required to repeat or resume therapy elsewhere, either in a more regulated and controlled group setting or one-on-one with a qualified psychiatric professional, preferably a male."_ I throw the paper down on my desk as I look at his back, standing in my office doorway, frozen from trying to make his getaway. He rolls his shoulders, and then he turns around to face me. His eyes are blazing grey and he almost seems taller as he takes two steps back to my desk.

"You do realize," he begins as he places his hands spread apart on my desk and leans on them with his fingers spread, "that I can ruin you in the greater Seattle area and most parts of the United States." His voice is deep, almost menacing, as he delivers his caution. I fold my hands together and put them on my desk while sitting back in my chair.

"And now you're threatening me…brilliant strategy, Mr. Grey. Absolutely brilliant." I say, my eyes narrowed. I see Mr. MIB inching closer to the door and I have to wonder looking at this man towering over my desk—exactly who is he trying to protect right now, Grey… or me?

"Oh that's not a threat, Ms. Steele. That's just a statement of fact. Call it an extension of your education, if you will. You have no idea who you are fucking dealing with!" Now I have to admit I'm getting a _little_ frightened. I push the panic button underneath my desk, but I'm determined to stand my ground.

"If that is the case, and you have the ability to squash me like a bug, do it now! What's stopping you? Why are we even having this conversation?" I am shaking now. I don't know why. Is it rage? Fear? Adrenalin? Whatever it is, he is feeding off of it. His face twists into an almost fiendish smirk.

"I was giving you a chance to reconsider, _Ms_. Steele," he says, his voice dripping with contempt. I rise my from my desk, unable to tolerate this self-absorbed, puffed up, conceited egomaniac for one moment longer.

"I think I should probably inform you," I begin, my voice deepened and speaking each word through clenched teeth, "that in this current capacity, I am operating as an officer of the court. And there are stiff penalties involved in attempting to intimidate or unduly influence an officer of the court. If you're uncertain about this, I'm sure you can ask your friend back there because I'm _certain _that he knows." I point to Mr. MIB as I say this. To this, Mr. MIB looks over his shoulder and says softly, but strongly, "Sir?"

"Stand down, Taylor," Grey says calmly never taking his eyes off me. Taylor…so that's his name.

"Now, since you have made it crystal clear that you can effectively end my career throughout the United States, I am certain that you threatened me, I don't appreciate your tone, and quite frankly, I don't like your attitude. On that note, I will ask you to _please_ leave my office, MISTER Grey!" I spit with all the venom I could muster. I hadn't noticed that security had shown up and are now standing inside the door with Taylor.

"Is there a problem, Dr. Steele?" I hear one of the guards say to announce their presence.

"No problem," I answer without breaking gaze with Grey. "Mr. Grey was just leaving." I'm playing his game of stare now ignoring the fact that although he is leaning on my desk, he still towers over me even though I'm wearing my signature stilettos. He straightens and before he leaves, he promises, "This is _not_ over."

"Damn straight it's not!" I snap back. Slightly taken aback, he turns on his heels and walks out of the room. Security goes to follow him but Taylor holds his hand up to signal them to stay back. Taylor follows his boss down the hall and the community center security follows Taylor. I watch as they wait for the elevator and, when it comes, they all disappear inside.

I let out a breath I didn't know that I was holding, only it comes out as several breaths and whimpers. Before I know it, I feel a wave of anxiety come over me and I can't catch my breath. I'm taking air in but it doesn't feel like I'm breathing. I can feel the tears on my cheeks and I am afraid…_very_ afraid. It must have been adrenaline and now that Grey is gone, he has taken it all with him…and I am scared shitless! I shakily reach for my blackberry.

"_Hello?"_

"A-Allen?"

"_Jewel? What's wrong, Baby?"_ Allen is clearly concerned hearing my voice.

"A-Al, I'm still at t-the commun-ity cen-ter. Can you p-please come and g-get me?" I weep into to phone.

"_Did one of those charity case fuckers do something to you, Jewel?"_ I can hear movement on the other end of the phone.

"N-no…yes…p-please, Al, just come and g-get me." I whimper.

"_Ten minutes, Jewel. Don't you move!"_

I am face down on my desk still crying when a silky smooth voice calls my name a few minutes after I hang up with Al.

"Ana?"

I look up into the gorgeous brown eyes of the bronze god. "James?"

"Are you okay, Sweetie?" He comes around the desk and puts his hand comfortingly on my back. It just makes me cry harder. "Come on, Sweetheart. Let's get you home."

I try to gather my things and decide that there is nothing that I want to take from here today—except that bastard's court report. I put it in my nearly empty briefcase which James quickly takes from me, grab my purse and leave without turning off the lights.

The moment I get outside, the fresh air hits me and it's like a boulder smashed into me. My legs buckle from under me. I can feel myself slipping, but James is there like a knight in shining armor with his arm around my waist to keep me from going down. Al jumps out of the passenger seat of a navy blue Mercedes and runs over to me when he saw me almost pass out. "Jewel? Baby, what happened?"

"Please…please get me home…" I breathe. Al rummaged through my purse (like only Al can) and located my keys. James gently loaded me into his Mercedes and proceeded to drive me home while Al followed in my car.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Fucking, self-righteous…I know she's hiding something. I just know she is. I know there's something hiding behind that self-important exterior that I can use to knock her the fuck off her high horse. We are sitting good distance away in the black SUV watching the door to the community center. I don't know what I plan to do when she comes out, but she was visibly shaken. Somehow, I am going to use that to my advantage. There are a few cars left in the lot and I know from the background check that the blue 300 is hers. My fists are clenched until my knuckles are white. If she reports that shit to that stuck-up asshole judge, I could lose my plea and end up serving time. I guess I should have thought this little cat-and-mouse game through a little more carefully.

"Sir?" Taylor breaks my train of thought.

"What is it, Taylor?" I snap.

"I was just trying to get an idea of the plan, Sir." I watch as a CLS pulls in front of us, about 100 feet or so, partially blocking my view of the door. Shit!

"Plan for what?" I ask, as I wonder why the well-dressed black man from the CLS would be going into a community center this time of evening.

"I'm not sure that Ms. Steele would be open to speaking to you at this time, so I was just wondering what the plan is." I glare at his reflection in the rearview mirror. "So that I can be prepared…Sir." I sigh heavily and release my fists.

"I don't know what the plan is, Taylor. Why don't you give me some ideas?" I say sardonically. There is silence in the car for a moment, and then, "Sir, she was right you know."

"Excuse me?" What was she right about, you soon-to-be-unemployed….?

"She was right…Dr. Steele…about acting in the capacity of a court officer—and about the penalties…Sir. I just thought I would inform you, Sir." I run my hands through my hair.

"Thank you, Taylor. You're a saint," I spit.

I see a shadow at the door…and there she is. She doesn't look well. She was well enough to tear me a new asshole not 30 minutes ago. What the fuck happened? _You_ happened, I could hear the voice in my head telling me. This is what you do to women_, _I say to myself. You exploit their weaknesses to your own benefit and then you leave them shattered…and you _love_ it! But for some reason, watching Ms. Steele in the arm of the unknown man didn't sit well with me.

Even with the sun setting in the Seattle sky, I can see that she's been crying. Moments after they clear the door, she looks as if she's about to faint. To my own bemusement, I have to stop myself from getting out of the car to rush to her side.

_What the fuck…?_

Someone jumps out of the waiting CLS and starts going through her purse. Is she being mugged? I almost can't sit still waiting to see what is going on with Ana and these two mystery guys.

_Ana? When did I start calling her Ana? _

I get my answer when the first guy helps Ana into the passenger seat of the CLS while the second guy jumps into her 300 and they drive away. Still, with no plan in mind, I tell Taylor, "Follow them…not too close."

An hour later, I am sitting in front of Ana's apartment building. This is a pretty affluent part of town-not as affluent as Escala, but affluent. Shit, how much does she make? The parking garage is secured, so we were unable to follow them into the structure. She has been home now for about 40 minutes and none of them have left the parking structure. I sure as hell can't barge into her apartment, but I can't help but wonder if these guys are up there taking some kind of advantage of her. Well, if they do, she can't file that report on me this week.

"Fucking asshole," I chastise myself out loud.

"Sir?" Taylor asks.

"Nothing." I murmur.

Several minutes later, I see the CLS leave the parking structure, but only the black gentleman is inside. I make a note of the license plate and call Welch.

"Mr. Grey?"

"Welch. Any luck on the Steele situation?" I ask, impatient for answers.

"I am following a couple of leads, Sir. I should have something more concrete for you by morning." I run my hand through my hair.

"Good. Find out what you can on this plate." I give him the plate number from the CLS. "I want to know everything, and keep working on those missing two years for Ms. Steele." I hit the end button. Most people wouldn't care too much about what some kid was doing between the ages of 15 and 17. But I'm not most people, and I know better than most that those years can be very significant in someone's life.

"Sir?" Taylor knows me well.

"Escala, Taylor."

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"Really, you guys, I'm fine now. It was just an adrenaline crash, honestly." I have changed into a pair of sweats and a tank top and I am clutching a glass of cabernet, trying to convince James and Al that I am okay—but more, trying to convince myself. I am curled up on my couch wrapped in my chocolate brown microfiber Velura throw blanket, and its coziness reminds me how happy I am to be home.

"Oh, no, Jewel Darling," Al is chopping or slicing something for dinner in my kitchen, I don't know what, "You called me in a state, Sweetheart. You have never called me in a state…well, just once maybe…but that's why I am not buying your bull about being 'fine.'" I look over at James.

"Hey, don't look at me. I can't control him either." He smiles wistfully as he sits back on my couch. "Not that I would ever want to." He shyly drops his head. I tilt my head to the side waiting for him to look up at me. When he does, I raise my eyebrows knowingly and smile. He blushes a bit and I know he's as smitten with Al as Al is with him. I sit up a bit.

"Thank you for coming to get me, James. It was very sweet of you." I reach over and squeeze his hand. He squeezes mine back.

"No problem, Ana. What's up with this guy Grey anyway? I mean, I know of him from some of the projects that his firm and our firm share, but nothing more. I've heard that he can be a real hard ass when it comes to business, but I've never met him myself…and I didn't think he could be such an asshole."

"Well, surprise, he can!" I take a sip of my cabernet. I get a chill just talking about this man. "I just don't understand him. He's got all this money and all this power and it seems like he's sitting on top of the world—but he's _mad_ at it all the time!"

"Well, you know money doesn't buy happiness, Ana." James added.

"Yeah, but in his case, I'm sure it can get you pretty damn close!" James laughs loudly. "I don't know, James," I say bewildered, "it's something there…something there…nobody could be _that_ angry all the time for no reason." I shake my head. "I just broke the 'oath' about six different ways. _Please_ don't repeat anything I just said." James crosses his heart and raises his hand.

"I am a vault." He smiles. "I do have one question, though."

"What's that?"

"The curiosity is _killing_ me." He leans in and I lean in to meet him. "Why does Al call you 'Jewel?'"

"Oh, that." I chuckle softly. "When I met Al, we were both kind of misfits. We didn't mind it so much, but we were very aware of it. Even then, Al was very intuitive. I mean, we were only about 14 years old. I've known him since we were 12. Anyway, I was just about to move away with my mother and her new husband, and I was sick about leaving everything behind that I had come to know and love. True, I was a misfit, but I was a misfit in familiar surroundings with my best friend, and now I'm about to go somewhere to be an even _bigger_ misfit!" I took a sip of my Cabernet.

"During one of my then infamous crying fits, I told Al that I was going to where the rich and famous play in Vegas where I would stick out like a lump of coal. Al scolded me and told me not to talk about myself like that…that in time, lumps of coal eventually turn into diamonds and that I was a real Jewel." I swallowed hard trying not to turn into a weepy idiot. "Ever since then, he's called me 'Jewel.'"

James sighed. "That's one of the reason I lo…" he trailed off in his sentence. I looked at him, then at Al who is still chopping away in the kitchen.

"You love him." I finish the sentence. James nervously drops his head.

"I need you to be a vault, Ana." He says nervously.

"Why?" I almost squeal, reaching over and squeezing his hand. He takes a deep breath.

"I haven't felt like this in a _long_ time…and I'm scared." Oh, these poor little men. I guess they don't really know what to do with feelings no matter if they are gay _or_ straight.

"You guys _really_ need to talk." He looks up at me and I stress again, "_Really_!"

I think he gets the clue that I might know something, and he cautiously asks, "Ana…should I tell him that I love him?'

"YES!" I whisper feverishly, my eyes momentarily as big as saucers.

How about that? Shut off, single Ana giving her best friend's lover relationship advice on how to declare his love. How terribly tragic and ironic. I reach over and squeeze his hand again.

"_Really_," I say quietly, "and for tonight? Thank you…very much." James squeezes my hand with both of his and leans in to me like he's about to tell me a very important secret.

"You know I'm gay, right?" We both burst into hearty laughter. When it subsides a bit, I say with a bit of melancholy, "All of the good one are, James. All of the good ones are."

* * *

I'm pouring myself a cup of black coffee. I fell asleep last night due to pure exhaustion, but I have to say that I didn't get any _rest_ at all. I have six patients that I have to see and I need to be at the King County Superior Court before 4:00 to turn in the reports on these participants. I look over at my briefcase as if it carries the Ebola virus. His report is in there. I just want to get rid of it…and get rid of him! He is insufferable!

I pop a bagel in the toaster and smear it with cream cheese and jelly. I'm thinking about his report in my briefcase. I wonder if I should include that he threatened me? _Twice,_ actually. It's certainly something that the court should know. After all, he broke a man's jaw while a cop was standing 10 feet away from him! Granted, this man was drunk and had run into the back of his car…but where should the line be drawn on how you treat others? At what point does your behavior go from justified to abusive? I think about the report as I swallow the last of my bagel. I don't know…I just want him to be someone else's problem, not mine.

"Al?" I call back to the spare room. Al stayed the night with me. I tried to convince James to stay as well, but he was adamant that he needed to get home as he was working on a proposal to retrofit some building downtown. Al wasn't too happy to see him decline but he had no intention of leaving me alone, especially since he was just going to go home alone anyway. "Al, we have to go if you want me to drop you off, Dear."

"Keep your panties on," he says coming down the hallway and straightening his tie.

"Don't you have some big case or some client who needs to pay off a judge or something?" I tease.

"As a matter of fact I do, Jewel Darling, but right now, it's all in discovery."

"Do you want me to toast you a bagel or something?" Sorry, Al. Only fast breakfasts for me. He grabs an apple and a banana out of my fruit bowl. "This will do me just fine." And we are out the door.

"I am so sorry I ruined your night with James," I say to Al as we are pulling out of the parking garage.

"Don't even worry your pretty little head about it, Cupcake," Al says waving his hand at me, "I'll take care of James later. Besides, if you think I was going to let a piece of ass—though it was a _fine_ piece of ass—cause me to turn my back on my girl when she called me in distress, you've got another think coming. And when James heard your voice over the phone, he had his keys and was at the door before I could even hang up!" He was completely serious.

"Well, you guys have to let me do something to make it up to you."

"Ooookay, cook us dinner." I smack my lips.

"That doesn't count and you know it! I'm always cooking you dinner." Al laughs and puts his hand on my shoulder.

"You don't owe me anything, Jewel," he said softly. "You're my best friend, and I wasn't going to leave you." I briefly look over at him and smile.

"Thank you, Al." I say, fighting back my emotions. He gives my shoulder a squeeze and looks ahead.

After a pause, I say, "I need to pick your brain, Al."

"Shoot." I sigh heavily.

"What are my options with Grey?"

"What exactly do you mean?" He asked, bemused.

"Well, I want to turn in his report along with the ones from last session. But I'm not sure if I should add in that he threatened me, because technically he didn't threaten me, he threatened my career…"

"That's still a threat, Ana. Why wouldn't you put it on his report?"

"Well, this guy has told me that he can ruin me with a flick of his little finger, and I'm sure that he can. I've sat in three sessions with this guy and he sits there glaring at me the whole time. The only words he has ever said were to belittle me, demean me, or just make me shut up—oh, except for the time when he came to my office to ask me to sign his paperwork without him actually having to sit in on the sessions. I mean is there anything to stop him from really doing this to me? Do I just roll over and let him treat me this way just because he has become accustomed to treating _everybody_ this way?"

"Well, Jewel, therein lies your problem." Oh, shit. I'm not going to like this. "The judge is going to say that you haven't spent enough time with him to know that he is a lost cause. If this was one-on-one, it might be different. But this is group—you have to split your time between several people. He could very well say that he's shy and just doesn't want to talk in front of other people." I almost wail in sarcastic laughter.

"Oh, one thing this guy definitely is _not_ and that's shy, trust me! Five minutes alone with him and you would definitely know that. The biggest problem is that he can manipulate women so easily…" I trail off as a turn onto the street of Al's office. He tilts his head at me.

"Are we speaking from experience, Jewel?" I sigh heavily.

"Yes…and no," I say, rolling my eyes. "I mean, honestly, he's gorgeous and he's powerful, and his presence is very commanding. The women in the class literally fight over the seats next to him. If circumstances were different, I would go out with him in a heartbeat! Underneath everything, I can see this charm and this suave demeanor, but he uses these things—the whole package—to disarm you and bend you to his will. And when none of that works, he resorts to threats because he knows that he has the power to do what he says he will do." I pull up in front of Al's law firm. He opens the door to leave.

"You're going to have to wait until after the sixth session before the court will let you turn in any kind of report on him, Jewel. Didn't they tell you that?" Now I'm utterly horrified.

"No!" I gasp. At least three more sessions with this emotional tyrant? You've got to be kidding me. I can't sit through three more sessions with this guy staring at me for two hours. "There has to be another way, Al."

"You can have the community center assign someone else to the class, but I'm sure they would want to know why. And I don't think you can tell them that Mr. Grey won't play with the other kids during recess." He fluttered his eyelashes, teasing me. I rub my forehead with my hand.

"No, I wouldn't do that," I say, defeated. "He's my responsibility. Besides, the only other licensed doctor on the premises is my supervisor, Ronald. And he has his hands _way_ too full to deal with this. I'll figure something out." He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

"I know you will, Hun," and then he's out of the car walking to his office.

I'm sitting in my office after my third patient eating a tuna salad sandwich, pondering the Christian Grey situation. I almost feel like a kid who won't eat her vegetables. I just don't _want_ to sit in the same room with this man for nine more sessions. I just don't _want_ to. While I'm having a mini-temper tantrum, my blackberry starts to buzz. I look at the phone and see an area code that I dread but a number that I don't recognize. As much as I fear who may be on the other line, I can't afford not to answer it.

"Dr. Steele." I say flatly.

"_Ana?"_ I still don't recognize the voice.

"Yes, who is this?"

"_It's George, Ana."_ George? I don't know a 'George.' The only 'George' I remember is….

"George Sullivan?" I ask almost incredulously. The last time I remember talking to George was…well, way back then.

"_Yes. How are you, Dear?"_

"I'm doing well, George. How are you?" I get up from my desk start to pace a bit.

"_I'm okay, Ana. _Dr_. Steele, huh?" _

"Yes, I'm a psychologist now."

"_A psychologist? Impressive. I'm glad to see things are going well for you."_

"How about you, George? How is life treating you?"

"_Well, I married Elaine a few years back."_

"You don't say? That's really good news. I guess you couldn't wait for me, huh?" I tease.

"_Well, there is that little problem with the difference in our ages, Hon." _He laughs loudly. I can't help but think about Dad and Mandy. Their ages are not much different than mine and George's.

"Alas, I guess it wasn't meant to be." I said, feigning rejection as I walk over to the window. In an effort to avert him from asking about my love life, I add, "Still with the Henderson Police Department?"

He takes a deep breath and lets out a huge sigh. _"Yeah, that's kind of why I'm calling you, Ana." _Okay, this can't be good. I quickly wreck my brain to see if I can figure out why George is calling me in some kind of official capacity out of the blue. It can't be about my selfish mother and her wretched husband. He knows I wouldn't want to hear anything about them unless he was notifying me that I had to identify the bodies. If that were the case, he would have said so as soon as I answered the phone.

"What is it, George?" I'm trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"_Well, you know I've been keeping an eye on your case, you know, from…."_

"Yes, yes, I know." I cut him off before he can elaborate.

"_I got an alert today." _An alert…on what? Shit, man, don't leave me hanging out here like this!_ "Someone is looking into information on Anastasia Lambert."_

I am frozen to the spot. I have just enough strength in my legs to slide down onto the window seat.

"Why?" I breathe, just above a whisper. "Who?"

"_I don't know, Ana. I've been trying to find out, but whoever it is, their clearance is _way_ above mine."_ My hand flies up to my mouth. I'm resisting the urge to scream. I close my eyes tightly to fight back the tears that are threatening to fall.

"_Ana, have you….talked to any of them? Seen them…?_" George questions.

"No," I croak. "I haven't seen any of them since….since then." He sighs heavily.

"_I'll try to see if I can find out anything else for you, but you should know. With the level of clearance they are dealing with, they're going to find out everything. They should be able to connect the dots in no time if they haven't already done it. I just thought you should know. I'm sorry, Anastasia." _He is remorseful.

"No, George, please don't apologize. There's nothing you could do about this. I really appreciate your letting me know." I put my hand on my forehead.

"_I'll let you know if I come across anything, okay?"_

"Thank you, George." I say softly.

"_You're welcome, Kiddo."_ I can hear him smiling.

I thought I was done with this. I thought this was over.

I'm pacing now, one hand on my forehead and one on my hip. Who could want this information? Who could _possibly_ want this information? Jesus, I worked _so_ hard to bury this part of my life…and it's coming back! Why? I don't know what to do. I don't know how to handle this. I have to see Dad. I need help with this one. I speed dial Ray.

"_Hey, Annie."_

"Hi Ray." I'm trying to hide my angst and not doing a very good job.

"_What's wrong, Annie?"_ Dammit!

"What time are you going back to Montesano?"

"_Well, I'm having dinner with Mandy before I leave, so not until later."_

"I need a favor, Dad. Can I come by your hotel? I'm just a few minutes away." I say, weakly.

"_Sure, Annie. Is everything okay?"_

"No," I whimper. "I'll see you in a few. "

* * *

_**A/N: Any guesses on what turned up in the police report? **_

_**Please review!**_


	9. Chapter 9: Private Eyes and Old Ghosts

_**WOW! The response to the last chapter was ginormously electric! So I thought I would give you guys a bonus chapter! YIPPEE! Guess what you guys! No pesky bad reviews...yet. It's only been one day, though. So I get to spend this author's note thanking people!**_

_**To anailuj, bird, Gabby, Guest, Leah, Rauguste (these are all of my guest reviewers): You guys really help to keep me going, thank you. And Leah, I have no idea what the Lindsay Lohan reference was that I made, but I would really really like to know. Tell me where to find it!**_

_**As always, thank you to my Facebook girls-you guys know the Goddess loves you!**_

_**To contrite shadow: Like Ana said, "Don't taunt the animals!" Let's not encourage the idiots, okay? LOL. Some of my chapters are written well in advance and then altered to fit in the story where they are needed. Chapter 8 was one of those chapters. It was probably written before chapter 3.**_

_**To pocadotanimegurl (that's my daughter by the way-don't worry, she's 18): Thanks for bringing to my attention that in one sentence I had James in the kitchen "chopping away" instead of Al.**_

_**You all had some VERY VERY good guesses as to what the police report held. Somebody got really really close, but now I'm about to let the cat out of the bag.**_

_**No use in making you guys wait any longer...here goes (fingers crossed):**_

**__****I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L.** James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.

Chapter 9—Private Eyes and Old Ghosts

**GREY**

I sit in stunned silence looking at the information before me. I haven't been able to say anything since Welch put this envelope in front of me. How much time has passed? Minutes? Hours? I have no idea. All I know is that some time ago, Welch brought me evidence of the second most horrific thing I've ever witnessed.

"_Mr. Grey?" Welch is standing in the doorway of my office with a folder in his hand. _

"_Come in, Welch." He steps into my office and closes the door._

"_I've got some information for you." He sits down in the chair in front of my desk. "The driver of the CLS—James Flemings." He hands me the file. As I look over his background check, there is nothing immediately significant about Mr. James Marcus Flemings. He's 28 years old, successful tech development exec, born in Tucson, AZ. How the hell did he end up here? Why isn't this guy in Silicon Valley somewhere instead of here pawing all over Ana? He works for one of the companies partnering with GEH. There's no information on here about his current relationships, so I have no idea if this is her boyfriend. But then, who was the guy hanging all over her in the night club? I'll have to look further into this. _

"_Anything on Ms. Steele, Welch?" He clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. __This is behavior not normal for Welch. Is he….nervous?_

"_It appears that I was correct, Sir. Anastasia Lambert and Anastasia Steele are one and the same." I knew it! I knew she was hiding something and now I'm going to find out what it is. _

"_What did you find out?" I sit back in my chair. _

"_Well, she did finish her first semester of her sophomore year at Green Valley." He hands me her Green Valley transcripts. This is information of which I'm already aware. I do notice, however, that her identifying information is prominently displayed on this transcript whereas there was nothing of the sort on the Lambert transcripts. _

"_You're stalling, Welch."_

"_In April, she came back to Montesano for a few months. She registered at Montesano High School for the fall, but she never attended there. She suddenly turned up back in Vegas at Chaparral instead as Anastasia Lambert." I'm getting frustrated. I can tell by his demeanor that he's keeping something from me._

"_But why, Man? Why?" I'm losing my patience. _

"_Apparently, she was quite desperate to separate herself from Green Valley, which appears to be the reason why she returned to Montesano and Ray Steele. It's unclear why she went back to Las Vegas. As a means of staying separate from Anastasia Steele and Green Valley High School, she zoned to Chaparral using the address of a relative of her mother's third husband Stephen Morton and donned her birth father's last name to ensure her anonymity._

"_She took several extra classes and AP classes to ensure graduation at 17 so that she could quickly go to college. And when I say quickly, I mean _quickly_! She graduation on June 15 and she was on a bus on June 16 to Seattle. She used money from babysitting and her part-time job at Tropical Smoothie to get here, which means she had to save every penny! Once she got here, she got the grant for Bates and the job as the cashier and you know the rest." _

_I glare at this man. I didn't build an empire by being stupid. He's been working for me for years. I'm not going to ask him again to fill in the obvious blanks as to why Ana felt the need to become someone else. My game of stare with him is not as kind or intriguing as it was with Ms. Steele. He has exactly two minutes to give me the rest of the information or he will find himself unemployed. _

_He read my thoughts like a book. He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. "Mr. Grey, in all the years I have worked for you, I have _never_ asked you this question—quite frankly because most often, I never wanted to know. This time, I have to ask. What do you plan on doing with this information, Sir?"_

_If looks could kill, they would be removing the mutilated body of my head of security off of my office floor and parts of him off of the walls. "It's none of your fucking business what I plan to do with the information, Welch! Remember that you work for me—and if you have a problem with that arrangement, that situation can easily be rectified!" I bark. _

_His facial expression never changed. He didn't even flinch. What the fuck is he playing at?_

_He pulled a smaller 6x8 goldenrod envelope out of his jacket. As he stood, he said, "This is why Anastasia Steele became Anastasia Lambert. Let me say that if I find out that you used this information against her in any way, I'll rectify the situation myself and tender my resignation…_Sir_." He dropped the envelope on my desk and made for the door. _

"_Welch!" I snap. He turns around just before he opens the door. "Where the fuck do you get off speaking to me like that? I should fucking fire your ass right now!"_

"_If that's what you want, Sir, then fine. But before you dismiss me, I did a job for you and I got you the information you requested. Now you sit down there and you look at it. And when you're done, know that I want nothing to do with the misuse of the information that you are about to see." He opens the door and before stepping out and closing it behind him, he says, "I'll be in my office, Sir."_

_I'm looking at my office door where Welch stood seconds ago like this empty space is going to hold the secrets to life's unanswered questions. Welch has _never_ reacted this way to _any_ assignment I have ever given him, and I tell you, there have been some_ real _fucking gems!__ What in the name of God is in that envelope? I sit back down in my seat and open the envelope to examine its contents. _

Picture after picture after picture from every possible angle of a petite young girl apparently tortured and beaten within an inch of her life. I can only assume that this must be Anastasia as the only thing recognizable is her long, blood soaked brown hair. She can't be more than 14 or 15 years old. Her face is so swollen and bruised that I cannot begin to fathom how this poor child can be the same beautiful, frustrating creature that I see every Monday and Thursday. The pictures of her lower back are the worst though. It looks like some kind of instrument was heated and used to rip the skin off her back. If I look closely at the grotesquely seared flesh, it looks like I can almost make out an "h."

I barely make it to the restroom before my lunch makes a return visit and is launched into the toilet. What kind of sick, demented, twisted shit is this? And who would do this to a child? Did she fall prey to the same insane bastard I did? After I don't know how much time has passed, I tell Andrea to send Welch back to my office.

"What is _this_? What happened to her?" I scream horrified as Welch returns to my office.

"It's an open investigation, Sir."

"Open…?" After all these years, nobody's been brought to justice for this brutality? As if reading my thoughts, Welch solemnly replied, "'Open" in that it hasn't been closed, Sir. It's a cold case. There are no suspects, no witnesses, and no one wants to come forth with any information…not even Ms. Steele." I am dumbfounded. I walk over to the desk and pick up one of the pictures of her face. Blue and purple bruises and swelling all over. I try not to go into dry heaves as I hold the picture up for Welch to see.

"Do you know this kid turned out to be a psychologist?" I ask, softly.

"Yes Sir," he sighed, "I do."

You are such a piece of shit, Grey, I think to myself.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"Thank you for seeing me, Ray. I know it's short notice and you're supposed to be leaving."

"No worries, Annie." He said, taking me into a hug. "Tell me what's wrong."

I never told Ray everything that happened in Henderson. I never told _anybody_ everything that happened in Henderson. True, it's hard to hide from them that you've been beaten to a fucking pulp, especially when you are unconscious for three weeks. But when I woke up, I claimed short term memory loss so that I wouldn't have to relive the whole terrible experience again. My mother and her husband never really cared about the story anyway, but every now and again, Ray will try to get some more details out of me. I have a strong feeling that if I told him the whole story, he'd go "Dirty Harry" and I don't want that to happen.

"I need your help, Ray. Are you still in touch with Brian?" Ray looked at me suspiciously.

"Yes." He answered, with trepidation.

"I really need him to look into something for me, Dad." I hold my head down and put my hand on my forehead.

"What is it, Annie?" I sigh heavily.

"Someone is doing a check on Anastasia Lambert." Ray gasped a bit.

"Oh," He answered knowingly.

"Dad, I've got to know who it is and why. I can't let this shit creep up on me again…I can't live like that…"I start shaking. Ray takes my hand to calm me down.

"Don't you worry, Annie. I'll call Brian right now. We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise you. Okay?"

"Okay, Dad." I am doing my best to calm down, while Dad calls in the cavalry.

After I talk to Brian for a little while, I turn back to my dad. This business with Henderson popping up made me feel like little Annie all back over again, and I really need my daddy. I throw my arms around him.

"I wish you didn't have to leave, Daddy," I say stifling a sob and burying my face in his neck.

"I know, Annie. I wish I could stick around a bit, too."

"Because of Mandy?" I laugh through my tears.

"Well, yeah, her too. But mostly you." He pulls me back to look at my face. "You're my only little girl, you know."

"I know." I wipe my tears.

"But you know I've got to get back. I've got a lot of work to do." He does? Just a couple of days ago, he told me that he may be bankrupt, unless…

"You got the contract?" I squealed.

"I got the contract." He smiled. I hug Ray again.

"Oh, Dad, I'm _so_ happy for you!" I exclaim.

"Thanks, Annie. Hey, why don't you come to dinner with Mandy and me? We can celebrate!" I smile at Ray.

"This is your last evening here, Ray, and if this were _my_ boyfriend's last evening in town, I'd want to be alone with him." I kiss him on the cheek.

"How did you ever get to be so wise?" I sigh as I give his arm a gentle squeeze.

The hard way, Ray." I smile sadly.

After I leave Ray, I return to work to tend to my other patients. Thankfully, the afternoon flew by quickly and I still had enough time to make it to the King County Superior Court to drop off the documentation from my three court ordered group members from the last session. I'm still disappointed that I can't get rid of Grey, though. That man is a real conundrum for me. He makes my skin crawl when we are in session, but at night when I am alone, I find myself seeing those gorgeous grey orbs when my eyes are closed. And we won't even discuss the dreams. That's one of the reasons why this situation is so difficult for me. He is so fucking hot—his gorgeous eyes, his sexy disheveled copper hair, those pouty lips, that tall hot, hot bod, and that voice.

Fuck! That voice!

Any other time, a man like that could have me at his beck and call just panting for him 24/7. But, _no_—I had to meet the totally self-important version. I drop my head in visible disappointment. Let me know when the attitude upgraded version shows up and I'll be first in line! My fucking luck so totally sucks...and I was just about to find out how badly.

I had made it just in time before the clerk's office closed to drop off my documentation. I really didn't want to have to come back down here again until it was time to ditch Grey…and speak of the fucking devil. Just as I am leaving the clerk's office, who else but Christian Grey is coming down the marble stairs leading from the courtroom area. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs talking to an older gentleman, probably his attorney and probably about me. He is wearing a midnight blue two-piece suit with a jonquil tie—most likely Armani or Belvest, but with his money it could even be Brioni or Prada! He looks utterly delicious. He has his back towards me and his left hand in his pocket, showing just enough of his very finely-toned ass. His right hand is running through his sexy hair. I bite my lip as I imagine myself clutching onto it in the throes of passion.

This is why this situation is so difficult for me—I don't have the good sense not to torture myself! I put my hand on my forehead and shake my head in attempt to shake off the ludicrous idea that Christian Grey and I could _ever_ be lost in the throes of passion. I then quickly walk in the opposite direction, towards the door and closer to my car and a bottle of red waiting for me back at home at the "Bat Cave."

* * *

_**GREY**_

It's amazing to me how hard it is to find out any information on a kid who has been brutally beaten—a _kid_. How could they not have pursued something this serious? I guess if you don't have the cooperation of the victim, it can be kind of difficult.

I needed to ask Carrick about the situation with the court order. I need to know just how bad it can get. I need to talk to him soon, this can't wait—especially if Ana plans on turning in her report before the next session. I called Carrick's office and his receptionist says he's in court all day, so I'll have to meet him there.

"Christian! What are you doing here? Is everything okay, Son?" Carrick is just coming out of the courtroom and is shocked to see me waiting for him on the bench outside.

"Everything is fine, Dad." I shake his hand. "I have a little situation, and I need to talk to you about it."

"Okay. Am I going to need a drink?"

"I don't think so." I smirk.

As we walk, I explain my problem. I want to know the worst that can happen to me if Ana does submit that report to the court. My Dad rubs his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, the worst that could happen is that the judge revokes your plea and you would be required to serve some time and pay a fine." Shit. I knew he was going to say that. I can see the headlines now…

"_**Billionaire Does Bid in the Big House"**_

"That's not very likely, but it is possible—especially with this judge. We can petition to go before a different judge, but that may not work without a justifiable cause." He adds.

"Do I have any options?" I run my hand through my hair.

"Yes, you do. Convince her not to file the paperwork against you." I roll my eyes.

"Yeah. Tried that. Didn't turn out too well." I say, sarcastically.

"Well, you still have a couple of weeks to try." He shrugged. A couple of weeks? I thought she said she was filing the report sooner than that.

"What do you mean a couple of weeks?" I ask.

"How many sessions have you been to?"

"Three." I answer, questioningly.

"And you are required to attend twelve in total?" I nod. "She can't submit anything to the court before the sixth session. So you have three more sessions to prove to her that you are not a completely lost cause."

Reprieve! I've been granted a reprieve! Well, more like a temporary stay of execution because the Sword of Damocles is still technically hanging over my head. I have conquered businesses in less than two weeks. I can win Little Ms. Doctor Girl back to my side between now and then, especially since we so clearly have a common ground now. The problem is that I can't really let on that I _know_ we have a common ground, so I have to find another way to approach this. I shift on my feet a bit and I swear I see her…just through the crowd—those beautiful blue eyes and that cascading brunette hair. I rub my eyes quickly and refocus…and she's gone. Now I'm hallucinating about her! Get it together, Grey, for Christ's sakes!

"Christian?" I completely forgot I was standing there with Carrick.

"How do I go about showing her that I'm not a lost cause? I think I've pretty much screwed it up with this." I question. Women come to me, I don't go to them. I sure as hell don't grovel so I don't have the slightest clue what I should do next.

"Well, Son, if you were dating this girl, I would tell you to start with flowers and an apology. But since you're not, you've got me pretty well stomped, too." Yeah, I don't think that would work with Anastasia anyway. She seems like a no-nonsense kind of woman who wouldn't take kindly to that small, insincere gesture-type shit. "You need to bounce some ideas off of someone who can empathize with how she feels." And again, I've never really been too much concerned with feelings.

Brick wall…brick wall…brick wall…

Like whom?"Another woman? Ask Elena? Andrea? Ros? Mom?

"Well, you threatened to ruin this woman's career when all she was trying to do was perform her job duties, which by the way were to try to help _you_. When she didn't play your game, you pulled out the heavy ammunition and it _still_ didn't penetrate her walls. In fact, those walls may be even more impenetrable now than they were before. Now you have to get around those walls—on a personal and a professional level. Who do you think can help you with that?"

Still…nothing.

"Well, Christian, that's how you are going to have to handle it, so give it some thought. I'm sure you'll come up with something." He pats me sternly on the shoulder. "Dinner on Friday?"

"Yeah, Dad. Thanks." I call after him.

I walk in the other direction towards the door where Taylor has brought the SUV around. I can read minds when it comes to a woman's body, to seeking out her needs and fulfilling them. Maybe that's why I can't seem to shake some of these psycho subs.

Fuck, focus, Grey!

But shit, there are a set of rules and these women are supposed to follow them! They are supposed to know what is acceptable and what is not. It's a business arrangement…it's supposed to be professional…

Professional…  
Someone who can empathize with how she feels…  
FLYNN!

I wave my hand toward Taylor indicating that I'm not getting in the SUV. I'm walking down 3rd Avenue as I call Flynn. Escala is less than a mile from the court and I could use the fresh air. Taylor is driving slowly, looking over at me periodically, almost willing me to get into the car.

"_Hello, Christian. What can I do for you?"_

"I need your help with a delicate situation, John. Do you have any openings today?"

"_I'm afraid not. I'm booked all the way into the evening. Is it something we can discuss over the phone?"_

I'm silent for a moment. I don't really know what to ask so I think it requires some face-to-face interaction to get the answers that I need. And I certainly don't want to have this conversation while walking down 3rd Avenue.

"How about tomorrow? Early." After a moment of silence, Flynn says, _"I can see you tomorrow at 8:00 or at noon, whichever you prefer."_

"Eight is fine," I confirm.

"_Is everything alright, Christian? This is not some sort of emergency, is it?"_ He sounds a bit concerned.

"No, nothing like that," I assure him. "I just need your professional opinion on a very important matter."

"_Okay, I'll see you at 8:00 then."_ I end the call.

Mrs. Jones has prepared lobster pasta with herb cream sauce when I return to Escala. As I enjoy the decadent dish with a glass of Bollinger, my mind drifts to the young girl in the photo. It's truly hard to believe that poor broken little caterpillar and the beautiful, headstrong, outspoken Dr. Anastasia Steele are one and the same. The horror that child must have experienced at the hand of…whom? What in God's name could have possibly happened that resulted in that kind of brutal attack on a teenage girl?

I finish my dinner and pour another glass of Bollinger before I head to my study to get some work done. When I turn on my computer, there is an email from Elena.

_**To: Christian Grey**_

_**Re: Ms. Ellison's Qualifications **_

_**Date: Tuesday, June 19, 2012, 18:17**_

_**From: Elena Lincoln**_

_**Christian, **_

_**Greta informs me that your conversation last week was very productive concerning her abilities and qualifications, yet I have heard nothing from you concerning your decision to engage her services as your submissive. You must know that with her exquisite beauty, talents, and versatility, she is a highly marketable commodity. Though she has expressed a keen interest in signing with you, she cannot wait forever even for someone as undeniably charming as yourself. I told her that you were eager to sign someone—which is what you led me to believe—so I do not understand the hesitance to seal the deal. I am sure that you have had ample time to complete your thorough background check. So be a dear and sign the woman already! **_

_**Elena Lincoln, Owner and Operator, Esclava Salons Washington**_

Shit. I had completely forgotten about Greta. She has the potential to be one of the best subs I have ever had. Unfortunately, I can't get Anastasia Steele off my mind.

_**To: Elena Lincoln**_

_**Re: Ms. Ellison's Qualifications**_

_**Date: Tuesday, June 19, 2012, 19:42**_

_**From: Christian Grey**_

_**Elena, **_

_**Unfortunately, more pressing issues have arisen during these past few days that have prevented my considering Ms. Ellison's qualifications. If she is impatient to be signed, please inform her that she is free to go with another client. When I have the opportunity to address the issue, I will do so and contact you at that time. You should know better than anyone that, even in my eagerness, I don't rush important decisions—nor do I allow anyone to pressure me into making one. I will contact you when I have made my decision. **_

_**Christian Grey, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.**_

I scroll through the rest of my emails attempting to rid my mind of the image of a black and blue teenage girl with long brown hair lying naked and badly beaten on a dirt floor.

* * *

"So Christian, what's say we get right to it? What's brought you here today?"

As I sit on John Flynn's couch—_the_ couch—I'm trying to figure out the best what to approach this topic with him.

"I've offended someone." I state, blankly.

"Well, this is not new, Christian. Would you care to elaborate?"

Not really, but I guess I have no choice, do I? "Well, that little issue surrounding the R8 a few weeks back?" John nods. "I was assigned community service and required to attend group therapy for six weeks."

"Okay, and how is that going?"

"I'm getting to that, John." I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Community service, well, all I'll say is that you have plausible deniability so let's just keep it that way." John shook his head at me.

"You know, we've talked numerous times about you throwing money at your problems to make them go away, and it looks like you haven't learned a thing!" I can hear the frustration in his voice.

"For fuck's sake, John, the man ran into me! I was sitting at a stop light and he ran into me! He was so drunk he couldn't even stand let alone drive! And once he realized that he had gotten into an accident with _the_ Christian Grey, all of a sudden he was hurt and the accident was my fault!" I jump off the couch and start pacing his office. "And this judge," I'm flailing my hands wildly in the air, "he wanted to throw me in jail! I hit the guy one time—_one time_, John—I didn't beat him to a pulp or try to run him over with my car! I decked him for trying to say the accident was my fault and the guy wanted to put me in jail. I swear he kept making all these speeches about crime in Seattle and the rich getting away with anything. It's like I have a target on my back because I'm Christian Grey."

"Well, Christian, sometimes you have to be patient and let the justice system runs its course."

"Justice," I chuckled, "Yeah, right."

"Yes, the justice system! If the gentleman was as inebriated as you say he was, he would have surely been given a breathalyzer test—which I'm certain he was anyway. Once it was determined that he was drunk, they would have suspended his license and your R8 would be fixed by now. He would be locked up with a suspended license paying for the damages on your car, and you would be scot free right now to go on your merry little way!"

I fucking hate when he's this fucking logical. "Well…" I don't want to acquiesce, "I could've broken the guy's fingernail and this Hammer-Ass would have nailed me anyway. He had it in for me." John raised his head suspiciously.

"Hammerstone? Judge Marvin Hammerstone?" He inquired.

I shrug. "Yeah, that's him." John chuckled a bit and shook his head. "Would you like to let me in on the joke?" I snap.

"I'm sorry, Christian. It just seems like you had one hell of a stroke of bad luck."

Now I'm really confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he shifts in his seat, "You are one of Seattle's most influential citizens, and you committed a crime…" I sigh heavily.

"I reacted like anybody else would have reacted in the situation." I defend.

"Well, not _anybody_, but we'll give you the benefit of the doubt and say 'most people.' Nonetheless, this is an election year, and his seat is on the line in King County, and his platform has always been tight on crime."

Fuck!

And they had to put me in front of this fucker, who apparently has something to prove in order to keep his seat. Now, this meeting becomes more important than ever.

"Please tell me this is not the person that you offended…" John protests.

"No, no…but it might as well be for where I'm sitting right now." I run my hand through my hair. "I offended the facilitator of the court ordered group sessions." John grimaces.

"How badly?"

"Nuclear!" I growl. He leans in closer to me.

"What exactly did you do, Christian?"

I explain the entire nasty mess to him. Honestly, everything that I know about her now, and how I see the meeting affected her after I left on Monday, I'm embarrassed just telling him the story. I don't bother telling him what I found out about her childhood. I don't think it's relevant, and even if it were, I wouldn't use it. But threatening to destroy her career, glaring at her in session—yeah, I spilled my guts on that shit. I even told him what Carrick said about the whole thing.

"Well, Carrick may be on to something, Christian, when he talked about how to handle someone you are dating."

"But we're not dating. And if we were, I still wouldn't know what the fuck to do in this situation." Christ, Flynn….have you _met_ me?

"Ultimately, people just want to be shown some consideration. No one anywhere expects you to be perfect, they already know that you're not. We are all flawed human beings thrust down here in the same mishmash of confusion just trying to make it from day to day. And here you have this woman who has dedicated her life to helping other people straighten out their mishmash, and she has to contend with the attitude of one Mr. Christian Grey. She no more cares about how you got there than you care for being there. All she knows is that you are there for a reason, it's her job to help you, and you are throwing rocks at her at every turn. No matter how she has tried to engage you, the only thing that you feel like she can _possibly_ do for you is to sign your papers and set you free. She can't do that, though, not in good conscience. In all honesty, if she did that, _she_ would risk everything. If she were to be exposed, she could not only lose her license, but she could also be charged with forms of perjury, evidence tampering, and falsification of documents for turning that order in to the court. You put her in an impossible position and then you basically have a temper-tantrum when she doesn't play by your rules. You're a grown man running a mega-empire acting like toddler with A.D.D.—and she has to deal with it. And when she has decided not to deal with it any longer, you threaten her livelihood. She didn't know who you were, personally, two weeks ago and now you are threatening everything she has worked for. How would you feel if it were you…if you were in her shoes?"

Here we go with the feelings again..."I don't have a heart, John. I don't feel."

"Well, we'll discuss your supposed non-existent feelings at another time. But you don't even need those emotions that you so fervently deny to know that if someone attacked everything that you strived for that you would come at them with everything that you have! And all she has on you is that court order. By her logic, if you do destroy her, at least you'll be doing it from jail—especially if you're dealing with Hammerstone."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuckerific!

"So what do I do John? I've been a real arrogant asshole." You know, my _usual_ self.

"You're going to have to charm her…and not in the way in which you have become accustomed. You're going to have to show her some sincerity, because if you come at her with bullshit, she's going to see right through you. You are going to have to start with an apology and let her know that you are an 'arrogant asshole' as you so put it, and that's how you are accustomed to handling things. You may even have to give her a little insight into yourself and your past for her to understand why you are the way you are. You may not like this, but you are at her mercy right now. You're going to have to act like it."

Oh, I hate the sound of that.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

_I'm cold. I can't see where I am but it is so cold. The moon gives off just enough light where I can see forms. People moving around. There's a stable, and a light—almost a haze—on the other side of it. I'm being dragged…to the other side of the stable._

_It's a bonfire._

_Are they going to burn me alive?_

"_No…please…" I'm crying. "Please…" _

"_Oh, poor baby." Her face is covered, but I recognize her voice. "Are you scared, you lying BITCH?" She slaps me…hard! "This is what we do to slutty little lying bitches like you!" I see lightening everywhere. I don't have a chance to see where the blows are coming from; no chance to scream; no chance to cry. But inside my head, I _am_ screaming…."Mommy! Mommy! Mooooooooommy!"_

I hear the word echo in my head when I sit up in bed, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.

"Oh, noooooooooo," I weep into my hands. The dreams are back. I had escaped them for a long time and now, they're back.

A few hours later, I am sitting at my breakfast bar still in my pajamas. I'm sipping on a cup of herbal tea and looking at my blackberry sitting on the counter. I want to call Ray to see if he has heard anything from Brian. I need to know who wants to know about Anastasia Lambert; who is digging into a time in my life that should have stayed buried; who brought these nightmares back to my nights. Instead, I pick up the phone and dial another number.

"_Dr. Saunders' office,"_ the perky voice announced.

"Yes, is Dr. Saunders available right now?" I ask, trying to steady my voice.

"_No, she's in with a patient right now. Can I take a message? Is this an emergency, Ma'am_?"

"No, no, it's not an emergency," I take a deep breath. "It's Anastasia Steele."

"_Ana?"_ The voice said with recognition_. "It's Amy."_

I was glad to hear someone's voice that I knew. "Hi, Amy, how are you?"

"_I'm fine. Still doing the same thing I've been doing, as you can see. How are you?"_ She asks trying to mask her concern.

"I'm doing okay. I just had a rough night. I was hoping to speak to Maxie."

"_I can have her call you when she's done with her patient. It should be about twenty minutes or so."_

"Thanks, Amy. I really appreciate it." I say before we say our goodbyes and hang up.

I have just enough time to take a quick shower before Maxie calls. I attempt to wash as much of the dream away as I can. I hadn't intended on washing my hair but I find myself scrubbing every inch of my body thoroughly almost to the point of pain. I force myself out of the shower as I see that I am repeating old habits.

"It's over. You're okay. They can't hurt you anymore. It's over. You're okay. They can't hurt you anymore." I repeat the mantra until my breathing regulates and I am able to think clearly.

I don my Victoria's Secret Bombshell black bra and panties just as my blackberry starts to ring. It's Maxie.

"Hi Maxie."

"_Hey, Ana. What's going on? Amy says you didn't sound too good when you called." _I'm trying not to go into a panic attack while I talk to her.

"Maxie, I really need to talk to you about something, but I don't know if I can drive." My voice is shaking.

"_Amy,"_ I hear her talking to the receptionist_, "Clear my schedule for this morning. I have an emergency. Ana, I'll be there in twenty minutes." _

"Thank you, Maxie. I wouldn't ask you to do this, but I'm a little desperate."

"_Say no more, Ana. I'm on my way."_

By the time Maxie gets there, I have donned one of the many dresses from my Lindy Bop collection—the Laney chic vintage black Bengaline high waist pencil wiggle dress with short sleeved white top with black polka dots, collar, cuffs, and bow. My hair had air dried and I brushed it and pulled it into a high ponytail.

"What's going on, Ana?" Maxie asks when I let her in. I guided her to the dining room table where I sat down on the end and she took the chair to my left. I'm ringing my hands having such a hard time discussing this, but now is definitely the time.

"I've never openly discussed this with anyone. Allen knows bits of it but not all of it. But I need my friend _and_ a professional, so…" I swallow hard. She sits up straight because she knows this is going to be a session.

"Is this going to be a doctor/patient privilege thing, Ana? I need to know if I need to call in reinforcements…or the police…" She is cautious. I wave my hand.

"It's too late for all that," I choke. I break down momentarily before I can continue. "I would appreciate it if this could stay between us, though." She takes my hand.

"You have my word." I take a deep breath and begin my horrific tale.

"Have you ever heard of human branding?" Maxie shakes her head and furrows her brow. "Well, it was a practice that was common in the 15th or 16th century but was abolished in 1822. Humans were branded in different parts of the world for lots of reasons—for committing crimes, for being vagabonds or gypsies, even for committing adultery…"

"Like 'The Scarlet Letter.'" She interjects.

I nod. "Yeah, exactly like that, only a whole lot more permanent." I pause and Maxie is staring at me, her face is full of confusion.

"Ana, what does this have to do with…" I hold my hand up to interrupt her. I take a deep breath and spit it out.

"I have one." She's momentarily still confused, and then realization dawns.

"You have a brand?!" She nearly screamed. I nod. "How? Were you hazed!?" She asked, knowing that some fraternities still use branding in the "crossing over" process as a show of brotherhood.

"No. That's not…" I still find it hard to discuss, but Pandora's Box was opened when Anastasia Lambert came back, so there's no turning back now. I hold up my finger for us to pause for a moment.

I go over to my wet bar and grab two glass tumblers and a bottle of Absolut. I put ice in both glasses as I pass the refrigerator and come back to the dining room table.

"I know you're still on the clock, but you may need this." She declines but I pour myself a double and throw it back quickly—at 9:00 in the morning.

"When my mother got married for the third time, we moved to Nevada. I used to live in a suburb of Las Vegas called Henderson. A portion of Henderson, called Green Valley, is the Beverly Hills of the area—_very_ affluent neighborhood. That's where the celebrities have homes—Janet Jackson, Andre Agassi, David Coverdale, Gladys Knight…you get the idea. You didn't live in Green Valley if you didn't have money…unless you were me." I fight back tears that threatened to fall and pour myself another drink.

"I don't know how my mom's husband lived in this city, but he did. We had a huge house with nice things and a swimming pool in a wonderful location…and no money." I swirl the clear liquid around in the glass, but haven't taken another drink yet.

"In Henderson, _not_ having money and being allowed to mingle with those who do is a social crime. So needless to say, I wasn't the most popular kid in school. But I could live with that. What I'm about to tell you…I wouldn't believe could happen in America in the 21st century if it didn't happen to me." I have her undivided attention now.

"I was 15 years old and I was raped by one of the most popular boys in school. His name was Cody. He pretended to like me, he offered me a ride home, he took me to a desert field and he raped me in his car then left me there. I made it home, and I told Stephen...Husband #3. He went to Cody's house and confronted him and his father. Cody said it was consensual and that was the end of it. Stephen wasn't going to fight it because Cody's father intimidated him and quite frankly he didn't have the money that this kid's father had. So that was it. I was a dirty little lying whore—and Cody made sure that everybody in Green Valley High knew about it. I was a total outcast—it was worse than 'Carrie.'

"One day, I was walking home from school and somebody hit me over the head from behind. All I remember is that I was walking, and then darkness, and then waking up somewhere dark and cold with my hands tied. I didn't know where I was until the trunk was opened and lights were shining in my face. When hands came at me and dragged me out, that's when I realized I was naked. It was dark, it was cold, and I was at a horse boarding stable somewhere.

"They dragged me around to where they had started a bonfire and there was a cluster of kids over there. I was sure that they were going to throw me in the fire, so I started begging for my life. They were all wearing masks and capes, like it was some cult ritual—it was all very dramatic. I knew he was there, though. I knew he was watching, helping, something." I dropped my head. "I couldn't see anybody's face, but I knew he was there." Now I had to take a drink before I could continue.

"What happened, Ana?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. I could feel the tears, but they just wouldn't come. Not this time, they just wouldn't come. I had to finish the story—the story I never told anyone.

"The ring leader Carly Madison. I didn't see her face but I recognized her voice. She and Cody were dating, so I was just the lying low-class white trash whore who seduced her boyfriend. So she drew first blood. She laughed at me while I was crying and call me a lying bitch…and then she slapped me so hard that I saw stars, but those would not be the last stars I saw that night." Maxie's hand flew up to her mouth, her eyes bulging nearly out of their sockets.

"Ana, no!" She croaked.

I shook my head as if I could shake the memory away. "I couldn't even tell you who was hitting me, there were so many of them. They…beat me…everywhere! They even beat the bottom of my feet." I could hear my voice leaving me, but I can't stop now. "There wasn't a piece of skin they didn't touch…not an inch. And when I thought I would pass out from the pain, they stopped. They untied my hands and held me down, spread eagle face down in the dirt. Carly was saying something to me, but I was just on the edge of consciousness so I couldn't even hear. The next thing I felt can only be described as someone cutting a hole out of the middle of my back. I could smell burning flesh. I screamed and then I passed out."

Maxie sits there in stunned silence. Then, without a word, she pours a double-shot and drinks it down in one pass.

"When I woke up, it was three weeks later. And when the police asked me what happened, I really didn't know. I didn't lie, because I didn't know. Hell, I didn't even know about all the damage that was done to me until they showed me the pictures. All I knew is that I couldn't move. Three weeks later, and I was still in so much pain that I couldn't move. And to top it all off, I had been carrying that bastard's baby." Her hand flew up to her mouth again. "I lost it during the beating. I didn't care. I didn't want anything to remind me of him and what he did to me. But…we can't always get what we want." My voice is cracking again. "I still don't know the whole story of how I was found or how I ended up in the hospital. I just know that they never got a chance to finish the job and they've never been punished as far as I know."

"What do you mean they never got a chance to finish the job?' She asks, horrified. "You were beaten damn near to death, unconscious for three weeks…I think they were pretty fucking thorough!"

"Oh, they were, but they didn't finish the job." I stood up, unzipped my dress, turned around and showed her my "brand."

Maxie gasped loud and long.

* * *

_**A/N: For those of you who are not aware of the "Dirty Harry" reference, an American actor named Clint Eastwood has a famous line from a 1971 movie called Dirty Harry where he is about to shoot this guy and he says, "Do you feel lucky? Well, do you, punk?" Unless you have been living under a rock, everybody in America (and probably other parts of the world) has heard some variation of that line at least once. In the movie, there's a killer that got away with several murders by getting off on a technicality. A detective named Harry Callahan played by Clint Eastwood got pissed and chased him down—on and off the clock—until he finally killed him right after he quoted that famous line. Hence, Ana is afraid Ray will go "Dirty Harry" on the people that attacked her.**_

_**Not much else I can say...Please review! **_


	10. Chapter 10: Revelations

_**So…the response to the last chapter was very intense! I normally post twice a week, but I do want the story to move on just a bit so you got a bonus chapter last week…and you're getting a bonus chapter this week. So here it is. **_

_**Just a little bit of background. As you can see by Ana's description of the event, this was a vicious premeditated act against her. I had someone remind me that livestock brands are registered to their owners. I kind of knew that (kind of), but this particular attack was not performed with a livestock brand…she may not have survived that, I don't know. Keep in mind that they were trying to mark her AND hurt her. So whereas animal branding takes a couple of seconds and it's done, we can assume that if she passed out from the pain that her brand sat on her longer than a couple of seconds. Livestock brands are normally made of iron, made to burn through coarse fur and animal skins. This attack was performed with stainless steel brands. They are easy to get—you can find them in some specialty stores in some areas. There's even a company in Texas that will ship you a personalized brand in one day—and they are very cheap; we're talking like $20 American. So I just wanted to point out that these kids didn't use a registered branding iron. **_

_**Someone else asked why she didn't get the brand removed. In general, burns aren't something that can be removed like that. We all know at least one person who has a burn scar (or even some pretty brutal burn scars) on their skin that never went away. Human branding is irreversible—it's a scar. They do designer branding in Singapore in a controlled environment with sterile cauterization tools and those tiny little brands are irreversible. So, unfortunately, a vicious "sit a branding iron on my back" scar is not something the knife can cut away.**_

_**I also know that you guys are itching to know exactly what the brand is. You will find out, but not until later in the story. Its revelation has a specific purpose. So try not to kill me and be patient. I haven't let you down so far, have I?**_

_**I think I have addressed all of the questions. If I haven't, or you have more information for me, please let me know!**_

_**I had some remarkable guest reviewers this time. I wish I could address you all individually, but please know how much I appreciate your support of my work. I do put a lot of myself and my heart into what I do, so I do love it when people are happy with it. I am always VERY, VERY nervous when I post it. So I do appreciate you taking your time to read and review my work.**_

_**I have to mention My Beloved Smile Rose at least once. We are developing a friendship that I am coming to appreciate very much. **_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L.**__**James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 10—Revelations

"OH MY GOD! ANA! JESUS CHRIST!" Maxie screamed. Even though I knew this would be her reaction, it didn't quell the immense humiliation I would always feel every time I dare to get undressed in front of someone. Even facing away from her, I could feel her glaring at the mutilated scarring on my lower back. I could do nothing to stop the mournful tears that followed. I know the thing looks absolutely hideous even though it's all "healed up." I could hear her rise from her chair before she spun me around and held me in her arms as I sobbed. I don't know how long we stood there. It seemed like forever. When I was all cried out she helped me back down to my seat, took out her phone and hit some numbers.

"Amy…I'm not going to be back in today. Reschedule everyone for whatever openings I have tomorrow and next week….Everything's fine, Amy just please reschedule everyone…Thank you." She hung up the phone. "Ana, why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I never told anybody," I answered, never raising my head to look at her. "It's one of the reasons I got into psychology. I thought I could heal myself…and it was working…until…" I put my hands over my face. Maxie took my hands down.

"Until what, Ana?"

I sighed. "When I was well enough to travel, Mom sent me to Ray so that she and Stephen could deal with the social 'fall-out' of what had happened. She was more concerned about what the neighbors were thinking than what was going on with me." I sneered. "When I went to live with Ray, I gave him the same story…that I didn't remember what happened. We didn't talk about it much, either. He tried to get me to open up about it, but I just couldn't. I was there for months. I felt like I was at home again. Mom never called me once…not…once." I wipe a stray tear from my face.

"I registered for school in Montesano for that fall, but I never got a chance to go. Mom and Stephen showed up to take me back to Henderson—back to the place that was the source of all of my nightmares; back to where the most horrific things happened to me that have ever happened even to this _date_." I shook my head. "I don't know why. I still don't know why they brought me back. I know they didn't want me there. I was more of an embarrassment and a burden to them than anything. I don't understand why they didn't just let me stay with Ray. I was happy again in Montesano…and they brought me back …back to hell…

"None of the Henderson schools would take me—_none_ of them. I'm surprised any school in _Clark County_ took me. But Mom came up with the great idea to let me use my real dad's name and registered me in the closest school in Las Vegas.

"I was in school from 7am until 5 or 6pm every day, with extra classes, extracurricular activities, anything that could keep me out of Henderson. I was out before dawn and never home before dark. I did babysitting jobs, went to summer school, cleaned houses in Summerlin and Northtown, _anything_ to not go home. Stephen treated me like a pure and utter shit—like a rodent. He never put his hands on me, but the mental warfare was cruel and unusual."

"Where was your mom during all of this, Ana?" Maxie asked.

"Oh, Carla had ringside seats—but she just pretended not to see it. She pretended not to hear him call me all those horrible names and tell me how I had completely ruined their lives and reputations in Henderson. A lot of times, as soon as he started berating me, she just left. Got up, got in her car and took off to parts unknown." I put my head in my hands. "I cried for months…six, maybe seven. Every day, I cried. My _soul_ hurt. I was _sure_ that death was better than what I was feeling…but I wouldn't give any of them the satisfaction. I can't even remember my mom speaking to me after I came back from Montesano. I'm sure it happened once or twice, I just don't remember it." I stood up and zipped my dress. I went to the kitchen and put a bagel in the toaster. The liquor was starting to make me a little sick and I needed something on my stomach.

"Anyway, long story shorter, Anastasia Lambert graduated from high school and the very next day, I took whatever could fit in a backpack and a duffel bag and caught the first bus back to Washington. I didn't want to go to Ray. I knew that would be the first place they would look for me. So I went to Tacoma instead, stayed at a homeless shelter for battered women, worked some more until I got a grant to go to Bates. Then I got a scholarship to go to U-Dub, and you know the rest." I took a bite of my bagel.

"So what caused today's breakdown?" She asked, taking another sip of her second double-shot. Oh yeah, I forgot about that part.

"I used to have terrible nightmares," I began, sitting back down at the dining room table. "For years, I relived that beating over and over and over again. I learned some coping techniques, did my best to deal with the past since I would never get justice, and I was able to live a semi-normal life. The nightmares eventually went away. Well, on Tuesday, I got a call from a friend in the Henderson Police Department. He was the same guy that worked my case and, I'm told, he was the officer that got me to the hospital that night. Anyway, he called me to tell me that someone is looking into Anastasia Lambert." Maxie gasped.

"Why?!" She asked.

"I have no idea. Anastasia Lambert did nothing remarkable at all. She went to school for two years, got a diploma and disappeared. There is absolutely no reason to look into her. I have no idea who's looking or why, so needless to say, I'm scared to death. And last night, I had one of those dreams."

"Oh," Maxie nodded. "Hence the need for the friend and professional." She grabbed my hand. "You came to the right place, Steele!" She smiled, then her mood went somber. "So now what?"

"Well, Ray has a friend from the military who…let's just say he's pretty resourceful. He's looking into it for me and he should have some answers pretty soon."

"So, I know you don't _know_ who it is, but who do you _think_ it could be?

"I have no idea. One of the girls who beat me up? The bastard who raped me? I don't know."

"So what are you going to do when you find out?"

"I'm going to face them head on!" I say angrily. "This is _my_ life. It's been more than 10 years; they can't _have_ it anymore! I'm not running this time!" Before I knew it, I picked up my drink glass and dashed it across the room and against the farthest wall shattering it to pieces. "I'm not fucking hiding anymore, Maxie." I scream through angry tears. "They scarred me for life—physically _and_ emotionally—so if they want me, come and fucking get me!"

Maxie scrambled out of her seat and embraced me again. "I need you to calm down, Anastasia," she says in my ear as I try to regulate my breathing. "You're absolutely right to be mad as hell for what those bastards did to you, but no use taking it out on your beautiful apartment." She laughed. I chuckled a bit, too.

After Maxie calmed me down a bit, I decided that the sycophants could do without me for one day…and I really didn't want to face Grey either. So I called Ron and let him know that I wouldn't be able to cover the group session that evening.

"Are you alright, Ana? This doesn't have anything to do with that guy, Grey, does it?"

"No," I lied. I had had a long talk with Ron about all that was going on with Grey the day that I made him wait outside my office for me. He knew the outcome would not be pleasant. I don't think either of us had any idea that it would be catastrophic. "It's not that at all, Ron. I'm just not feeling well today at all and I really need to rest."

"Okay, Ana." He said, his voice laced with concern. "Feel better and let me know if there's anything that I can do."

"Thanks, Ron." I hang up the phone and turn back to Maxie.

"There's something else I need to tell you, Max." She sat back in the chair and sipped her drink again. "Yesterday, I renewed my CCW." She put her hand over her mouth.

"You have a CCW?" she gasped.

"Ever since I turned 21." She sank down into her seat. "I just thought you should know. I meant it when I said I'm not running, and I need someone to know that anything that happens it not premeditated, but I _will_ do whatever I have to in order to protect myself."

"What do you carry?" I could see it was morbid curiosity. Hold on to your pants, Max.

"Glock in my car, Beretta in my night stand, .44 Magnum mini in my purse." She slumped in her chair.

"Shit, Steele, they've got you terrified." She said just above a whisper.

"Oh no, not anymore. This is just a side of me that you guys haven't seen." I sighed. I didn't know I was going to have to tell anybody my life story, except maybe Edward since I was so convinced that he was the one. Thank God I didn't spill the beans to him!

"After I turned 18 and I knew Carla and Stephen couldn't drag me back to Henderson, I contacted Ray and told him where I was and where I had been staying. He helped me out because I was already in school by then and didn't want to move to Montesano. Between my little job and grants and Ray, I was able to get a little dinky place for a while. I told Ray that I was afraid for my safety. I didn't give him any details but hell, he was there while I was comatose for three weeks so he really didn't _need_ any explanation, did he?" I went to the kitchen to find the broom and dustpan to clean up the broken glass.

"Ray started teaching me self defense and instructing me on how to shoot. It made me feel a little safer knowing that I could defend myself, but I wasn't able to carry until 21, and Ray wouldn't tolerate me carrying without a license. So I learned to immobilize an assailant with other items and I had three years to practice before I got my CCW."

"So how precise are you with that firearm, Calamity Jane?" She joked.

"I can hit a paper clip stuck in a fence post at a hundred feet," I say blankly. Maxie was visibly surprised.

"That's pretty fucking precise."

"Yeah, I'm a surgeon with a 9."

"A 9?" She shook her head, confused.

"A 9 millimeter." Maxie seems to be a little apprehensive now.

"So why don't you own one of those?" I laugh at her gently. Poor little naive Maxie.

"That's the Glock, Hon." I say a little slowly with a laugh, but Maxie doesn't seem to be laughing with me so I stop laughing. "I wasn't trying to scare you or anything, Max, but I had to tell someone. I've been holding on to this for 10 years. I couldn't even tell Ed, and _he_ saw the brand."

"Didn't he ever ask you about that? I mean…in…certain…positions, you can't miss it!"

"Yeah, unfortunately, that was kind of the idea. It's a 'tramp stamp.' But I asked him not to ask me about it, and he never did. Strange thing was…I subconsciously _wanted_ him to ask. It would have meant that he cared. At least that's how I saw it."

"You saw correctly," Maxie nodded. "There's no way you would see that on someone you claim to love and not want to know how it got there…no way in hell, but…" I could tell she was curious but didn't want to ask.

"I was unconscious after the first brand. My guess is that someone came upon the scene and stopped them before they could finish." I shiver at the reminder of the metal searing my skin. "You know what the worst thing about this whole thing was, Maxie?" She shook her head, amazed and bewildered by my tale.

"These were kids."

She seemed a little confused by my meaning, so I elaborated.

"These were children that did this to me. No one in the group was over the age of 18. We're not talking about merely humiliating me in front of the whole school or the whole town even—which was the ultimate outcome nonetheless. We're talking about gravely injuring another human being to the point where I was comatose for three weeks. Do you know how much hatred you have to have in your heart to do that to another person?" I ask incredulously. "How vicious and vindictive you have to be to stand there and burn another person's flesh…like it's a party game? How do you hurt someone that way and not feel it? How do you qualify that, how do you justify that in your brain? Do these people have nightmares about what they did to me, or do they chalk it up to '_one of those crazy things I did back in high school?'_" I said the last part in a mocking tone.

"And these were children, half of them I'm sure I didn't even _know_ me…raised with that kind of hatred in their hearts. And now…they're adults…_all_ of them. They are members of society somewhere in this world, some of them most likely very _powerful_ members of society—deciding someone's future in some way. Some of them are most likely raising children of their own—little entitled sadists growing up to be just like their hateful parents—and that really scares the _shit_ out of me. If I were to have children any time soon, they would grow up with these little… " Before I can complete my thought, my blackberry rings. I don't recognize the number, but like I said, I'm not running anymore.

"Dr. Steele," I answer.

"_Ana? Hi…it Brian."_ Finally! The news I've been waiting for.

"Hi, Brian. Thanks for calling me back."

"_No problem, Ana. As for you 'seeker…'"_

"What do you have for me?"

"_The person digging into your background is Alexander Welch. Does that ring any bells to you?" _I wrack my brain but nothing comes up.

"No, nothing. I don't know who that could be."

"_Have you applied for any jobs lately…or for a loan?" _

"Nothing like that, Brian. Nothing at all. Why would this guy be looking into my background…and so deep into my background. Is he local?"

"_Yeah, he is. He works for a huge company there in Seattle. That's why I asked if you might have applied for a job or a loan or anything like that."_

"Well, what company does he work for?"

"_He's head of security for Grey Enterprises."_

Grey Enterprises? Why would Grey Enterprises be doing a background check on me...?

Then it hit me.

In all its horror, one word came flying at me in fabulous technicolor.

"GREY!" I whisper with dread.

* * *

_**GREY**_

I can run six miles in 30 minutes.  
I have masterful techniques that I employ on a woman's body that will have her speaking in tongues.  
I acquire multi-million dollar companies without even being in the room.  
I strike fear and induce cold sweats in a board room full of grown men.  
I can say my name, wave my hand, speak a command, or smile and basically have anything I want anywhere in the world.

But I have no idea how to formulate a fucking apology, much less to a woman who probably despises me now.

When is the last time I had to apologize to _anybody_? Hell, I don't know…when I was a teenager, maybe? These are situations that I normally walk away from. It's a no-win for me, because I never apologize. I'd be putting myself in a position of weakness, and I just don't do that. But now I have to. I played my cards all wrong and now I have to go all contrite to the good doctor or I may end up in jail. This could've all turned out _so_ differently, I think to myself as I look out over Seattle from my office window. I would so much rather be testing her limits, tantalizing her core and bringing her right to the edge, torturing the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh…

My mind wanders back to the night I watched her dance. Her moves were so fluid, almost poetic. The way her hair swayed, as if it were also part of the perfect ballet. I can still smell her scent…captivating. And again, I'm adjusting my pants.

Fuck, Grey. Why are you thinking about the one woman in Seattle that you definitely cannot have? Because I have to find some way to apologize to her and save my ass.

I run my hands through my hair. I guess I just have to bite the bullet and simply say…

"I'm sorry."

Shit! It sounded fucking weird coming out of my mouth, but it's a start. Hell, what am I sorry for? Staring at her in group? Threatening her job? Calling her "Ms." instead of "Dr.?"

How about the truth…_being an ass_.  
Yeah, that about covers it.

* * *

Even though I hate coming here, I hate being late even more. Today, I have more of a reason to be early than anything. As I walk to the last office at the end of the hall on the 10th floor. I notice the light is out and the door is locked. It's almost time for group to start—where is she? I knock just in case. Of course, there's no answer. I look bemused over at Taylor, like he would have a solution to this problem. His impassive gaze only pisses me off as I turn and walk back to the elevator.

Before walking down to an obviously dark and empty 239, I knock on the door of the gentleman that had been talking to Ana in her office on Monday. I open the door after a voice from the other side invites me in.

"Excuse the interruption, Mr…" I begin.

"Carlisle. Ronald Carlisle." He extends his hand.

"Mr. Carlisle," I accept the shake, "Have the group sessions been move to another room?"

"No sir, I apologize, Mr…Grey, correct?"

"Yes." Carlisle pauses for a moment, answering my question that he knows who I am most likely from some not-so-flattering comments about me from Ana.

"Mr. Grey," he continues. "There's supposed to be a sign on the door. The session has been cancelled for the day. However, if you sign in, you will still get credit for attending." Now I'm certain he knows who I am and exactly why I'm here.

"If you don't mind my asking, why has it been cancelled?"

"Dr. Steele is unavailable." He said, coolly. Unavailable? What the fuck does _that_ mean?

"Oh, I hope it's nothing serious." He tilts his head at me.

"Please excuse my candor, Mr. Grey, but I was led to believe that you were—how should I say this gently—less than enthusiastic about the group sessions. You seem to have had a change of heart?" He eyes me suspiciously. I can't say that I blame him even though it's still pissing me off.

"I was just inquiring about the well-being of Dr. Steele, Mr. Carlisle. Nothing more." I answer coolly. He nods, knowingly. Fucking asshole.

"Dr. Steele did not share with me her reasons for being unable to facilitate the session this afternoon, Mr. Grey. I'm sure if her…well being…was compromised in any way, she'd say so. She probably just needed a moment or two for herself to regroup and seeing as to how she has _never_ taken a day off, I deemed it appropriate to allot her this time to herself without prying too much as to the reasons for her actions." You snide little fucker! He's taking a jab at me! Is he trying to say that I'm the reason why she's not here today?

Well, you could be, Grey. She was pretty fucking upset when she left Monday night. Fuck! This is going to be harder than I thought.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Grey?" Fucking Carlisle asks impatiently as I stand there glaring at him.

"Where do I sign in, Mr. Carlisle?" The asshole hands me a copy of one the sign-in sheets for the session and I sign my name on the top line. "Please give Dr. Steele my regards…_in case_ she's not feeling well."

"You'll be able to give your regards to her yourself on Monday, Mr. Grey." That's his snide little way of telling me that he won't be passing along my message. But from the irritated tone in his voice, I'm sure that he will. I smirk at him and walk out of his office.

What's wrong with Ana? Is she not well? Did I really upset her that badly?

Of course you did, you asshole. Do you not remember watching her get into someone else's car while a third person drove her car back to her apartment after you eviscerated her on Monday evening? Didn't you just tell yourself that you could induce cold sweats on boardrooms full of businessmen? What do you think a good old fashioned Christian Grey threat can do to "Little Ms. Doctor Girl?"

Such a fucking asshole, Grey. Such. A. Fucking. Asshole.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

He's going to do it. He's really going to do it. He's going to ruin my career. That's the only reason he can be looking into my past. That's the only thing it could be. I have no idea what he's planning…no idea he's going to do. …

I stand up and start pacing the dining room and living room area, nervously gnawing on my bottom lip. What is his plan? What can he do with this information?

"_Ana?"_ Brian's voice wakes me from my internal interrogation.

"What does he know, Brian?"

"_You know him, Ana!?"_ He asks incredulously.

"Yes, Brian, I know him." I sigh, putting my hand on my forehead. Maxie takes notice to my "tell."

"Well, he knows everything about Lambert, which honestly isn't much to know. I don't know how much he knows about pre-Lambert but if he's gotten this far, it's easy for him to find out about the incident. So I'm sure he knows about that, too. To be honest, I would say he knows everything that Henderson Police knows." Fuck. Me.

I knew it. I don't know _how_ I knew but I knew it. I knew that one way or another, he would end up in my secret place. I have no plan of defense against this guy because I have no idea what he's going to do.

"_Why would Christian Grey want information on you, Ana?"_ I can't tell Brian that he's one of my "patients," so to speak.

"I don't know."

"_You have an idea, though."_

"Let's just say that I was uncooperative with him." I rub my forehead again.

"_Is this something I need to handle, Ana?"_ I could hear it in his voice. Oh, fuck! No!

"No! Brian, no!" I exclaim. "It's nothing like that!" I sigh again. "Can you find out anything on him?" I ask as a last resort.

"_I knew you would ask, Ana. Check your email." _

I don't know if information on Christian Grey would be of any assistance to me, but hell, he's knows _my_ life story. I might as well know his.

"Thanks…for everything." I say to Brian.

"_You'll call me if you need me?"_ He's almost begging.

"Yes, I will. I promise."

I hang up from Brian and turn into the searching eyes of Maxine. "Well, I know who's looking into Lambert now."

"Who?" She leans in.

"Christian Grey." I answer dismally.

"Christian Grey?" She says with disbelief. "_The_ Christian Grey?" I'm still nodding. "Billionaire bachelor Christian Grey?" The nodding continues. "Hot, fine, sexy ass CEO of Grey Enterprises Christian Grey?"

"For fuck's sake, YES! Dammit!" I'm starting to feel like a bobble-head here!

"Why in the hell is Christian Grey…."

"Stop right there!" I interrupt her. "I. Don't. Know."

"Oh, you know something." Maxie points a long, polished fingernail at me. "I heard that conversation. If you can't trust me after what you just told me, who _can_ you trust?"

I sigh heavily. "It's doctor/patient type stuff, Max." I look at her defeated.

"And I am operating in the capacity of a professional. Spill it!" She sits up and folds her arms.

I sigh again. "He's one of the participants in my Monday/Thursday group sessions." Her mouth flies open.

"Why in the world would Christian Grey take part in group sessions at a neighborhood community center? He could buy any shrink he wanted!"

"Yeah, that's the problem. He couldn't buy me! He couldn't convince me or coerce me or intimidate me or whatever it is that he does to get people to do what he wants them to do!"

"What did he need from you?" She asks incredulously.

"He's a COA." And the light goes on in Maxie's expression. "And now you see my problem. He has been a thorn in my side since the day I met him. It is so hard to believe that somebody so hot can be so relentlessly annoying and callous. It's awful!"

"How hot?" Is that all she heard out of that whole spiel?

"You have no idea." I'm almost panting.

"That hot, huh?"

"Fucking gorgeous!" Okay, I'm borderline salivating now.

_Get a fucking grip, Steele. He's the enemy_!  
Oh, and now here _you_ go! Where the fuck were _you_ when I was falling the fuck apart?  
_Um…er…uh…  
_I thought not! As per usual, shut the fuck up, Bitch!

It's a good thing I cancelled session tonight. There's no way in hell I would be able to face that man…not after this. This bastard is the reason these fucking dreams are back—why I have to go through all of my exercises and overcome this shit again.

"Come on, Maxie. I need a massage."

When I need to unwind and get the stress worked out of me, I have two choices.  
Hot sex—not an option right now. Shit!  
Dreamclinic—now we're talking.

Dreamclinic is the only place I can go to where I don't have to repeatedly tell them "Do not move the towel and do not massage anywhere covered by the towel."

I do not like for strangers to see my brand.  
I do not like having to deal with the awkward silence that goes along with strangers seeing my brand.  
I do not like for anybody to touch my brand.  
I do not like for anybody to talk about my brand.

I cannot tell you how many strange looks I have gotten from massage therapists who don't understand why I will stop them in the middle of a massage, turn around full frontal, swing my tits in their face and ask them why the fuck they are moving my damn towel when I asked them not to. I had one remark to me that my ass is not that big and I should not be ashamed of it. I went the fuck off on her.

I had another one, out of morbid curiosity I guess, blatantly snatch my towel off of me claiming that it fell—like I don't know the difference between a falling towel and a snatched towel. We came to blows and I was almost arrested.

I went to a few massages wearing a tank top after that. That was an exercise in futility. I even stopped going completely for a while.

Then I found Dreamclinic.

I only had to instruct Sylvia one time on what I needed and as soon as she asked me if I was sensitive in any areas, I knew I had found home. Walking in without an appointment can be iffy sometimes. Sylvia may not be available and I have to deal with some of the newer therapists trying to get me on their table, but I am totally faithful to Sylvia—sorry guys. Can't blame 'em for trying.

Luckily for me, Sylvia had an opening in about half an hour and I was willing to wait while Maxie went in for a full body treatment. I pondered opening my email to see what Brian had sent me on Mr. Christian Grey, buy I decided that I didn't want to do that in the middle of the lobby at Dreamclinic. So I put Mr. Grey out of my head and, after a while, went back for my massage.

An hour and a half and a whole lot of stress later, we decided to go to The Crab Pot for dinner. I was just dying for some coconut shrimp and calamari. I pick off some of Maxie's salmon, too. It was a very nice short escape from the pressures of life. Since we took Maxie's car, she dropped me off at my apartment after dinner and, after making sure I would be okay, she went home to snuggle with Phil. I always feel a small pang of jealousy for the happiness that they share. I had no one to blame but myself for my current lack of companionship. I shut myself down completely after Edward, and now I am "Single in Seattle…" and I hate it.

I did receive a missed call from Ron while I was out with Maxie. I didn't bother answering since I had already told him that I wouldn't be in tonight. But I see that he left me a message. Don't tell me the bleeding hearts are complaining.

"_Hey Ana, it's Ron. I hope you're doing okay. Listen, that guy Grey came to my office and couldn't stop asking about you. I thought you said he was a real asshole. I mean, granted, he seemed like a real asshole to _me_, but when it came down to you he was just _oozing_ with concern. Kept saying he was just worried about your 'well being.' You may want to talk to this guy. If he is the asshole you say he is, you might be the one that can save him. I hope you're doing better, Kid. I'll see you on Monday!" _

Concern my ass! That wasn't concern. That was disappointment that he wasn't able to torture me tonight.

I open my Acer and go to my email. I open the email from Brian and start going through the information.

_******To: Anastasia Steele**_

_**Re: Tit for Tat**_

_**Date: Thursday, June 21, 2012, 8:15**_

_**From: Brian Cholometes**_

_**Hey Ana, **_

_**Here is some valuable information on your stalker. This information is not completely public but it's not that hard to find if you know who to ask and how to ask them. Let me know if you need any help with anything, okay? Dinner sometime, maybe? **_

_**A guy's gotta try…**_

_**Brian **_

Poor Brian. I may have gone out with him had he not been a friend of my dad's. Granted, he's significantly younger than my father, but he's still my father's friend. Maybe if I went out with Brian, Ray would see how ridiculous he looks with Mandy.

That wouldn't be very nice, though.

I open the attachments he has forwarded to me concerning Mr. Christian Trevelyan Grey. He's originally from Detroit—29 years old. He plays the piano and speaks fluent French. Fucker—he would have to choose _my_ language!

«Égocentrique riche magnifique fils arrogante de pute!" Translate _that_, Asshole!

He started Grey Enterprises when he was 19 and made his first million by age 21. No wonder he's so damn cocky. One thing in particular that I notice about Mr. Grey is that he wasn't born Christian Grey. He was Christian Fields. He was adopted at the age of four by Grace Trevelyan Grey and Carrick Grey. There are pictures of him as a child. He's got some terrible black and blue bruising on his side. On his chest, those look like…they can't be… How could they be? He looks to only be about two years old here. But those scars are unmistakable! I, of all people, would know a burn when I see one. But he's so _young_. Oh well, I can't very well ask him can I?

_And why not? He's got a background check on you. Turnabout is fair play!_

This is one of those few moments where the Bitch is actually right, but how do you broach this topic? So, Mr. Grey, you blatantly disregarded my right to privacy and delved into my very painful past so guess what? I did the same thing to you. Now tell me, are those burn marks all over your chest?

Probably not the best way to approach that topic…

After reviewing all of the other miscellaneous information Brian has sent me—his insanely high net worth, the fact that he lives in the most expensive edifice in the state, the fact that he was once one of Barbara Walters' "Most Fascinating People,"—I decided to take his advice and Google him.

Pictures everywhere of this strikingly beautiful man—at fund-raisers and red carpet events...never with a date, though.

_Probably because he feels like there's not a woman beautiful enough to share a frame with him.  
_Good one!

I do wonder why he'd never photographed with a date. He is so hot. Why is this unbelievably, breathtaking man cursed with such a terrible temperament?

Why, God? Why!?

There is one picture of him with his mother, Grace. She's gorgeous, too. This would be his adopted mother. Gorgeous young doctor and her husband adopts troubled beautiful little boy who grows up to be an arrogant, self-absorbed egomaniac. I wonder what went wrong there?

I spend well too much time going over pictures of Mr. Grey as well as his many philanthropic endeavors (who knew?) before I realized that it was well past midnight and I needed to get some rest if I planned on facing any of my patients tomorrow. After I changed into my pajamas and snuggled under my sheets, I drifted off to sleep with visions of a beautiful man in a black Caraceni tuxedo and bow tie beaconing me to join him on the red carpet…

…and the nightmares didn't follow me that night.

* * *

It's about 1:30 on Friday afternoon. I know one of the crew has decided to be my babysitter tomorrow evening, though I don't know which one and I have no idea where we're going. I have seen my last patient for the day and I am sitting at my desk, mulling over some information and deciding my next move. Although I now know who has shaken the hornet's nest and allowed my past to make appearance into my once-content present again, I still have no idea what he plans on doing with the information. It has sent me into a complete state of unease that massages and yoga can't seem to alleviate.

"Marilyn?" I call through the speaker.

"_Yeah, Ana?"_ Her disembodied voice responds.

"Can you see if Luc has any openings for the next few days?" There was a long pause, I was just about to hit the button and ask if she heard me when she responds,

"_Did you say '_Luc_?'"_ Marilyn has been with me for a while. She's a bright girl. She's knows there's a problem if I'm asking for an appointment with Luc.

"Yes, I did." I wait for her response.

"_I'm on it_." She knew not to say much more.

As I continue to examine the information that Brian sent to me as well as some additional information I found from searching the internet, I walk over to my window. From the address and location given, I look off to the north and I think I can probably see Grey House from here. There are more than a few large buildings in that direction and it's not far from here at all. However, standing here in my office, I don't know which building is his. Marilyn's voice startles me from my daydream.

"_Ana, Luc has an opening in an hour and two for tomorrow."_ An hour is too short notice. I don't even have a change of clothes here.

"What does he have for tomorrow?"

"_10:30am and 2:00pm." _

"Make it 10:30." Luc is my self-defense coach. I know he will put me through the paces since he hasn't seen me in a year. I will definitely need a good night's sleep for that.

I walk back over to the window and look at the ominous buildings downtown. Grey is in one of those buildings…looking down on the world and deciding people's fates with the wave of a hand or the push of a button.

"Marilyn?"

"_Yes, Ana?"_

"Go home. We're calling it a day." After a pause,

"_Okay. Thanks, Ana. Have a good weekend."_

"You, too."

…

I'm not running anymore…

* * *

_**A/N: **_

_**If you would like more information on branding, YouTube has quite a bit of videos on branding animals AND humans. **_

_**youtube dot com / watch?v=pvvjGTHDRg4 - Quick video on horse branding**_

_**youtube dot com / watch?feature=player_embedded&v=5QmCtG8dy3o#t=20s - Human branding with a cauterizer (kind of like a tattoo)**_

_**youtube dot com / watch?feature=player_embedded&v=wg-Z0pYw79E#t=7s - This is more like what would have been done to Ana, but not as civil and not as quickly. Oh, and it was more than once. **_

_**There are a couple of pictures of some voluntary brands on my Paging Dr. Steele Pinterest at pinterest dot com / pin/2040762303518306/**_

_**I did find some brands that were done for punishment, but they were so disturbing that I couldn't put them on my page. **_

_**Please review!**_


	11. Chapter 11: Skyrockets and Firecrackers

_**Happy Birthday to ActingPickle09! This is for you!**_

_**I really need to address some of my guests, so feel free to read the author's note. Particularly if you were a guest reviewer, you might want to read it…something might jump out and bit you. **_

_**To Guest1: "Cheered when the inner voice came back"—loved it! Her voice in the books got on my nerves, too. She was often too judgmental. Her voice in my story is sarcastic as hell, and that's why I love her!**_

_**To Guest2: One of the kids should in her sessions—unfortunately not going to happen (you'll see why very shortly) but I'm probably going to take your idea and do something else with it. Thanks!**_

_**To Andrea (Guest3): You'd think Elena would just go away, wouldn't you? Good grief. And Taylor is having a grand old time watching Ana "handle" Christian. I was reading another fanfic (I can't remember which one it was—sorry) and Taylor called Christian's subs "fembots." I was thinking of that when I was writing his reactions to Christian running up against a brick wall every time he tried to dominate Ana. She aint one of your everyday average fembots!**_

_**To Guest4: Good questions! Ana didn't tell the police what happened to her because a) she was scared, b) she never actually saw Cody (the guy who raped her) at the bonfire; she just had a feeling he was there, c) she could have told them that Carly (the girlfriend) was there, but it was her word against Carly's AND Carly was wearing a mask and Ana was very emotional for obvious reasons; defense would have destroyed that testimony if it even got to court and d) later in the story, she's going to tell us why she doesn't say anything. Please keep in mind that even the strongest person can still experience extreme fear when their life is at stake. **_

_**To Guest5: Yeah—people with painful pasts and mega trust issues don't just jump up and "make up already, Jeez" okay? These two started out hating each other for the most part and now one of them has found out that the other has invaded her privacy. Yes, they both had painful pasts and they each know about the other now, but that doesn't necessarily equal an "instant recipe for love, just add water." So how about you let ME write this story and we'll just see how that goes, k?**_

_**To anailuj: one of my faithful few (although I think I have more than a few faithful, which makes me happy that you are one of them). Thanks again for the encouragement—it's great to see you sticking with me and my little tale! **_

_**To Gabby: So glad to accommodate you, Darling. Lol. Now here's another yummy chapter for you!**_

_**To Jaimini: Hey! Good to see you again! You are so right. It's bad enough to have to go through something traumatic in life but it is worse to have to go through it while the people who claim to love you just stand by and watch. She does deserve commending (and a hug) for making the best out of a bad situation with her life. **_

_**To Leah: You made me laugh, Girl. That's all I can say (drunk when you read it)-did you know that you did the same review twice? ;-) **_

_**To Lisa: Thank you for your review. I'm glad you liked it. Of course we know not to try to anticipate what CG will do—he's likely to throw us a curve ball. **_

_**To Wattle: Yes, Carla was a real bitch. I have plans for her later in the story. Bringing her back to Henderson was an act of pure selfishness. Nobody would admit that out loud, so it probably won't come up in the story. But when I wrote it, that's the back story—pure selfishness. And you know surveillance is going to be involved at some point. CG would not be CG without his stalker tendencies. **_

_**Near the end of the chapter, a Michael Franks song is mentioned in Ana's point of view. As soon as that song is mentioned, you should go to this link and listen to this song while you're reading that scene. **_ **Youtube dot com /watch?v=PdttRc3PZz8**

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. . I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 11—Skyrockets and Firecrackers

_**GREY**_

"That's four…in one week, Ros. I'd say that's definitely a record." I raise my glass of champagne to my second in command.

"I'd say you were right." She raises her glass and we clink. "So this stuff comes so easy for you. We've taken over four companies in one week…what the hell can you do to top that?"

I don't know if there's anything that I _can_ do to top that. This shit gives me such a rush. One in a week is the rush from hell. Four in a week is fucking Nirvana!

"So, now you're sitting on top of the world, right?" Not quite, but I'm not going to tell her that.

"On top of the world." I lie, as I raise my glass again.

I've sent Ros back to her office and I open my right side desk drawer where I have Ana's file. I often look at the picture of this battered girl from more than 10 years ago to attempt to discover how someone could do this to another person. Our stories are similar in a lot of ways, but so different in others. I buzz Andrea to tell her to send Welch to my office again.

"Sir?" He has come in many times and seen me gazing at this picture. I don't think it surprises him anymore.

"Is there any way to find out how this happened?" I ask my head of security.

"There's always a way, Sir. But somebody has to want to talk. So far…"

"…Nobody's talking." I finish his sentence. I hand him the picture. "I've been looking at this for days, and I can't figure out what that is. Is that a burn?"

"Yes sir it is." He says flatly.

"What kind of burn is that?" Who does shit like this? What could this child have possibly done to bring something like this upon herself?

"I'm not completely sure. I can tell you that it was deliberate but because it's so…graphic…I can't see the bruising so I can't tell what was used or how it was done." Granted, I was a toddler when I was tortured, but I can bet that my scars don't compare to the ones left by this injury.

"If you wanted to try to find out what happened and who did this, where would you start?" I don't know why I have to know who did this and why they did it, but I have to know. Welch shook his head and held up the picture.

"I'd start with her." He answered. I shook my head, too. _That's_ definitely not going to happen.

"Grey," I answer my ringing desk phone.

"_Sir, you have an unscheduled visitor in the lobby."_ Taylor's voice informs me.

"Get to the point, Taylor." There must be something up because Taylor knows that no one gets in to see me without an appointment.

"_It's Dr. Steele, Sir."_ Ana? Why is she here? This can't be good.

"Send her up." I hang up the phone. "Would you like to see what she looks like now?" I say to Welch.

"Who? Her?" He asked as he hands me back the picture.

"Yes. Taylor is sending her to my office as we speak." I put the picture back in my desk drawer.

"Why is she here?" Welch vocalized my thoughts.

"I have no idea…"

* * *

_**STEELE**_

What the hell am I doing here?  
_You said no more running.  
_I know, but what the hell am I doing here? I don't know what to say to this guy. I can't even control him in group session. How am I going to handle him when he's got home court advantage?  
_Because the rules are different. This is personal. You said no more running.  
_I said no more running.  
_So go handle ya' business!_

I take a deep breath and enter the revolving doors of the huge building labeled "Grey House." I was right. I can see it from my office window. Since I don't see a building directory, I go to the security desk.

"Yes ma'am, how can I help you?" Do all of his guards look like giant ex-CIA agents?

"Hi, I would like to see Mr. Christian Grey, please." I say as officially as possible.

"Do you have an appointment, ma'am?"

"No, I don't." All if a sudden, he regards me like a rodent.

"I'm sorry, but you need an appointment to see Mr. Grey."

"Of course, I do." I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. He can run amuck at will all over everyone else's life, but you have to have an appointment to run all over his! "Can you at least call Mr. Grey and tell him that I'm here? He may want to see me."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am." He says a little more forcefully. "But you have to have an appointment to see Mr. Grey." Keep it under control, Steele.

"And how do I get an appointment to see Mr. Grey?" I say, softly.

"You would have to contact his personal assistant or his receptionist."

"And how do I do that?"

"I'm not allowed to divulge that information, Ma'am." Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell do I need to do—fill out a fucking application to see the guy?

"I'm not looking for government secrets here, I'm just trying to get an appointment to see Mr. Grey." I can hear the elevator ring behind me and Mr. Rent-A-Cop gesture to someone in that direction. Great. I know what's next. I put my hand on my forehead as I prepare for the corporate version of the "Walk of Shame" as I will soon be ceremoniously escorted off of the premises. "Ma'am…" I hear to my left. I put my hand up to stop the spiel of the wall of man standing next to me.

"Yeah, I know." I obediently turn to leave.

"Dr. Steele?" What the…? I turn around to face the voice that called my name.

"Taylor?" I walk back over to him.

"May I ask why you're here, Ma'am?" They're all polite if nothing else.

"I was trying to see Mr. Grey." I say, sort of defeated.

"He doesn't normally see people with…" He begins.

"…I know, without an appointment." I roll my eyes. Taylor chuckles.

"He's a very busy man, Ms. Steele…" I throw a look at him. "My apologies…Dr. Steele." He says softly, laughter in his voice.

"Well, that's what I was trying to do. One more second and I thought he would arrest me for violation of the Patriot Act!" I snap toward Robo-Security-Man behind the desk.

"Let me see if he's available." Taylor reaches behind the desk and picks up the phone. I rub my forehead while he's on the phone with whomever. What the hell am I going to say to this guy if I _do_ get up there to see him? I discover that I am about to find out as Taylor leads me to the express elevator that will take me to Mr. Grey's Tower in the Sky.

I am led into Grey's office by a petite blonde girl who announces my arrival before I enter. This has to be the biggest office I've ever seen. Who needs this much room? I saw a conference room to the left, so I know he doesn't conduct massive meetings in here. Waaaaaaay over there behind the desk, Grey stands when I enter the room. Another gentleman sitting across from him stands as well. Even from across the room, these gentlemen are commanding. Tall, handsome…

* * *

_**GREY**_

"Is someone after you?" She asks, matter-of-factly.

"Someone's always after me, but what do you mean?" I respond, questioningly.

"Because not only is it easier to get in to see the President than it is to see you, but also you're a tree," she gestures to me, "surrounded by more trees!" She gestures to Welch. He and I smirk at each other.

"It just could be that you're short, _Dr_. Steele," I say with mirth.

"I _am_ short, Mr. Grey. But no one on your security staff is shorter than 6-2." She responds flatly. That's actually a requirement of being on my security staff, but how the hell does she know that?

"How do you know that?" I ask in genuine curiosity as Welch is making his way to the door.

"It's a self-defense thing, Mr. Grey." She says never taking her eyes off Welch. "I can tell how tall a person is by looking at them so that I can determine their weak points in relation to their height. For example, you're 6-3, aren't you, Mr….?"

"Welch, and yes I am. She's good." He says, throwing a knowing look at me.

"Oh! So _you're_ Welch." She adds. "Maybe you can tell me…" Okay, this is starting to irritate me…how the hell does she know of Welch?

"Tell you what, Ma'am?" Welch asks.

"Why you're digging around in my past." She says impassively with just enough frost to make Welch straighten his tie and look to me. The plot thickens.

"That'll be all, Welch. Thank you." I dismiss him, clearly letting him off the hook. Welch beats a semi-hasty retreat from the office, leaving me to face Ana alone. This itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny-ball-of-fire-mini-meanie damn near brought a grown man to his knees with a _look_. Hell hath no fury, I know, but damn, Welch. I'm never going to let you live _that_ down. He couldn't get out of here fast enough when Anastasia told him that she knew he had been digging into her past. He hadn't cleared my office door 10 seconds before he texted back:

****She's HOT!****

I chuckled a bit and before I could put my blackberry away he texted again:

****And a little bit scary!****

"Am I keeping you, Mr. Grey?" I look up at her as I put my blackberry away.

"As a matter of fact, you _are_, Dr. Steele. Or have you forgotten that _you_ interrupted _my_ work day?" I snap.

"Well, excuse me, but you interrupted my _life_!" She shot back at me.

"Don't be so dramatic, Ms. Steele…" She certainly has a flair for it.

"Dramatic!? Dramatic!? You know everything about me now, Mr. Grey. Exactly where and when do you see my behavior as being dramatic? I'm pretty certain that, from what you now know of me, I'm far from dramatic!"

"Well I can't tell right now, because you're screaming like a banshee!" Her head starts shaking like she's having conniptions. I seriously think for a moment that it's about to pop off like a top from a soda bottle.

"Why in the hell are you digging around in my past? What could you possibly want to know about me? Why would you go into someone's life like that stirring up old ghosts?" Who the hell did Welch tip off when he went looking into this girl's past? This girl literally looks like she is about to go into seizures any second. She has got to calm down…she can't have a stroke in my office.

"Ms. Steele, I'm going to have to insist that you calm the fuck down!" That didn't make matters _any_ better.

"Calm down? Do you have any idea what you've done!? Do you even care?! Do you just go around ruining peoples' lives and making people miserable without a second thought? Just because you can? Has your own experience taught you _nothing_ about human kindness?"

Human kindness? Is she kidding?

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I am seething. I want to rip off his fucking head and shit down his throat! You callous, pompous…

"It was attack as a form of defense! It seems to me that you have plans on ruining _my_ life, Ms. Steele. That report that you plan on submitting to the court will almost surely result in revocation of my plea. And where does that leave me? In jail like some common criminal because some fuck-off ran into my car!" He spit.

"What you did was illegal—and the court is trying to give you an opportunity to rectify the situation! But you're so damn certain that you're right that you won't even bother to do what the court tells you to do! You don't get special treatment! You do something wrong, you have to pay just like the rest of us!"

"For fuck's sake! You sound just like that asshole judge. I don't walk around the streets of Seattle randomly punching people! The guy hit my car—while I was sitting at a red light! A fucking red light! Then he tried to say it was my fault. I reacted! That's all!" His hands are flailing in the air to emphasize his point.

"That's no excuse, Grey. You may have felt justified in what you did but it was still wrong. And now you choose to make my life a living hell because I was the poor sucker that got assigned to your case!" We are screaming at each other.

"You could have made this all go away with the swipe of a pen!"

"And _you_ could have avoided this whole thing by just controlling your fucking temper!"

He pauses for a beat then, as if a light has gone off in his head, he bellows "Wait a minute—what the fuck do _you_ know about _my_ experience!?"

My voice softens, but only by a fraction. "I know they you weren't always Christian Trevelyan Grey. I know that you were adopted and you were once a scared little boy named Christian Fields."

The look that he gave me would strike fear into a gladiator! He slammed his fists down on his desk and came around it, charging at me. He stopped not an inch from my face. His voice was loud and deep when he screamed:

"How the FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT!?"

Without missing a beat—my voice a little squeaky but just as loud—I screamed:

"THE SAME WAY YOU KNOW ABOUT ANASTASIA LAMBERT!"

It's a Mexican Standoff. He's staring me down and I'm giving it right back. I'm afraid. I'll admit it—I'm scared shitless! My heart is beating so fast and hard that it feels like it's going to burst out of my chest any minute. I'm breathing heavily looking up at him, glaring into his steel-grey eyes. I feel those adrenaline tears raring up again but I _refuse_ to let them fall.

I peeled back a layer he wasn't willing to give me, and now he's standing here in my presence, demanding…what? What is he demanding from me that I don't have a right to demand from him? Yes, I invaded his privacy, but he invaded mine too. As far as he's concerned, I was intruding while he was justified. Now what are you going to do about it, _Mr_. Grey?

I didn't have to wait long for my answer.

He took my face in his hands and smashed his lips against mine. I didn't have a chance to think…to protest.

_What the…what the hell is he doing?  
_I know, right?

As he moved to my face just before the kiss, my hands came up in defense so now my arms are smashed between us and I can't move. My eyes are closed tight and I'm stunned. Wha…wha….?

And then I feel it.

The pull. The electricity. It's _so_ much stronger than I am. I feel my body relax against his, even though I'm nearly fighting for breath. He must have felt it too, because his tongue is taunting my lips, asking for entry—and before I know it, I grant it. His tongue slips between my lips, his left hand into my hair, and his right hand flat against my upper back pressing me into him.

Oh.  
My.  
God!

He adjusts my head to grant him purchase to my mouth and he is devouring me—his tongue massaging my tongue, his lips caressing my lips. He tastes delicious and his smell…oh God, his smell. Somebody help me!

_I got nothing…  
_Of course, you don't.

He is awakening the beast. Fire is shooting from my mouth, my nose, my hair, and my back down my legs to my feet and back up to my core. If he were not holding me up so tightly, I would be in a mound on the floor right now. I feel everything tingling, burning. I am completely at his mercy. I couldn't move away if I wanted to. But in a moment of clarity, he releases me and steps away. I stumble backwards and land on the door, panting heavily.

He's leaning against his desk with his back to me, running his hands through his hair and breathing just as heavily as I am. I shake my head as if I'm going to wake from this dream, but I'm not. This really happened, and I don't know what to do. I'm staring at his back. He's heaving heavily and trying to catch his breath. He almost sounds like he's growling-his broad shoulders draped beautifully in a black suit jacket, rising and falling, like any second he's going to turn around, throw me on the floor and ravage me. My clit is throbbing feverishly at the thought and all of a sudden, I feel like a caged animal. I have to get out of here.

I fumbled with the door behind me and just as I got it opened, he turned around. I bolted out of the office just as I heard him call my name.

"Ana!"

I am running for the elevator. I am nothing but emotional, confused, weak, horny mush and at this moment, I would do anything he asked of me. I have to get away from him _now_. I push the button for the elevator and luckily it is right there waiting for me. I dash inside and push the button for the lobby, afraid to look up and see him following me.

The express elevator moves almost at the speed of light, thank God. I am whimpering the entire time, trying to drag in precious oxygen. I stumble out of the elevator into the lobby and walk as fast as my feet can take me towards the front door, still panting. I get almost past the front desk when someone calls my name.

"Dr. Steele…?"

I gasp and break into a run, burst out the front doors and haul ass to my car. I don't know why I'm running. All I know is that I have to get the fuck out of here! As I approach my car, I hit the alarm and the automatic starter so that I can quickly facilitate my escape. I don't think I breathed once until I cleared the underground garage and could no longer see "Grey House" in my rearview mirror.

I slam the door to my apartment and drop everything in my hands right there on the floor. Nobody has made me feel that way since Edward. Hell, even _Edward_ didn't make me feel _that_ way. I am leaning against the door and I can't catch my breath. I bring my hands up to my neck and feel the thin sheen of sweat there that always seems to accompany my arousal.

I can still feel his lips.

I run my hands down my body to my breasts and my nipples are tender and taut—about to burst out of my blouse.

I am on FIRE!

I lift my skirt and close my eyes. His tongue…I can feel his tongue invading my mouth and the fire in my loins as my hand searches through my lace panties and finds my clitoris.

"Aahh." He has me smashed against his body, licking and tasting me, sucking the breath from me with his tortuous technique. He is hungry, ravenous, and I revel in his desire.

"Ah…ah…" his fingers replace mine, and he is stroking feverishly, relentlessly as his tongue explores my mouth and his free hand holds my head in place. I am at his mercy. His presence captivates me, his demeanor ensnares me, his eyes, his voice and oh God…that kiss!

"Ah…ah…aahh…" My free hand journeys up to my breast and brushes against my sensitive nipple aching to be freed from its prison…but it's too late. The shiver from the contact, the massage of my clitoris, and the memory of that kiss.

"Oh..God….aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!" And I explode. I succumb to my orgasm as it ripples through my body, my clit throbbing continuously. I slide to the floor against the door to ride it out…it won't stop.

"Oh…God…oh…God…oh…God…" I have to stop with my stimulation as it is becoming slightly painful, but the sensation continues for quite some time after.

"Fuck! Holy shit!" I sit on the floor in my post-orgasmic state, trying to catch my breath, and still remembering that kiss.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Shit! This fucking woman is standing so close to me. I can smell her—she smells like fear…and anger…and pure primal unmitigated lust. I am furious! And with every breath I take she is invading my nostrils. This fucking, infuriating, unreasonable, desirable, irresistible, sexy woman! I have to have her…now!

Her lips are like ripe strawberries—delicious, juicy. Open your mouth, Baby. That's it. Oh yes! Hot and soft and wet. Fuck, I can't get enough. I have to hold her…closer. She's electric. Her body is so soft, she feels so good. She's melting into me…we fit together…her smell…her touch…her taste…

Snap out of it, Grey!

Fuck! The spell is broken just as quickly as it is cast. Step away from her, Grey. You're fucking everything up! Breathe, Man, breathe. Shit! Why the fuck did I just do that? Why the hell does this woman seem to make me lose my good sense when I'm around her? I run my hand through my hair and vaguely remember that I am not alone in the room. Damn! What the fuck must she be thinking? I compose myself to turn around and face the music, but she's not there anymore.

"Ana!" I step out of my office to see Andrea and Olivia looking at me confused. "Where is she?" I bark.

"In the elevator, Sir." Andrea answers.

I pick up the phone to call Taylor.

"Sir?"

"Ms. Steele is in the express elevator. Stop her! Don't let her leave!"

"How do you expect me to detain her, Sir?'

"Just catch her and tell her to wait, please…" I hear him call her name, and I can hear her shoes clicking across the lobby floor at high speed. Shit! She's running! "Taylor!" I yell.

"Sir!" He yells back. I forgot about the earpiece in his ear. I can tell by the dissipating clicks that she's already out of the building.

"Have Reynolds follow her." I say more quietly. "She drives a pearl blue Chrysler 300."

"I remember, Sir. For how long?"

"Until further notice. Light surveillance. I want reports every four hours and as needed. Tell him to use whomever he needs."

"Yes, Sir."

I go back into my office and lean on my desk, resisting the urge to clear it off in an angry frenzy. What is this woman doing to me? I had the perfect opportunity to sit her down and talk to her, to apologize for my behavior and try to make things right so that she wouldn't file that fucking report…and what do I do?

I insult her, verbally attack her, accost her, and then send her running from my office in some sort of frenzy. Boy, Grey, when you fuck up, you fuck up BIG!

* * *

"Where did she go?" I ask Taylor in the SUV later that evening.

"Back to her apartment, Sir. Reynolds says she hasn't left all afternoon." I run my hands through my hair. I watch the scenery go pass as we are on our way to Bellevue. Women don't do this to _me_. I do this to _women_. And how the hell does _she_ have this much control over me? Yes, she's visually pleasing, but as a person, she's a fucking pill!

She thaws out very nicely when you kiss her, though.

I can't think of this woman this way! I fucking can't. I have to find a way to change her mind about filing that report to the court. I can't let her do it. I have to be able to convince her somehow.

Without kissing her.

Mia bolts to my arms as soon as I am out of the car. "Dad said you might be here, but I didn't believe him!"

"Hi, Mia." I hold my little sister. She's the only one that really hugs me like this.

"Mom has a few of her friends in the parlor, so we're all out on the patio waiting for them to leave." I see a few cars in front of the house as I walk in but I don't pay much attention to them.

"Christian." Carrick greets as I walk into the kitchen with Mia.

"Dad." We shake hands. "How's the case going?"

"As well as can be expected." He takes a drink of his wine. "Yours?" I shoot a look at him. I really don't want to talk about this in front of Mia, but she doesn't seem to be able to take a hint as she stands there looking at me expecting.

"Not so much." I say as I pour myself a glass of Sancerre.

"Oh?" Carrick wants more answers and Mia is still standing there looking down my throat. There's no way I'm telling him about the kiss, or about the background check, until they are possibly cuffing me and hauling me off to jail.

"Session was cancelled yesterday, so I didn't get a chance to talk to the facilitator."

"I see," Carrick responded, enigmatically. "Do you have any idea why it was cancelled?"

"No," I answer, "and the director of the place was being a real asshole when I tried to find out."

"Christian!" Mia scolds me for my language.

"Little Sister," I turn to Mia, "In case you haven't noticed, I am having a conversation with Dad where the words are strategically placed such that if you don't know _who_ we're talking about, you don't know _what_ we're talking about. But since you still can't seem to be able to take the hint, pretty soon I'm going to start having a very graphic conversation about testicles, penises, and any other body part that may induce discomfort!" Carrick is stifling a laugh while Mia regards me wide-eyed and open mouthed.

"How vulgar! All you had to do was say so!" Mia snaps, affronted.

"I just did…and you're still here. You're my favorite person. Please leave." I kiss her on the forehead to lighten the blow. She frowns at me and marches out of the kitchen onto the patio.

"I think something was wrong with the doctor, Dad. I don't know if she was sick or…"

"…Or trying to avoid you." He finished my thought. I sigh.

"If she's trying to avoid me, I still get credit for my sessions, but I don't get a chance to talk to her before she can submit the paperwork."

"You've got a bigger problem than that, Son. There is a lot being suggested by the fact that she would be willing to just wait this out."

"But if she does wait it out, won't the same rules apply…that she has only seen me for three sessions?" I ask, desperate.

"Yes, but by the time they sort that out, the damage could already be done." I know what he's referring to. One day of Christian Grey in jail could be the destruction of all of my credibility in the business world.

"I suggest that you wait until Monday and see if she shows up for the group session. If she doesn't, you can petition the court on Tuesday to be reassigned to another group session on the basis that this facilitator is unexplainably unavailable, and the center cannot supply you with another facilitator. This way, even if she does submit the documentation that she has completed, the credibility of the report is questioned because she has missed two of the session that should have been used for evaluation. Also, your request would trump hers in court because you filed yours first."

"Well, can't I file a request to be reassigned now?" That would solve my entire Anastasia Steele problem altogether.

"No reasonable cause." Shit! It was worth a try.

"So…now we wait." I sigh.

"Now we wait." Carrick confirms.

"Yo, Little Bro!" Elliot comes bursting into the kitchen in usual Elliot fashion.

"Hey, Elliot." I sip my Sancerre.

"Yo…Dude…cheer down…" He says sarcastically.

"Where've you been hiding?" I ask.

"I was in the parlor with the ladies and their daughters," he proclaimed. "I always see if there's any fresh meat when Mom has one of these fundraiser meetings."

"And…?" Not that I'm really interested, Carrick even less so as he nods to both of us and goes to the patio with Mia.

"There's some potential in the room. Hell, most often, they come hoping to get to you." Oh yes, the mothers trying to marry off their daughters and the desperate women trying to bag a billionaire. How exciting.

"Well why did you leave all of that 'potential' behind?" I inquire.

"Because 'Her Royal Creepiness' showed up." Elliot took a beer from the refrigerator. I almost sprayed my wine.

"Who the hell is 'Her Royal Creepiness?'" I must know who warranted _this_ name.

"Mom's friend, you know, the Princess of Darkness with the fake boobs, endless plastic surgery, and platinum blonde hair." I'd know that description anywhere.

"Elena Lincoln."

"Yeah, her!" Elliot actually got a visible chill talking about Elena, which piqued my curiosity.

"Why do you call her that?" I asked Elliot.

"What, Princess of Darkness?" No, I figured that one out on my own.

"No, 'Her Royal Creepiness.'"

Just as Elliot was about to divulge the origins of his nickname for Elena, the parlor door opened and drones of older women and a few younger ones came flooding out—and there we stand, like Thanksgiving turkeys ready to be plucked. While I'm contemplating the nearest escape route, Elliot sort of throws me to the wolves like a sacrificial lamb while he makes a mad dash to the dining room. And sure enough, they descend upon me like I'm the last sale item on the discount rack. I was only too happy when Elena made her way through the crowd to me.

"Christian, Dear, can I steal you away for just a moment?"

"Of course, Elena. Excuse me, Ladies." Elena and I walked out to the den and I closed the door. "God, I hate when you all get together. I wish Mom had told me; I would have stayed home." I take a sip of my wine before sitting on the sofa."

"In that case, I'm glad she didn't tell you." Elena sat next to me. "You're avoiding me, Christian."

"I'm not avoiding you, Elena. I'm running a business. I may not give you a play by play of everything, but I sealed four acquisitions this week. That shit doesn't happen by itself."

"Well excuse me!" She snapped. "I jump through hoops to get Ms. Ellison to you since you were chomping at the bit, and you act like you're too busy to even consider her now." I shoot a look of death at her.

"Elena! I will not discuss this with you in my parents' home. Have you completely lost it?" I say through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry." She says, chastised. "You just seemed so…anxious. And now…"

"Now, I'm going to repeat that I am not going to discuss this with you in my parents' home!" I snap at her again. At that moment, one of the noisy ladies knocks on the door to the den.

"Excuse me," she says insincerely. "I was just coming to say 'goodbye' to Christian."

"Goodbye. Mrs. Bell." I say politely.

"I was wondering," she began as she invited herself into the den, "if you would be interested in joining us for dinner on Sunday. You haven't been by in so long and my daughter Madeline will be there." Just what I need—another match-making mother.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bell, but I will have to decline your kind invitation." The disappointment was written all over her face. Elena is stifling a laugh.

"Oh, well, maybe I could just give you her number…" She doesn't quit, does she? Should I just say_ I don't want to date your daughter?_ What the hell?

"No, thank you, Mrs. Bell. If you ladies will excuse me," Now it's my turn to beat a hasty retreat to the dining room. Elliot is still hiding out in there waiting for the crowd to disperse.

"Thanks for your help, Big Brother." I say, sarcastically.

"Hey, you snooze, you lose. And I had already done my time with that group." He was finishing his beer. "What were you doing in the den with the _Lincoln Lady_?"

"We're in business together. I'm the financial backer for her Esclava Salon chain." I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him that we were discussing a sub.

"Why did you do that?" He questioned.

"Because she lent me the money to start my business after I dropped out of Harvard." I responded. "Oh yeah…'Her Royal Creepiness?'" Elliot shook his head.

"Dude, she came on to me when I was 14." What the fuck?

"Elliot, are you sure? That's a pretty heavy accusation." Elliot put his empty beer bottle on the dining room table.

"Look, all I know is that every time she came around, she kept touching me. She was always talking about how strong my back muscles could be. She was always touching my face and my arms and looking at me funny. Now at 14, I didn't know what that funny look was. By 16, I was getting a pretty good idea. At 32, I can look back in hindsight and tell you that chick wanted to fuck me!" I'm completely floored. Why would Elena proposition Elliot? It makes absolutely no sense. Elliot was perfectly normal, not completely fucked up like me. He didn't have any problems…did he?"

"What did she say to you?" I question.

"What do you mean 'what did she say?' Do you mean did she ask me to fuck her? No."

"Well, what did she say to make you think she wanted you to fuck her?" He had to be mistaken.

"I don't know verbatim, Man. It was a long time ago. Why are you so damn curious?"

"Because I'm in business with this woman!" I answered to throw him off the scent, which is the truth. But the biggest part of me wants to know if she really came on to my brother.

"I don't remember what she said but she touched me a lot…I mean a _lot_, Bro. And she gave me the creeps. I'm surprised you never heard my nickname for her before now, but whenever she's around, I make it my business _not_ to be." As if she was summoned, Elena walked into the back entrance of dining room from the kitchen. "And that's my cue," Elliot said as he walked out of the front end of the dining room into the great room.

"Well, what was that all about?" Elena said, clearly affronted.

"My brother is uncomfortable around you. Do you have any idea why?" Noticing that some of the color left Elena's face, I'm starting to wonder if there's any truth to what Elliot is claiming.

"Why would he have reason to be uncomfortable around me?" She laughs nervously. Oh, there's definitely a story here.

"He seems to think that you may have shown an unhealthy interest in him when he was younger." Elena's expression fell.

"What?" She said, her voice cracking. "What gave him that idea?" She's almost in full-blown panic mode now.

"I'm not completely sure. But he's a grown man now, and still very uncomfortable around you." I answer flatly.

"Well," she said, relaxing a bit. "Some men are intimidated by strong women." She straightened her back. "Besides, clearly he must have been mistaken. I mean that was so many years ago, there's no telling what was going through the mind of a 14-year-old boy." She looks nervously at her watch. "I really have to be going now, but I will need an answer from you about our little _situation_ pretty soon, so if you could…look into that please and let me know." And with her usual Hollywood air kisses, she was gone...

...having done nothing to quell my suspicion, especially since I never mentioned to her that Elliot indicated that he was 14 at the time.

I can't quite define this feeling that I have about Elena possibly making a pass at my big brother.

Jealousy? No—I really don't care about that.  
Repulsed? Maybe a little. I've shared a lot of things with Elliot in the past, but women are definitely not one of them.  
Why would I be feeling anything? I certainly don't care who she fucks. I knew she was married when we started so we certainly weren't exclusive.  
Maybe a little protective of my brother? I don't know...maybe.

I need to talk to Flynn about this one. I just can't place what it is that I am feeling and it's going to bug the fuck out of me until I do.

* * *

**STEELE**

I have washed my hair thoroughly and I sit in my bathtub up to my neck in bubbles. My sound system is playing one of my favorite songs and I can only think about him as I sing along.

_I was just a stand-in, someone love abandoned  
__Not the leading man, but my heart yelled "Action."  
__What does "fall in love" mean?  
__We rehearsed a love scene  
__Unaware of this till we tried The Kiss and_

It used to make me think of Edward. Now, it's him. I can smell his scent. It's been in my nose since I left his office and it won't go away. It's like I had a secret date all afternoon. Even my bath soap doesn't wash it away. I don't ever remember standing that close to him until today. Well, of course I wouldn't have, right?

_Now…now you're in my dreams  
__Now…now you're in my dreams  
__When I dream, when I dream, in my dream, it's you  
__Now…now you're in my dreams_

His grey eyes are staring at me hungrily, his breath on my neck. His lips are just a hair away from mine…taunting me. Oh my God, he is so hot. I feel the flame growing again…

_Love was such a mystery, Love was ancient history  
__Pleasure chased with pain, till you whispered your name  
__In the soundstage moonlight, we could not say goodnight,  
__Unaccustomed to happiness so new and_

I'm running my hands across my flat stomach, imagining it's his hand, his arm holding me close to him…  
_Careful, Ana, or you'll end up wiggling your bean again.  
_I ignore her. It's my bean and I'll wiggle it if I want. I reach down to the magic spot as Michael Franks continues to serenade my fantasy.

_Now…now you're in my dreams  
__Now…now you're in my dreams  
__When I dream, when I dream, in my dream, it's you  
__Now…now you're in my dreams_

The water wraps me in warmth as my hand works my clitoris into a sensual frenzy.

_Now the close-up me and you and every old cliché rings true  
__The Samba begins, fate to the winds_

I sink further into the water, succumbing to the pleasure once again, for the second time this evening.

_First it smolders then it burns, you  
__Pass the point of no return, do  
__Lovers stay in love by learning  
__How to leave the world at the door and live  
__Live inside their dreams?_

"Christian…."

_Now…now you're in my dreams  
__Now…now you're in my dreams  
__When I dream, when I dream, in my dream, it's you  
__Now…now you're in my dreams  
__Now…now you're in my dreams  
__When I dream, when I dream, in my dream, it's you  
__Now…now you're in my dreams  
__Now…now you're in my dreams  
__When I dream, when I dream, in my dream, it's you…_

* * *

_**GREY**_

I am at my piano again. It's 3am and I was awakened by the sound of stilettos running away from me on marble floors…

I've played this song three times and it brings me no comfort. I decide to change up and play a Michael Buble tune that fits the situation perfectly.

She is so beautiful when she's angry…and hot! I bet angry sex would be a fucking mind trip with her!

I don't know why I want this woman so badly—why do I see her face every single time I close my eyes.

She's infuriating, and mouthy, and defiant—everything I can't stand in a woman…

…and I can't stop thinking about her.

She holds my life in her hands…literally, right now, she has the power to throw me in jail and bring me to ruin…

…and she's all I can think about.

When I'm around her, everything goes haywire. I can be in complete control when I walk into a room with her, and by the time I leave, I'm completely worthless.

She sees past all my bullshit. She sees past everything that I have built up—all the facades; all of the defense mechanisms—she sees past them all.

Nobody has ever spoken to me the way that she's speaks to me. There is absolutely no way there can ever be anything between us.

We are from two completely different plains, different universes, different dimensions…

…and she's all I ever think about-I can't get her out of my mind.

I have the perfect sub—the _perfect_ sub—just aching to sign on the dotted line...

...but I don't want her.

I want Anastasia.

What the fuck am I going to do?

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Ana's bathtub song is Michael Franks—Now You're In My Dreams**_

_**Christian's piano song is Michael Buble—Always On My Mind**_

_**What do you think will arise from Eliot's revelation? Anything? Nothing?**_

_**Please review!**_


	12. Chapter 12: Release the Tiger

_**Boy, the "Elliot" revelation really got a bunch of people's danders up! Hold tight, my lovelies. I'm sure that you all know by now that I do not introduce an idea, concept, or tidbit without having a specific reason for it—and this little morsel has a precise purpose! I wasn't able to respond to everyone this time or I wouldn't have gotten to the update—please forgive me if I didn't respond to you this time. Here's a few guest reviewers who I wanted to respond do. **_

_**To Guest: It's my understanding that in the original trilogy Dr. Flynn and Christian had many conversations about Elena and the relationship between Christian and her even though we as readers didn't see the conversations. If you look at the conversations between Dr. Flynn and Christian, it was implied that they had previously discussed it and Flynn made his feelings known. Nonetheless, anyone with two pennies worth of good sense would have seen Elena as a child molester no matter how Christian tried to say that she saved him. True, in hindsight he can say that he was going down a bad road and would have ended up in a bad place, but hell, all she did was swap one evil for another in his life. **_

_**To anailuj: Ana IS a little fireball, isn't she? This Ana is going to give Christian a run for his money, and he knows it…and he kind of likes it, too.**_

_**To contrite shadow: Always love you, Babe. Sorry you feel that way about song lyrics, but I love them because they help to tell my story. Just scan over them and continue on with the story... (ducking to avoid any random objects flying in my direction).**_

_**To Jaimini: Eating bread and honey—couldn't you just see it? I don't think Christian has Stockholm's Syndrome. In my opinion, he never had it, though I'm sure that some people would disagree. Stockholm's Syndrome is when you start to develop feelings for your captor. He really thought she helped him when all she did was swap out a sick demented "wrong" that he couldn't tolerate with a sick demented "wrong" that he liked because it came with sexual gratification. I think he was just plain good old-fashioned brainwashed. You couldn't tell him that, but I think that was the big and the little of it. **_

_**To Pinky223: I couldn't respond to you because you have PM's turned off but I am very glad that you like the story! Thank you so much for reviewing.**_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. . I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 12—Release the Tiger

_**STEELE**_

I have to admit that I am glad I am seeing Luc today. Luc Klevna trained me in Krav Maga shortly after I moved to Seattle. It helped me to feel safe and gain some control over my fears. I still need to regain the control that I feel I have lost since Grey started digging into the painful recesses of my mind. But in addition to that, he has lit a fire under the nymphomaniac that laid dormant for damn near four years and now I must exert some serious energy to keep her under control.

I am feeling a grand myriad of emotions after the events of this week. First, there is the need to live again—to break free from my Alabaster Box and explore life and love. Next, there's the scared teenager that needs to be assured that the Boogie Man is not waiting under her bed to jump out gobble her up—that some nosey bastard just went poking around in dusty boxes that he should have left dusty, and there's really no reason to be concerned for my safety. Finally, there's this scalding, scorching desire that has been ignited by that same nosey bastard—that desire that has me literally oozing sex and wanton lust from every pore; the desire that has caused me to choose to wear a nearly nothing exercise outfit with only a small athletic back brace to cover my tramp stamp to a gym full of sweaty men on a Saturday morning.

**The Sleeper has awakened! **

Luc was none too happy with the "awakening," so to speak.

"Fuck a duck! I haven't seen you for a year and you come into my gym dressed like that!? I'm really going to fuck you up, Steele."

"Well, hello to you, too, Luc. Great to see you, how have you been?" I snap.

"Don't give me that shit, Steele! You were one of my best students, then you just decide to quit. Now you show up looking like you're ready to work the pole!" What the fuck! Okay, granted, this red and black sports bra and matching exercise shorts may be a little skimpy, but hell—was the pole comment really necessary? I mean I'm not wearing sparkly body make-up and acrylic heels, for fucks sake. "And I just bet your technique sucks and your muscles are shit!" Oh, now he's just being mean.

"Lighten up, Luc. I've kept my muscles toned with yoga." Would have done better to slap him in the face.

"Yoga?" He says, condescendingly. "You're kidding, right? You're fucking kidding me? This is a fucking joke. You're seriously going to stand there and try to impress me with _yoga_? Seriously?"

"No, I'm not!" He's really getting under my skin here. What the hell is his problem? "Damn, what the hell is wrong with you, today? Whoever pissed in _your_ Cheerios, it wasn't me!"

"You might as well have to be coming in here talking about yoga!" Is he pissed or just trying to egg me on? "A whole damn year, Ana?"

"Okay. I'm here now. Can we please just get on with it?" I can't believe I'm paying this fucker to abuse me. He folds his arms across his chest.

"Hit the punching bag and hit it hard—I want you well warmed up. I'll see you in the exhibition room in twenty minutes."

"The exhibition room?" I ask in horror. What the hell, Man?

"You've got all your goods on display, so why not let them see it? And be ready, Steele, because I'm going to kick your ass!"

"Luc, have I ever told you that you're a real bastard?" I say matter-of-factly.

"Save it for the mat, Steele."

* * *

"Oh, Ana, we're waiting for you." Mo-ther-fucker! He is really going to rub this shit in deep. Hearing a name over the loud-speaker in this infamous establishment is announcement that somebody is about to be offered up for sacrifice in the exhibition room. Let me just describe this Room of Shame. Imagine yourself in a 30x30 box with four walls and a ceiling of two-way mirrors and a completely padded floor. The entire gym and even spectators walking by outside can see in, but you can't see out. You just get to see yourself getting your ass kicked from every angle. People have left this room with fractures, stitches, black eyes, busted lips, and even unconscious. I have only been in this room once. I left on a stretcher.

That won't be happening today.

I leave the punching bag and march my ass on over to the exhibition room. A few gentlemen have started to gather upon hearing the announcement, but most of the time, they wait until the drills are over so they can sit back and watch the ass whipping. Upon seeing my skimpy workout gear, I had a larger crowd than expected. Fucking vultures.

_You asked for it.  
_You're right. I wanted the attention. Let's get this shit over with.

We ran through about 20 more minutes of drills and then Luc instructed me (more like _ordered_ me) to put on my helmet and gloves and assume the position. I didn't even get a choice in the matter here. I have to strike, which means he's on the defensive. He wants to make an example out of me and I'm about to get my ass kicked by a 6th Dan black belt in Krav Maga while a gaggle of hunky, beautiful, sweaty men watch. Oh, glee!

I know better than to come at him with everything because I would surely just end up hard on my ass, but I did at least try some basic take-down moves. He and I both know that this was grossly unfair and I really don't know what Luc was trying to prove. It's not like I competed professionally or anything like that. I was just learning self-defense so that I didn't ever get attacked from behind again. True, I was pretty enthusiastic about it, but it still wasn't my life's blood. So why did he take it so fucking personally when I left? And if he didn't want to train me now, all he had to do was turn me down. He didn't even give me a chance to re-acclimate—he just took me straight to the exhibition room.

And nobody turns down the exhibition room.

I don't know how much time had passed or how many times I had been hit, knocked down, had the wind blasted out of me, you name it. I went to the corner for a moment to catch my breath. My hands are on my knees and I am taking in huge gulps of air. "Had enough, Steele?" he calls from across the room. Asshole bastard. "Tired yet? How's that _yoga_ working out for you?" He's taunting me, and I know that every open spot at every window is occupied by now, even though I can't see it. I feel like I'm being humiliated in front of the whole of Seattle on a Saturday morning. I'm hurting, I'm mortified, and what's more, I need to be fucked!

I stand up, pop my neck, roll my shoulders and face Luc. Fine, Klevna, you want to beat my ass, then beat my ass, but you are about to know that you've been in a fight.

"Oh you're coming back for more?" He teased. I slowly walked over to him and caught him in a basic shoulder hold. As expected, he broke the hold from above bringing me down into a 45-degree bend. When I came up out of the bend, he caught a right fist to the gut and a left palm to the chin. To add insult to injury, I did a 360 which ended with my right elbow in his neck. I don't know if I surprised him or knocked the fucking wind out of him, but he stumbled backward and caught himself just as he was about to hit the glass. I'm standing there in home stance waiting for his next move.

"Have we released the tiger?" He teased coming back over to me.

"You tell me." I say impassively.

He comes at me low and attacks my center of gravity. A swift, hard hit to my inner thigh and I am on my knees. Fuck, that hurt! I raise up with a fist to his groin. He knew it was coming and bends to avoid the hit, allowing me to clamp onto his neck, scramble to my feet and twist and flip him under my arms so that he's on his back now. I have my forearm in his throat, holding him down. I feel water fall from my face and watch it fall onto his. He uses his leg strength to twist from under me and now the tables have turned again. I am flat on my back having been slammed—HARD—by a man at least twice my size. Shit! Shit! Shit! He is now straddling me, one hand on my forehead, the other on my chest. "What's wrong, Ana?" He's breathing heavily now. "Was that a tear I felt?" He taunts.

"No! _SWEAT_!" I bring my hands together on either side of his head and face—flat—as hard as I can, temporarily disorienting him and giving me enough time to scoot from underneath him. As soon as I stand, he chokes me with both hands from behind. I reach back with both hands, grab his thumbs and pull down. Using the momentum from the pull, I step back and my hand continued down into the groin strike I missed earlier. Now, while he's bent in half, reeling from the pain that is no doubt resonating in his balls and the ringing that he probably still feels in his ears, I bring my elbow up to meet his face then spin in a 180 and finish it with a double hit—elbow to the chin and palm strike to the face, and now he's down for sure.

I feel like it's over once I see blood. So I start to walk passed him to the door. But, no, Mr. Klevna still seems to think he has a lesson to teach me. He grabs my foot as I pass and if my reflexes were any slower, I would have face planted on the mat.

Fucking asshole shit head testosterone driven piece of shit! I'm mad now.

As fast as I go down, I catch myself on my palms and use my free leg to donkey-kick the fuck out of that bastard. Three times it took to get him to let go of my damn leg. Attack me while my back is turned, huh? Okay…

He is face down on the mat and I scramble on top of him. I sit on his back, put my right knee at the base of his neck and put all of my weight into it, my left leg bent with my left foot flat on the mat. I clasp my fingers around his face and pull back. He's struggling to get me off of him but I keep pulling. I only planned on doing this for a moment because I know he's in a lot of pain, but something in me snapped. If I let him up, he's going to hurt me. He wants to make an example of me and I don't know why. I won't let him hurt me again. I'll keep him like this until he passes out if I have to, but I won't let him hurt me again.

"Ana!"

I cannot release him. If I release him, he's going to attack me again. I won't let him attack me again.

"Ana, matté, matté Ana!"

I can hear him calling for surrender; I can see him tapping the mat. But my hands can't let go. He has to stop moving. When he stops moving, I'll let him go. That way, I know he won't attack me again.

Apparently, the other guys in the gym had other plans. I could hear them coming from behind me, telling me to release him, trying to lift me off his back.

"Let him go, Lady, you'll break his neck."  
"He's going to pass out, Lady. Let him go!"  
"Release, Lady! Release!"

I finally come back to myself to see three guys trying to coax me off Luc's back. He's breathing heavily and he has stopped fighting me now that someone has come to his rescue. I unclasp my fingers and release him. His face falls to the mat with a "thud." I scramble off of him and back away while the other guys make sure he is still conscious. He shakes off the pain a bit then turns to his side to look over his shoulder at me. He's glaring at me with a mixture of emotions in his eyes, the most prevalent being confusion. I could have killed him…but he took me there. He should have just let me walk away. I can barely make out what people are saying to me, and I am seeing red.

Let's try this again.

I start to remove my helmet and walk to the other end of the room. I burst through the doors, launching my helmet somewhere to the right of me, cursing that asshole out in two different languages. I can see grown men in my peripheral jumping just a bit at the amazing flying helmet, but being very careful not to approach me or piss me off. I served my purpose. I exerted some energy. I regained some control. I gave the fuckers a show, and I beat up the schoolyard bully. Now it's time to get the hell out of here!

* * *

_**GREY**_

I've landed Bastille on his ass twice to his three times and I need redemption. Just as I am about to execute a move, we are both brought to silence by the announcement that someone is about to be put through the paces.

_"Oh, Ana, we're waiting for you."_

Ana? Fuck, even at the gym I can't escape that name. Now some poor wench is about to be publicly chastised in the exhibition room. I wonder what she did to piss Luc off?

"You want to go watch?" Claude offers.

"Yeah, but after this round. Let's see if I can get my point back." I assume the position again.

Claude and I finish our round in time to look up as see a cluster of people gathered around the exhibition room. A bunch of horny men gathering to see some piece of ass waving around in gym shorts, I think to myself. Hell, I'm doing the same thing. My attention is drawn to the fact that these men keep wincing and jumping, making comments about how much these hits must've hurt. I'm not really sure that I want to watch Luc beating up on some woman, but I'm drawn to the scene like a train wreck.

When I find a place near the window, I see this tiny frame bent over in the corner fighting for air. She looks fucking hot in those tiny ass shorts, showing just enough ass cheek to keep you interested. Her face is blocked by the helmet that she's wearing, but when she turned around, you knew the show was about to begin.

An unbelievable melee follows between the two of them. This woman is taking hits that would have immobilized most men. Shit, she's strong as fuck. Luc says something about releasing a tiger, and every hit that connects with him after that is accompanied by what I can only characterize as a fucking battle cry. She is taking hit after hit and coming back on him like a machine. Groin cuts, flying elbows, chest hits, palm strikes, everything! I have never seen a woman fight like this. It looks like the fight is over and I take a moment to admire her tight abs being showcased by her skimpy little bra and shorts. She starts pass Luc and the fucker grabbed her leg and pulled her back.

I will never forget the next series of events as long as I live.

She landed effortlessly on her hands and, while using them to support her weight, repeatedly kicks the shit out of Luc with her free leg. When he is duly subdued, she scrambles on top of him with the speed and precision of a panther, locking him into some kind of submission hold that you only see in the WWE. He is fighting to get free from her, but to no avail.

"Ana!" He called her name again. Now I'm focusing again. I can't see under that helmet. Small brunette with a delectable body. It looks like her…but it can't be her!

"Ana!" Is that Ana? Is that the exquisite, beautiful Dr. Anastasia Steele in there beating the hell out of one of Seattle's most decorated martial arts trainers?

"Ana, matté, matté Ana!" He is begging her for mercy, and she is transfixed. She's not going to let him go. Good for her. That'll teach him to brutalize my Ana and attack her from behind.

_My Ana?_ What the fuck?

Everything from here seems to move in slow motion. I _want_ that to be Ana—just so that I can look at her, gaze on her for a while. I'll pretend that it _is_ her…just for a moment. Pretend that look of determination on her face is actually a look of ecstasy right before she comes; that she is sweating from an afternoon of fucking and sucking and not from beating the shit out of a puffed up asshole. Somebody should probably go and help this guy…but it won't be me. I guess some guys from the other end get the same idea and go in to coax "Ana" off the asshole's back. She finally lets him go and that's when I see them—the big, beautiful blue eyes, regarding her instructor with disdain and resentment before she starts traveling to the exit on my end of the exhibition room.

As she slams noisily out of the room, she removes her helmet and it goes flying randomly in some direction, and I can see her.

_My Ana. My beautiful Ana. _

She is storming back to the lockers and showers and I can't help feeling anything but immense pride when I think of her bringing Luc to submission. Not only that, but I could swear I just heard her call him an asshole in French—_that's hot!_ I watch as Luc sits against the wall for a moment and gets his bearings a bit before he rises up and storms toward the doors himself. Oh no, Buddy. You won't get the same chance again. Whatever the hell is going on in that pea brain of yours, you're going to have to take it up with me. I step inside the exhibition room just as he is about to step out and cut him off at the doors.

"Now might be a good time to turn around and go the other way, Luc."

"What are you talking about, Grey?" He is clearly angry and impatient, chomping at the bit to confront Ana, no doubt.

"I think you've put that little lady through enough. I think she's put you through quite a bit, too."

"Don't tell me how to train my students!" He snapped. Seriously?

"Oh, she's a student? Because from where I was standing, it looks like you were being _taught_."

"Fuck off, Grey!" He is getting pissed. Seems like he's the one that needs a bit of group therapy, not me. He goes to walk pass me and I stick my arm out to stop him.

"Leave. Her. Alone." He tilts his head at me and looks at my arm blocking his way.

"You don't want none of this, Grey." He says through clenched teeth. I smirk at him.

"Those are pretty big words for a man who just got his ass beat by a girl." He gasped a bit. He is seething and it just occurred to me that he may take his anger out on Ana. I get right in his face and grab his arm because I want him to know that I'm serious. "If you fuck with her like that again, you're going to have to deal with me...and _you_ don't want none of _this_!" I growl. He stands there looking at me through narrowed eyes for a moment. We both know that neither of us will back down, but he's not going to challenge me either…not after the whole "ass kicked by a girl" statement. He snatches his arm from my grasp and walks out of the exhibition room. I follow shortly behind him and go back to the ring with Claude.

"We don't get many women in here," Claude begins as I step back into the ring.

"And now I see why. What's up with that guy?" I ask as I do a few stretches.

"I don't know. I know the girl used to be a student of his a while back, but she stopped coming. I didn't think It was _that_ big a deal…they come and they go, you know."

"Well, it must be a big thing for him because he was obviously pissed at her." I know all about punishments, exerting control, and teaching a woman a lesson…and that's what he was doing in that room. "What is he…MMA? Ultimate fighter?"

"Krav Maga…6th dan." Claude says. I'm taken aback a bit.

"Sixth dan? Are you fucking kidding me? Manhandling that woman like that?" My eyes are huge.

"Hey, what can I say? She knows what she signed up for." Claude shrugged. I shook my head in disgust. She didn't sign up for _that_.

Since when are you the defender of women, Grey? You have a secret red room where you beat little brown haired girls that look like the crack whore. Yeah, but they _do_ sign up for that. Just over my shoulder I hear the Tiger preparing to attack…or defend, I should say.

"Get your fucking hands of me!" She shrieked.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I really should be in the sauna or the hot tub right now getting some relief for these muscles, but all I want to do is get out of here. I'll even forgo the damn shower. I put my yoga pants and tank top on right over my sweaty workout clothes. I'll take a bath when I get home…to MY apartment…in MY bathtub…with MY bubbles!

_Fucking Asshole.  
_Yeah!

I have to pause for a moment because I feel the adrenaline tears coming and I can't stop them. Hell if I'm going to let him or any of the other barbarians see me like this. I sit on the bench and let them flow. I know they are a physical response and not an emotional one, but it still makes me feel weak sometimes. It means that I can't get truly mad and give someone the cursing out they may so richly deserve without turning into a blubbering idiot shortly thereafter. I don't let them go on and on and on—first, because I'll have a headache when it's done and second, because I will _not_ be one of those weepy girls who's fucking crying all the damn time. When I feel like they've run their course enough, I wash my face and stand there a moment to get my bearings. I've calmed down a bit, but just a bit. I wouldn't recommend anybody crossing me right now.

I walk out of the locker room and just as I am about to leave, I see him. Grey? Here? Well, hell, why not? It's a gym. He's standing in the ring talking to another one of the trainers. He's wearing gym shorts and a tank top and he looks absolutely delicious. The muscle tone in his legs and arms is completely insane! I find myself staring a bit too long when a grim realization comes to me.

Was he here the whole time? Did he see that awful display in the exhibition room?  
_If he's here now, most likely he did…_  
...and my humiliation is now complete. Thanks, Luc. I definitely have to get out of here now. I turn to leave and run face first into a wall of Luc.

"What the fuck was that, Ana?" I just shake my head and go to walk around him. When he grabs my arm to stop me, I turn around and push him with all the force I can muster.

"Get your fucking hands of me!" He almost lands on one of the weight benches but catches himself just shy of it.

"You could have killed me in there! What the hell were you thinking?" He snapped

"I was thinking that I needed this fucking bully to stay down so I can get the hell away from him! What the hell were you trying to prove in there? Who pissed you off so bad that you had to take it out on me? So what I haven't been here in a year? What you did in there was completely uncalled for!" I realize that I am screaming and drawing attention to myself so I turn to leave again.

"I was pushing your limits, Ana." He protested, his voice calming a bit. I turned around gaping at him.

"Pushing my limits? Bullshit! You were making a fucking spectacle of me, and I have no idea why. But, you know what? I don't _need_ to know." I'm trying to leave again.

"You need to soak your muscles." He says almost quietly. Now he's concerned?

"I'll soak them when I get home." I snap.

"They'll lock up by then." He persists.

"I'll take my chances!" I yell, still walking towards the door.

"I'll see you next week." He says, finally.

"No! You won't!" I walk out and slam the door behind me…and you better hope I pay you for _this_ session!

* * *

_**GREY**_

"You'll never believe who was at the gym today." I say to Taylor as I get into the SUV.

"Try me, Sir."

"You already know, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"It would have been nice if someone told me. What am I paying you guys for?" I ask, puzzled.

"Besides the fact that I saw her storm out twenty minutes before you came out, I didn't get the intel until you were already in with Bastille. There was no security threat, so I didn't think it was necessary to inform you immediately."

"Yeah, yeah…you're fired…again!"

"Yes sir. Where to, Sir?"

I'm back at Escala trying to decide what I want to do with my Saturday night. I normally spend these evenings working—or working over a sub—which reminds me. I still have Greta Ellison on hold. I don't know what it is, but something about this whole situation just doesn't sit well with me. In my experience, when something looks too good to be true, it usually is. I need one more check before I make my decision about Ms. Ellison. I call Welch.

"Yes Sir?"

"Do one more thorough check on Greta Ellison's financials. I need you to pay attention to recurring debits and large transfers. See if she has any offshore accounts or assets. Let me know if you find anything, even if you think it's nothing significant."

"Am I looking for something specific, Sir?"

"Anything that may lead me to her last few employers or contracts, what she has been doing in the immediate past."

"Yes sir." I end the call. I can hardly believe it, but I don't feel like working, and I hate the night club scene…except for last week, when I watched Ana dancing center stage in my latest merger. I wonder what she's doing tonight?

"Sir?" As if in answer to my question, Taylor shows up with the latest report on Ms. Steele's whereabouts. She went home right after the gym, followed by shopping a few hours later. The long distance surveillance pictures show bags from Victoria's Secret. I wonder what little goodies you picked up from Vickie's, Ms. Steele? I still haven't figured out a way to smooth things over with her. I hope she didn't interpret that kiss as my trying to influence her decision. Granted, I may have been trying to influence her…subconsciously, or…consciously…I don't know. But I certainly wasn't trying to affect her decision about the court order with that kiss. It could actually be a perfect icebreaker—if I had a good explanation for the kiss. Yes, Ms. Steele, I sincerely apologize for my behavior in the office yesterday. It was inappropriate and I won't let it happen again…will I? Why did I kiss you…?

Because I had to touch you.  
Because I dream about you almost every night.  
Because in spite of everything I know to be true, I can't stop thinking about you.  
Because even though I know we could never be, I still want you.  
And by the way, you looked hot as fuck in those gym shorts today.

And again…a bit too far, Grey.

I grab my jacket and the keys to the RS7. "Taylor!" He emerges from his study. "I'm going for a drive. I shouldn't be too long."

"Would you like me to come, Sir?"

"No, it's not necessary. I just need some air."

I'm headed in no particular direction. I just have to find a way to get this woman off my mind. She haunts me day and night.

I go to a random night club, she's there.  
I go to the gym to work out, she's there.  
I'm at work celebrating this week's fourth acquisition, she shows up.

The way that she decimated Luc in the exhibition room; the raw, carnal, savage expression on her face—I bet she's a wildcat in bed. I can only think of purely sinful, sensual thoughts when I think of her. Not being able to have her is driving me out of my mind. For the first time in forever, I want a woman and I have no idea how to approach her…_if_ I can approach her. The sun is setting on the Sound and all I can think is Ana…Ana…Ana…

Somehow, I find myself parked outside of her condo. I can't go in…certainly not! She would definitely want to know how I know where she lives. You've got her background check, Grey. She knows that. Although this is true, my showing up would exacerbate that particular situation. I could tell her that I was just checking on her after the incident at the gym. Did she even know I was there? I was standing in the ring when she had that blowup with Luc. She couldn't miss me. She was distracted, though, so she may not have seen me at all. I run my hands through my hair. Is this how normal people fret over a date?

I must've sat there for 30 or 40 more minutes when I see Ms. Steele come out the front door. Strange, no doubt her car is in the garage. She looks stunning standing there with a slight summer breeze blowing through her hair. Why is she coming out the front door? I soon got my answer when a black Jaguar pulls up and she gets inside. What this? A date? I feel a strange twinge in my chest as I follow Ms. Steele and the mystery driver to their destination.

A little while later, I find myself at the New Orleans Creole Restaurant in Pioneer Square. It's a quaint little place in the historic district. I never would have known it was here. It's very cozy and small inside, so I have to almost sit against a wall to avoid being seen while I observe Ana and her companion having dinner.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I drew a steaming hot bath the moment I got back to the apartment. I think I made it in time to avoid any real damage and locking of my muscles, but I'll take some ibuprofen just in case. If I take it now, it will have made its way through my system by the time Al and I go to dinner later.

I'm back in the bathtub…thinking about Grey. Not a good combination. If I flick my clit one more time in the next 24 hours, it's going to fall off! But the thought of him standing there in those gym shorts, hanging off his hips just so…and it's amazing how my choice of song always seem to fit the mood perfectly. This afternoon, I am soaking to the soulful sounds on the extended jazz version of Smooth Operator by Sade.

_Diamond life, lover boy.__  
__We move in space with minimum waste and maximum joy.__  
__City lights and business nights.__  
__When you require streetcar desire for higher heights._

I'm not completely sure, but I always thought this song was talking about a gigolo. Christian Grey—a gigolo. I can see it. He has that jet set playboy philanderer look about him, but he's never seen in public with a woman. I looked…no girls...

Oh, fuck! Is he gay?  
_Yeah, right. What do you think? You kissed him yesterday.  
_Oh yeah, there is that…

_No place for beginners or sensitive hearts__  
__When sentiment is left to chance.__  
__No place to be ending but somewhere to start.  
__No need to ask.  
__He's a smooth operator._

Smooth operator indeed. That man had me wet in the panties before I made it back home and coming on myself at the front door…and several times since then.

_Coast to coast, LA to Chicago, western male.__  
__Across the north and south, to Key Largo, love for sale.  
F__ace to face, each classic case.  
__We shadow box and double cross,  
Y__et need the chase.__A license to love, insurance to hold.  
__Melts all your memories, change into gold.  
__His eyes are like angels, his heart is cold._

Cold heart—Grey to a "T." But what do I know of his heart? I just know that he is very self-important and it's infuriating.

I'm too angry to masturbate. Crazy ass Luc trying to kill me and I can't fucking sleep without thinking about Grey and those damn lips...and those hands…and that scent…and those eyes…

I let the jazz beat play while the hot water lulls the tension from my muscles. It's definitely time for a trip to Victoria's Secret. I need some new pieces because I certainly plan on getting fucked…_soon_!

"So, where are we going, Al?" I ask when I get into his Jag.

"We're going to New Orleans, Chile." He says in that over-exaggerated phony Southern drawl he loves to use.

"New Orleans? Aren't we about 3000 miles out of the way?"

"So coy, Ms. Steele. No, I found a lovely little spot on First called the New Orleans. Fabulous food and live jazz and blues bands. I though you might enjoy it after the day you've had." He looked over at me.

"You thought right. Lead the way, my friend."

When we get to the restaurant, I am glad that I chose the ensemble that I did. I'm wearing a simple Motel blue chiffon sleeveless tunic shirt dress with cream leggings and Faith Cadbury blue platform court shoes. We decide to eat at the bar in the lounge section of this little gem that Al found. I was thinking that maybe we would go to a club tonight but in true "Al" fashion, my best friend has read me like a book and chosen the perfect evening to help me unwind from the horrendous day that I had. I decided on the Seafood Etoufee while Al had the Chicken Au Vin with red beans and rice.

"Al, you've been out with me for two Saturdays, now. What's going on with James?" I ask as I sip a Chateau Ste. Michelle Sauvignon Blanc. Al dropped his head. Oh shit!

"We had a fight." He sips his wine.

"Why? About what? And why didn't you tell me?" I asked horrified.

"You already had so much on your plate, Jewel. I didn't want to bother you with this." Okay, so now I feel like the worst friend in the world. Al has never cared about anyone the way he cares about James. I know-I've been around him for 14 years. And now, they've had a fight and he felt he couldn't tell me about it. I rub my forehead with my hand.

"Jewel…." He says in a scolding tone, noting my tell.

"Do you know how it makes me feel that you were having a problem and you couldn't come to me because I was so busy with my own?" I rub his arm as a mask of shame slowly descends on his face. "What happened, Al?" Al is a very sensitive man and I see that he is becoming emotional.

"Hi ex has moved back to town—some artsy guy that went away to Madrid or Italy or Tim-buk-fucking-tu to follow his craft. And now he's back, and he's asking to see James. So I told him that I didn't want him to go." Al tries to smile to hide the fact that he really wants to cry, but he wouldn't cry in public if you paid him. I feel his pain though. I put my hand on his cheek.

"Do you think this guy wants James back?" I said softly.

"Well, of course he does. Look at him. He's gorgeous, successful, he's a master in bed…who wouldn't want him?" He's right about that. We're batting for the same team and _I_ wanted him for a moment.

"Al, have you told James how you feel about him? Does he know that you're in love with him?" Al dropped his head again.

"I don't know how to tell him." He shook his head. "I'm new at this, remember?"

"How about you take him by the hand, you look him in the eye, and you tell him that you love him. Tell him that you are scared to death for him to see this guy because you are afraid that this guy may take him away from you because you are in love with him." He looks up through his eyelashes at me.

"That simple, huh?" he says as a single tear falls down his cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb and smile. I guess I was wrong about crying in public...this is big.

"That simple."

"What if it's too late?" He says, mournfully.

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"He's seeing him now." My mouth falls open.

"_Seeing him_ seeing him or just seeing him?" I ask cautiously.

"Just seeing him." He sighs. "They're having dinner. That's why we fought." He's drinking more wine than usual and I decide that it's probably a good idea that I don't drink anymore since somebody is going to have to get us home.

"What did he say? Why did he decide to go to dinner with this guy…what's his name?"

"Jose. Jose Rodriguez. They went to WSU together. They had a long-term relationship and then Jose's photography took him overseas a few years ago and they broke up."

"So why does he want to see him now? Why not just let it go? Do you think he wants Jose back?"

"I don't know the answer to any of that, Jewel. I'm afraid that I have given my heart to someone who wasn't ready to give their heart to me. You warned me…" He sniffled just a bit.

"Yes, I did warn you. But I think you may be wrong about James." He looked up at me. "Whatever unfinished business he has with Jose, it's going to be finished tonight. And if it's not, then I'll help you hide the body…because he had us both fooled." I push my unfinished glass of wine over to Al. He smiles sadly and finished off my wine.

As he held his head down, clearly trying to hold it together, the band starts to play "The Way You Look Tonight." I take my friend's hand and pull him to a small open space on the floor. He lays his head on my shoulder and I stroke his hair while we dance, trying to comfort him knowing that it's impossible right now.

_Some day, when I'm awfully low,  
__When the world is cold,  
__I will feel a glow just thinking of you,  
__And the way you look tonight._

_You're lovely, with your smile so warm  
__And your cheeks so soft,  
__There is nothing for me but to love you,  
__And the way you look tonight._

Al buries his face in my shoulder. I pull his face back and hold it in my hands. "It'll be okay." I smile at him. He nods and buries his face back in my shoulder, wrapping his arms tight around me and trying so hard not to fall apart. I feel like we should probably just go back to my apartment and get lost in a bottle of tequila, but I don't think he could bring himself to do anything right now but sway side to side like we're doing. So I just hold my friend and let him sway.

_With each word your tenderness grows,  
__Tearing my fears apart  
__And that laugh that wrinkles your nose,  
__Touches my foolish heart._

I'm soon very happy that we didn't leave. I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turn around and look up into the face of the gorgeous bronze god. I smile at him and raise Al's head so that he can see the beautiful man that has come for him. He is completely awestruck. I take James' hand and kiss him on the cheek. Then I take my friend's hand kiss him on the cheek while whispering in his ear, "I told you it'll be okay." I put his hand in James' hand and went back to the bar. When I look back, my best friend and his boyfriend are holding each other, dancing like there is no one else in the room.

* * *

_**GREY**_

She's very comfortable with this guy. That's the same guy that drove her car home on Monday night. I guess it's safe to say that he wasn't taking advantage of her on Monday night.

At least not unwillingly.

I sip on soda while I watch them talk and laugh easily, then the conversation appears to take a solemn turn. It's like someone has died and she is consoling him. I can't help but wonder what has happened in the conversation that has changed the mood so quickly. The way she is touching him, so gently and so kind—I feel a pang of…what? Jealousy. Possessiveness? I just want her to touch me that way. Am I falling for this girl? Everything she does makes me want her.

She comes to my office to curse me out, and I want her.  
She kicks the living shit out of a martial arts master, and I want her.  
She's cuddling some guy at the bar, and I want her.

I watch as she leads him to the dance floor…if you can call it that. It's more like just a little space they chose to dance in. She is definitely comforting him. She is so tender with him and he holds her very close to him, like she's going to heal whatever ails him. Some guy walks up and taps her on the shoulder. It's Flemings. What's he doing here? Is there about to be trouble? Is he Ana's boyfriend after all? I sit up a little in my seat waiting to see what he's going to do.

Ana smiles widely. She's obviously happy to see him. She's kissing him on the cheek. I feel my fist ball a little tighter. Shit! He _must_ be her boyfriend. There's some kind of exchange between her and the first guy then she goes back to the bar.

What the…? Fuck me! The guys are dancing together! Fuck! Why didn't I get that before?

They're gay!

An unbelievable feeling of relief flushes over me when I realize that these two want each other and neither of them want my Ana. I almost laugh out loud at my reaction to this whole thing. Thank fuck I'm not drinking anything alcoholic. This might have been one bad night, and all for nothing. I finish my soda just as I see something that makes me lose that warm and fuzzy feeling just as quickly as it came upon me.

Some guy is standing next to her at the bar just chatting her up. She's not all giggly and girly with him, but she's not sending him away either. They talk for a few minutes while Flemings and his boyfriend continue to spend some quality time together. After a while, he hands her a business card and walks away after placing a lingering kiss on her hand. She smiles coyly and drops the card in her purse. A little while later, Flemings and her friend come over to her and its looks like they're all leaving.

Shit! They're coming this way! She's going to see me! There's nowhere for me to fucking hide!

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"How much has he had to drink, Ana?" James asked while Al went to the restroom.

"Enough to be coherent, but too much to drive." James puts his hand on the back of his neck.

"Do you mind taking his car home tonight and we'll pick it up tomorrow?" He asked.

"Not at all. You guys go ahead." I wanted to tell him so badly that they need to talk, but I think he already knew.

"Thanks, Ana. You're a really good friend to him." He smiled.

"I told you…he's my split apart. We'd be married right now…if it weren't for that whole 'gay' thing." He laughed aloud.

"Yeah, that could present a problem, couldn't it?" I put my forefinger and thumb close together.

"Little bit!" I laugh.

"Hey, you guys are having too much fun without me." Al announces as he comes back.

"I have a feeling that's about to change." I smile as I pat him on the back. "Give me your keys, Hon." Al fishes out his keys.

"I'm sorry, Ana." He says remorsefully.

"Are you kidding me? I had a great time having a great dinner with a great friend. I helped to heal his wounded heart and…" I reached into my purse for the business card, "…I got a number."

"No shit?" Al's eyes get big.

"Yep. I'd say this was a pretty productive night and I should probably go home now while I'm still ahead!" We all have a hearty laugh.

"You ready, Baby?" James says to Al. I think I actually see him blush. It's the sweetest thing.

"Yes," he says almost like a school girl and we head out. As we get to the door I turn around to retrieve Al's keys.

"Did you valet, James?" I ask as we reach the night air.

"No, I'm right there." He points to his CLS double-parked across the street.

"James, you're lucky you didn't get a ticket-or worse, towed!"

"It wouldn't have mattered," he said, looking lovingly at Al. "I had something important to do." And again, I feel the slightest tinge of jealousy for my gay friend.

"Well, I'm going to take off and get my friend's baby to a safe place," I said waving Al's Jaguar keys. I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. "I love you bunches and bunches." I whisper in his ear.

"I love you more." He said, unshed tears in his eyes.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Shit, that was fucking close! I was sure she was going to look me dead in the eye! She turned around just in time or I would have been busted. When they cleared the door, I left money on the table and went to the front window to watch. They stand on the sidewalk exchanging pleasantries until Flemings and his boyfriend get in his CLS parked across the street. They wait there while the valet gets the Jaguar that Ana arrived in earlier with the first guy. She's standing there looking like a vixen. Those heels must be six inches tall. She looks delicious in stilettos. The only time I ever saw her in anything but stilettos was today when she beat the shit out of Klevna…and those shorts made up for the stilettos. I love how her hair always seems to ride the wind in delicate brown waves. I lean against the wall and watch her get into the Jaguar and drive away.

I wish she were going home with me.

I step outside and give my ticket to the valet and wait for him to bring my car.

I look out over the sleeping city of Seattle. I'm at home now with no worry of driving, so I have decided to have something a little stronger. I am hoping that the liquid going down my throat will numb the obvious unfamiliar aching in my chest. She has affected me. No matter how much I try to deny it, she has affected me. She has completely changed the routine of my nights because I lie in bed at night thinking of her. I have women falling at my feet—one woman in particular waiting for me to call her and just say the word—and I'm always thinking of her.

Only her…

Only Ana…

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I look out over the sleeping city of Seattle. I'm at home now with no worry of driving, so I have decided to have something a little stronger. I am hoping that the liquid going down my throat will numb the obvious familiar aching in my chest. He has affected me. No matter how much I try to deny it, he has affected me. He has completely changed the routine of my nights because I lie in bed at night thinking of him. I have men hitting on me—one man in particular waiting for me to call him and just say the word—and I'm always thinking of him.

Always him…

Always Christian…

...

_Yes, you're lovely, never, ever change  
__Keep that breathless charm  
__Won't you please arrange it?  
_'_Cause I love you  
__Just the way you look tonight._

* * *

_**A/N:**_

"_**The Sleeper has awakened." Kyle MacLachlan, Dune (1984)**_

"_**The Way You Look Tonight" by Michael Buble or Frank Sinatra—whichever you prefer**_

_**Please review!**_


	13. Chapter 13: Day of Reckoning

**_Okay, I think I need to address the term "nymphomania." Nymphomania is described as "excessive sexual desire in and behavior by a female." It doesn't mean that she had sex with a lot of people; it just means that she likes sex a lot. My Ana has only had one sexual partner besides the dude that raped her and (by the way) stole her virginity. So when Christian awakened the nymphomania, Ana needed to exert that energy in some way, first by wiggling her bean a few times and second by beating Luc's ass._**

**_Someone brought to my attention that Christian had mentioned Ana going to Vickie's and then Ana mentioned that she needed to go to Vickie's to shop. Please note that sometimes, the POV's are parallel (like in the gym) and other times, one POV may pick up where the last one left off. I will try to make that distinction a little more clear in the future (I'm sorry if it was confusing.)._**

**_To Anailuj: Hello again, my love! Yes, no doubt Luc or Ray taught her "don't stop until they are not moving anymore." When he grabbed her from behind, she snapped. If you think about it, in the story, her whole thing was "nobody will attack me from behind again." There is something else on Luc's mind. I haven't decided yet if it will come out later. Yes, Ana and Christian did see each other but one is not fully aware that the other one saw them. Ana knows Christian saw her, but Christian is not sure that Ana saw him. And I really liked writing the Ana/Al/James moment because Ana loves Al profusely and cannot stand to see him hurt and now he is falling in love for the first time. You can imagine that he must have been there the whole time holding her together when Edward broke her heart. And I so have to make sure that James treats Al right because Al is fashioned after my best friend, and if someone messed with my Michael, I would fly my ass back east and fuck somebody up! And Yes, the Christian/Ana dynamic is already flourishing. You know they are both going to have some serious trust issues._**

**_To Beth, Guest1, Guest2, Guest3: I am SO glad you are enjoying the story and I thank you so much for reading and reviewing!_**

**_To Guest4: Ah, Greta and Elena…keep your eye on that pair…._**

**_To Jaimini: I think Luc learned on his own that there is absolutely nothing wrong with yoga, lol. Remember, Christian's weekends were always spent that way (or going to some event with his family and such), even in the original books, but we're hoping to change that, aren't we? ;-) As always, thank you for your review!_**

**_To Leah: "No running." IKR! I hadn't even realized that I had her running the hell out of there and I said "no more running." But it was either that or masturbate on the I-15 on the way home, LOL._**

**_To Sophie: So glad to have you. Here's another update for you!_**

**_To Wattle: Yes, my Ana needs to be a little bit stronger than the one in the book, because I've got big plans for her._**

**____****I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**

Chapter 13—Day of Reckoning

_**STEELE**_

Yeah, so, I'm not the happiest camper on Monday morning. Sunday afternoon, I called the jerk who gave me his business card at the New Orleans on Saturday night…and his wife answers his cell phone!

Fucking seriously?

Did I have "skank" stamped on my forehead or something? Good grief. This is one of the reasons that I was dreading getting back into the dating game. At least Al had his happy ending, thank God. But needless to say, I am in a terribly foul mood when I get ready for group on Monday.

I haven't spoken to Grey since the infamous kiss on Friday, and I can't help but wonder what he expects to happen now. Does he think that I will fall at his feet and sign off on his paperwork? It might have been easier to say "no" had I not been thinking about him all damn weekend. Shit! Hopefully this feeling will go away soon and I can get my bearings about me again.

I just wish I knew why he kissed me in the first place…?

"Hey, Ana, you got a minute?" Ron summons me to his office just as I'm heading to 239.

"Yeah, just a minute, though. The session is about to start shortly."

"That's what I want to talk to you about. Do you mind if I sit in with you today?" I'm a bit taken aback.

"Not at all. I'd welcome it, as a matter of fact." I tilt my head a bit. "It's your prerogative, of course, but may I ask why?" Ron sits back in his chair.

"I've made a few observations along with some of the things you've said to me and…I'd like to see what's the deal with this Grey guy for myself." Now, the puzzle pieces are starting to fit together.

"I can tell you whatever you need to know but…what brought this on and what is it you plan to accomplish?" I question sincerely.

"Well, when we talked in your office last week, you were clearly completely fed up with this guy. Then you called off on Thursday which is something you've _never_ done in the seven months that you've been volunteering here. That same day, Grey is all 'I hope she's okay' when I tell him you're not coming AND coincidentally, I find out that you pressed the panic button on Monday and Mr. Grey had to be escorted from the building. Don't bother trying to deny that he was definitely part of the reason that you didn't come in on Thursday because I could hear it in your voice when I asked about it; his behavior just drove it home for me. What I plan to do, I don't know, but I just want to see how this guy interacts in class." I almost laugh at the word "interact."

"He _doesn't_. Most of the time, he just sits there staring at me! That's why I want him out of my class! I talked to my attorney friend and he told me I can't even turn in the court order until after the sixth session!" Ron makes a face.

"Yeah…I could have told you that." Now I'm irritated.

"Well, why _didn't_ you? I'm sitting in my office all high and mighty like I'm about to get rid of this leprosy and now I have to sit in front of him for two more sessions!"

"You didn't ask me!" Ron defended. "I would have told you if you had asked me!" My hand flies to my forehead. Great! Now I have a headache before the session even starts.

"We need to go. We're already late." I stand up and leave Ron's office.

"Everybody take your seats, please." I am wound tighter than a chainsaw and I can go off at any minute. I didn't bother to scan the group to see where Grey was trying to sit as I just needed to follow the clamor of women attempting to get a seat next to him. This spectacle is really getting on my nerves. I wonder what he's thinking when these women are all willing to get into a cage fight if it means they will be able to sit near Christian Grey. Part of it has to do with a slight possessiveness that I don't want to admit that I have begun to feel towards him—even though I clearly have no right. The other part has to do with the fact that my patience is completely non-existent today and I already know that I shouldn't be here, but it's too late now…Medusa is loose.

I fold one arm under the other and put my free hand on my chin and watch the show. It's going on a little longer than usual today. Ron and I are still standing as is my tradition to allow everyone to get a seat first. I can see Ron in my peripheral, and he is clearly puzzled while watching these women throwing dirty looks and snide comments at each other vying for optimum seating. So while gesturing to the spectacle, I turn to him and say loudly, "It happens every class. It usually takes about five minutes for us to get seated."

This declaration has accomplished two things. First, it has brought the spotlight on to these women who—with the exception of Evelyn—are now chastised enough to be embarrassed by their behavior and find a seat. Second, it has proven—though I haven't yet acknowledged the fact—that my brain-to-mouth filters are malfunctioning if not completely disconnected. _Houston, we have a problem._

Ron is looking over at me with that look on his face like he swallowed something bad, so I know that he knows this is going to be an interesting night, to say the very least.

"Ana, are you okay?" He asks quietly and cautiously. Had I had any good sense, I would have taken this opportunity to graciously bow out of the tragedy that was about to transpire before me; but, no, I—Dr. Anastasia Rose Steele, PsyD, am a gluten for punishment. So instead of telling Ron that I am in a foul ass mood and should probably go back to my office for a much-needed "time-out," I turn to him and matter-of-factly reply:

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

Once all the commotion has ceased, I pause for another 10 or 20 seconds for effect and then I lean down to Martin who is sitting in the seat next to the one that I plan to occupy. "Martin," I say softly, "would you mind terribly surrendering your seat so that my boss can sit and observe?"

"Oh, no, not at all, Dr. Steele." Martin kindly moves to another empty seat in the group and Ron and I take a seat. I must admit that I am truly at a loss on how to proceed right now, so I start like I normally do:

"Does anybody have anything that they want to share? I truly want to hear something about someone's interesting weekend. Anything?" The group falls silent and I have no desire whatsoever to rescue them. For all I care, we can all sit here for two hours and ponder life's special moments and mysteries because quite frankly, _you_ guys have the problems…not me. Imagine my surprise when the next voice that I heard came from the last place I expected.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Well, hell, if I can be here on time I would think the good doctor would at least have the courtesy to be prompt as well. I have no plan of "attack" today except for to "cease and desist" with the staring. I guess I could give a little insight without spilling my fucking guts. Shit, there's got to be an easier way to do this. I sigh heavily. Fuck it. Anything to keep from going to county jail.

I need to find some kind of way to apologize to Ana, but I'm sure as hell not going to do it in front of the group and she most likely won't be caught within 15 feet of me in a room alone after that debacle on Friday. That point was driven home when, after hearing her voice, I turn around to see that smug Carlisle fucker walk into the room with her. Great, she's brought reinforcements. Her expression is unreadable and she is clearly avoiding eye contact with me. I take my seat and watch her take what I would consider a clearly defensive stance until she loudly announces, "It happens every class. It usually takes about five minutes for us to get seated." That's when I realize that she is referring to the usual seating chaos that takes place in my general vicinity by a cluster of horny women who don't have the good sense to be embarrassed by their behavior.

It doesn't take long for me to recognize that this not is our usual Dr. Steele. I don't know what her day has been like, but it is clear to see that this is not the _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, tiara wearing, "just call me Ana" that we have become accustomed to. There's a bit of musical chairs going on while she and Carlisle take a seat and then she asks if anyone wants to share. A dead silence falls over the room and nobody says anything for about a full minute. Oh well, might as well rip the band-aid off…

"I'd like to say something." Was that me? Shit!

Ana's head shot over to me and the look in her eyes I can only interpret as horror! Fuck! You've wanted me to talk and now, I'm talking! I clear my throat simply because I have no fucking idea what to say next. Flynn's words come back to me.

_You may even have to give her a little insight into yourself and your past for her to understand why you are the way you are._

She's knows my past, now…some of it anyway. Here goes…

"It takes a lot to get to where I am. You don't just wake up one day and you're here. You have to have a lot of drive and determination…and control." I know there are several sets of eyes on me, but I am focused solely on hers, which have now moved from horrified to surprise. "I come from humble beginnings and all I will say is that I won't ever go back there again." Thoughts of the crack whore lying prostrate on a filthy couch in a drug-induced stupor while I sit famished and emaciated on the kitchen floor flood my brain momentarily. "I've worked very hard to achieve what I have, to be who I am." Flynn's words come to me again.

_You are threatening everything she has worked for. How would you feel if it were you…?_

Fucking furious! "It's obvious that you don't get to be who I am overnight, but nothing was ever just handed to me. This kind of success takes more than most people are capable of giving." This sharing shit is just not working for me, and Ana's expression has now moved from surprise to confusion. "People are always out to get me," I continue, thinking about the asshole judge who put me here in the first place. "They want to make a name for themselves by taking down or exposing the _great Christian Grey_." I say sarcastically. "And anything I do in defense of myself is always taken out of context or splashed all over the media. I've never been a 'regular guy' and with the life I've lived, I don't think I'd ever want to be, but sometimes I wish to hell people would just leave me alone."

"Mr. Grey, what is it you're saying?" Ana has broken the deafening silence that has fallen over the class. "Because what it sounds like is that you want someone to take pity on you for being successful."

Where the fuck did she get that from? I'm trying to fucking humble myself here, and she translates it as a call for pity? That's what the fuck I get for trying to relate to a concept of which I have no idea.

"Pity? That's what you heard? Pity?" My voice was a little harsher than I intended. She picked up on it immediately.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

What the hell? He sits here silently for three sessions, two of which he stared at me. Every time he opened his mouth, he bullied someone and most often that someone was me. And now he has the nerve to sit here and try to solicit…what? Sympathy? Pity? Understanding? What? And why the hell is taking a _tone_ with me?

I'm not wearing any gloves today, Grey. Did no one warn you?

"Well excuse me, Mr. Grey, but all you've ever thrown towards me is hostility and intimidation. So forgive me if I can't recognize an attempt at sincerity…assuming that's what that was."

_Wait, that kiss wasn't hostile.  
_That was intimidation.  
_Shit! Intimidate me!  
_Shut the fuck up, Bitch. I'm handling this!

"You are impossible!" He bellows. "There is absolutely no way to win with you, is there? I should just lie down and take my punishment, right?"

"Punishment? Are you kidding me? What do you expect? For us to sit here and pat you on the head because you are a little more famous than the rest of us? Poor little billionaire!" Ron's head snaps over to me and Grey looks at me like I have just hit him.

"Ana, maybe you should step outside for a moment…" Ron has recognized the dynamite a moment too late.

"What the hell is your fucking problem? You have no fucking idea what this means to me, do you? No fucking idea at all! The wrong move in any direction can be the absolute end of everything I have _ever_ built! One word to the wrong person in the wrong way can be the end of my whole fucking career! All of the goodwill I've built and all of the influence of the Grey name can be shattered in an instant! And I have to sit here and take this bullshit twice a week so that I don't see my life's work shot to hell at a moment's notice by some fucking temperamental female!" Grey shoots at me.

Mother fucking ass hole shit eating bitches from hell—are you fucking serious!? Is he really sitting here saying this shit to me after what he has put me through in the two horrific weeks I have known him? So let's review, shall we?

This man has dug into my past and opened up one of the most horrific occurrences of my life. His actions have sent me into full-scale reversal. I am now once again a nightmare having, ghost fighting, gun-toting, paranoid "Ana" Oakley. Right when I decide to fight the emotional romantic demons that have put my life on hold for nearly four years, Grey comes and in one day he destroys everything that I had accomplished in attempting to fight off decade-old fears and monsters. And now he has the _audacity_ to sit here in this class, look me in my eyes and insinuate that he needs to protect himself and his empire from _me_…

That's it! I simply cannot take this anymore. I have sat through two and a half weeks of watching this man treat people like we are all put here for his personal use and entertainment. Ron can see that I am at the end of my rope, and I think he is gesturing to me in an attempt to defuse the situation, but it's too late. I cannot go another moment without telling Mr. Master of the Universe exactly what I think of him.

"You know what, Grey? Some of us didn't have a savior to come and rescue us from the hell we were in. Some of us had to ride it out and just survive no matter what happened. And heaven forbid some of us become better people in spite of the circumstances! I mean, what's the world coming to when we can't all become gorgeous, egomaniacal, self-absorbed, narcissistic billionaires who feel the need to treat people in the worse way possible based on some twisted sense of entitlement!? Take a look at yourself. You live in an ivory tower, you hold the future of tens of thousands of people in the palm of your hand, your net worth exceeds everyone in this building _combined_, and that suit you're wearing probably costs six months of my salary. News flash, Grey. You WON! You have achieved the brass ring and crushed all of your enemies under your foot. So while you're walking around crying your 'woe me's' and blaming your dead mommy for issues that you have been holding on to for decades, just remember that you're not the only fucked up individual in the world!" I knew it was death the minute the words left my mouth. I stood up and flung my portfolio across the room where it struck a bulletin board hanging on the wall causing the board to fall and land flat on the floor with a loud "clap!" I turned around and marched out of the room mumbling, "Fucking arrogant asshole."

I flung the door open and was hoping to get a moment to myself to catch my breath before plotting my escape. Unfortunately, I came face to face with Taylor as soon as I slammed the door behind me. I drop my head and put my hand over my eyes, pushing my glasses up a bit. Dead mommy issues? Did I really say that out loud…to a group participant…in _front_ of the entire group? Holy cow, Batman. This is information that I read from his background check. Why in the hell would I bring that up in front of the group!? I hear the door open behind me and I pray to God that it isn't Grey.

"My office. Now!" Ron growls as I watch him storm pass me. He is mad…_really_ mad. I am shaking a bit and I take a few deep breaths to try to calm myself before the adrenaline causes the tears. I drop my head and shake it, hoping that this is a dream and I am just going to wake up. No such luck.

"Are you okay, Ma'am?" I almost jump out of my skin. I forgot Taylor was standing there. He must think I'm having a seizure with all the twitching and shaking I'm doing.

"I'm fine, thank you," I respond nervously before I walk down the hall to face the firing squad.

"What the hell was that?" Ron snapped, as I closed the door. I was dumbstruck. Am I in the Twilight Zone?

"Are you kidding me? You saw for yourself! That man is impossible and you saw a tame version tonight!" I shot. I know he can't be sitting here calling me to task about _my_ behavior. Harsh though it may have been, it doesn't come close to what Grey has put me through!

"Dead! Mommy! Issues! Ana? Seriously?" He is yelling. Okay, that was bad I'll admit, but couldn't he see what I was going through? My hand shoots to my forehead again.

"You _will_ go back in there and you _will_ apologize to Mr. Grey and hope he doesn't sue the center for your gross misconduct!" Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me. This has to be a bad joke!

"The hell I will!" I yell, glaring at him. If he thinks for one moment that I'm going to go and apologize to that man, _he's_ the one in need of a psychiatrist! "I meant every word I said to that pompous asshole, no matter how harsh, and I am not apologizing to him. If this was my practice, he would be out on his ass. Nobody treats me that way! I didn't sign up to be abused by him!"

"But this is _not_ your practice, Anastasia! This is a community center. We serve the community. And you are expected to behave like a professional…"

"I am a person, first!" My voice is so high-pitched, I can hear it cracking.

"…and sometimes the professional has to override the person. If you were an employee here, Ana, I would consider firing you right now." Now, I am gaping at this man. I can see that I am clearly not going to get him to see my point of view. In the years that I spent at CCFW, I have never encountered anything like this. And now, this man expects me to take this crap off Grey and smile, and I'm not even getting paid for it. I don't know what the expression on my face is saying right now, but Ron clearly changes his demeanor and he's going into business mode.

"You are a volunteer here, Dr. Steele," he says flatly, "and everything you do inside these walls reflects directly on the center. You will go and apologize to Mr. Grey for your outburst or you may want to consider disassociating yourself with the center."

As I stand there looking at Ron for I don't know how long—seconds, minutes, who knows—I see all the men who came into the group sessions calling me "Sweetheart, Honey, and Doll." I see Luc knocking the fucking wind out of me and attacking me from behind when I tried to get away on Saturday. And then I see all the Flashdance Thatchers and Malibu Barbies and Melba Sornsons that I couldn't help. I felt like a failure at the one thing I thought I was good at—helping people help themselves by helping each other. It came flooding in on me like a tidal wave. I felt my knees get weak for a second. I had to wrangle my feelings in for just a few more moments.

"You're right," I answer. Ron sits back in his seat and folds his hands on his desk. He thinks he has gotten through to me. He's right; he has. I turn around and open the door. Before leaving, I say, "I'll have my office cleared out in an hour." I close the door behind me and quickly walk to the elevator. I only have time to glance at it momentarily before I slam through the door to the stairwell and take the stairs, two at a time, eight flights, in stilettos.

When I make it to my borrowed office, I haven't even broken a sweat. I close the door and lock it, pulling down the shade to the window. Again, I am taking deep breaths trying to calm myself. Seven months. I have volunteered at this place for seven months. That's five group sessions…twenty participants each session…one hundred people in total…and I may have helped one. _One_. Remind me again why I decided to do this?

_Um, if I remember correctly, the theory was that you could get over your own fucked up shit by helping other people get over theirs. How's that working out for you?  
_Bitch, you have no idea how unwelcome you are right now. I will send my imaginary friend in there to beat your mother fucking ass if you don't leave me alone!

Nothing.

I didn't acquire much in this space in seven months. All of my personal stuff is at my office downtown. I never got comfortable here. Maybe I knew I didn't belong here all along. I didn't even need a box to remove the piddling amount of stuff in this room that I called "mine." I only needed to straighten up what was here. I start to file all of my stray papers into the large metal filing cabinet. I don't feel anything while I'm doing this. It's mechanical. Get everything in order for the next poor sucker who feels like they can fix the world through one big group hug. Oh shit. My portfolio is still in 239. Did anybody pick it up? I wonder if they're reading it? Probably the Grey fucker, no doubt. I'll just finish my filing here and go down and get it.

Apparently, I lied to Ron when I told him that I would be out in an hour. Filing all of that crap took three at least. I wonder why I had so many notes on these people but I never helped anybody except Stoley? It's dark outside now, and I should really be leaving soon. But I guess I should see if my portfolio is still downstairs.

I cautiously lift my shade to see if anybody is still on this floor. There were several knocks at my door while I was filing, but there was no reason to answer them as there was nothing to say. Seeing the coast was clear, I walked down the hall and called the elevator. The second floor was just as desolate as the tenth. I walked over to 239. Still unlocked, thank God.

I turned on the lights and examined the room. Everything was just as I had left it—the bulletin board was still face down on the floor and my portfolio was splayed open next to it, various papers from inside strewn on the floor. I replaced the bulletin board and gathered my papers into my portfolio. I didn't care if anything was missing—it really didn't matter. I went back over and turned out the lights. Looking back at the empty room, I felt a bit of melancholy.

I walked over to a chair and sat down in the quiet, dark, empty space. I looked at each empty chair and thought about the people who would normally sit there. I had failed them. I had failed them all. Or had they failed me? I don't know. But I had some big dreams when I first stepped into this room. Working at CCFW really made you feel like you could repair the world and all of its ails…until you got out into the _real_ world. Nobody told me that everybody out here was as fucked up as me, if not more.

Hugging my portfolio to my chest, I felt my body shaking from sobbing. I don't know why I'm crying. It's really going to be a relief not having to deal with Christian Master of the Universe Grey. How someone can make your pulse race and make you physically ill at the same time I'll never know, but the days of worrying about it is over for me. I'm getting the hell out of here and going back to my practice—five days a week…while I decide if this is really what I want to do for the rest of my life. I wipe my eyes and walk to the door, leaving 239 behind forever this time.

Back in the office, I go through the papers that are in the portfolio. There's Frank blank report for the court as well as the court order for Grey that I had completed the week before. I filed all the notes on all the other participants including Frank, and looked carefully at Grey's notes and reports. I had a folder prepared for him, ready for all of his documentation, but inspiration gave me a better idea.

I emptied my shredder into the garbage and took out Frank's blank court report. I copied the report, whited out all of Frank's information on the copy and replaced it with Grey's information. Then I proceeded to shred every piece of information I had on him related to these sessions—notes, contact information, even his completed court order. At first, I thought about placing the shreds into his file to let him know what I really thought of him, but I'm sure I would spend time wondering what the finder of the masterpiece would think of my gesture…and I had already spent too much time thinking about all things Grey. Instead, I simply put the blank court order all by itself in Grey's file and left it on the center of the desk. I picked up my purse, briefcase, and few meager belongings, turned out the lights and locked the door. After I drop off the key in Ron's mailbox, I went home to find some alcoholic beverage with my name on it.

* * *

_**GREY**_

What the fuck did she just say? What the fuck did she say to me in front of all these fucking people? Face it, Grey, I thought to myself, you threw her monsters at her and she threw yours right back. What did I expect? She spit all of my achievements at me like they were bad words…and the dead mommy comment? That little tart should lose her license for that shit. _Dead mommy issues_! Now I have to wait here to see if she's going to return. If I leave, I don't get credit for this session.

"Oh, Mr. Grey. Are you alright?" A voice comes oozing at me from the left. I turn to see one of the chair fighting ladies leaning close to me.

"I'm fine, thank you." I say coolly, turning my attention to my blackberry.

"That was just horrible, Mr. Grey, what you had to go through at that woman's hands. And she calls herself a therapist." She is fluttering false eyelashes at me that are buried under heavy mascara.

"I assure you, I will survive, Miss…"

"Evelyn," she coos, "Call me Evelyn." I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes.

"Evelyn. There is no permanent damage. I shall recover. If you'll excuse me," I say as I stand to move to another part of the room. She grabs my forearm to keep me from leaving. She's saying something else, but I can't hear her. She's _touching_ me! What the hell? As I'm glaring at this hand on my forearm, waiting for it to be moved, I can hear Taylor speaking.

"Sir, we should probably leave now." I'm still waiting for this hand to move from my forearm. You desperate cooch, can you not tell when somebody doesn't want you? She stood there holding on to my arm for another full minute before _Taylor_ finally had to tell her to let me go. I thought my silence would have been a dead giveaway, but apparently it wasn't. When she finally let me go, my trance was broken and I must have shot her a look from hell because she flinched and sunk back into her chair. I walked over to the door with Taylor.

"Why should we leave? I can't leave or I won't get credit for the session." I ask Taylor.

"I don't think Dr. Steele will be coming back this evening."

"What makes you say that?" My interest is piqued.

"She had a heated conversation with Mr. Carlisle after she left the room, Sir. I couldn't hear it, but there was quite a bit of yelling. Shortly thereafter, she ran out of the stairwell door."

"The stairwell? How long ago was this?"

"Not long, Sir. Just a few minutes." I should go talk to this Carlisle character. I'm all for getting the hell out of here, but not if I don't get credit for sitting through this bloodbath up until now. I brush past Taylor and knock on Mr. Carlisle's open door.

"Mr. Grey!" Carlisle looks like a bundle of nerves. "Please allow me to apologize."

"No apologies necessary," I hold my hand up impatiently to stop his talking, "Will Dr. Steele be back tonight?"

"Well, um, no…." Still not interested in explanations, I ask, "Will someone be taking her place for the evening or is it okay to leave? I would like to get credit for this session. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh yes, yes sir, completely. No, the session is over for the night. Feel free to leave."

"Thank you, Mr. Carlisle." I turn towards the door with Taylor close behind.

When we get out to the SUV, I notice that her pearl blue 300 is still in the parking lot. If she's still here, why the hell doesn't she finish the damn session? I have a few more things I want to say to her if she's going to facilitate my demise no matter what I do. Taylor starts the car. "One minute, Taylor." I get out of the car and he jumps out behind me.

"Sir…?" he protests.

"I'll only be a minute, Taylor." I say as I dash back into the building and head for the elevator. Once on the tenth floor, I knock on Ms. Steele's locked door. I know that she's in there because her light is on and I can hear movement. I knock again. I fucking hate being ignored. I was almost tempted to announce myself and demand that she answer the door, but I knew that would get me nowhere. There was nothing productive I could say to this woman. No matter what happens now, she can't do anything until after the next session. So I might as well just wait until then and see what my fate will be.

I turn from the door, feeling a little like a rejected lover though I don't know where the hell that came from. I push the button to the elevator and go back to Taylor waiting in the SUV. I suddenly feel this huge sense of loss—I'm not sure where it's coming from. It must have been written all over my face because Taylor asked if I was okay when I got back to the car. I watched the door for a moment, willing her to come out so I could just see her one more time. I'm afraid if I let her get away tonight that I will never see her again. I'm so fucking angry, though. I can't believe she said the things that she said to me…and in front of everyone. Fuck, people who tell me about _my_ temper should meet _this_ firecracker! I put my hands in my hair and rest my elbows on my knees, not too sure what to do next.

"Sir?" Taylor breaks my concentration.

"Just give me a minute, Taylor." I say without raising my head. It seems like every time I feel like I may be getting somewhat closer to her, I always do something to push her away. I don't know what I can do to make this right. Little by little, I don't really give a fuck about what she said in session. It's not like she said anything that wasn't true. From the day I met her, she had me pegged. She put me in my place from the very beginning. She never let me run over her or control her even when I tried my best to do just that. She is exquisite—the most enchanting woman I have ever met in my life.

And I feel her slipping away from me.

I have tried every time to apologize to her, but whenever I may find the opportunity, I end up either putting my foot in my mouth or doing something monumentally stupid…

…like kissing her.

I don't know what's going to happen after this. All I know is that she is locked in her office right now—locked away from me, and I feel like if I don't do something right now I'll never see her again. But what the fuck do I do? I knock on her door and she won't answer. I have to be the very last person that she wants to see right now. I can't just ring her up and say "Hi." What the hell do I do?

I look over at her 300 still sitting in the parking lot. I could leave her a note…but who the fuck leaves notes anymore? A man who desperately doesn't want to lose touch with the woman who seduces him in his sleep like a succubus, that's who. I can't bring myself to leave a note, so I opt for a business card. Yeah, that's the ticket! Nothing says "I really want to see you again" like a business card! She already knows where to find me, so hopefully she'll see this as a gesture to reach out…or something. I put the card under her windshield wiper and turn to leave. But what's to stop her from just throwing the card away? I go back and pull the card off of the windshield. I pull out my Visconti fountain pen and scribble my message on the card and replace it under the wiper. Now I'm running back to the SUV, afraid that she will come out of the building and catch me at my moment of weakness.

Who are you kidding, Grey? She _is_ your weakness.

"Fuck!" I say aloud. I won't say it. I won't fucking say it. "Let's go, Taylor."

Taylor starts the car and pulls into traffic, and I can only hope…beyond hope…that she will accept my gesture and reach out to me. I feel an alien, crushing tightness come over me, and I can only look out of the window watching the cityscape and hope that it passes.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I turn into the parking structure at my condo. I pull into my space, turn off the car, and sit there for a moment.

I did it.  
I really did it.

I walked away from something that I wanted to do with all my heart. I wanted to help people the same way that I was helped…by talking to other people who had hurdles to jump and fears to overcome. I wanted to facilitate the same growth and healing that helped me piece together my life when I was afraid to reach out to anyone…afraid to share my story on any level for fear that I would give it new life if I spoke about it. I walked away from the biggest thing I wanted to do with my education since the day that I walked across the stage and accepted my degree.

And I feel free.  
I've never felt freer in my entire life.  
No more Flashdance Thatchers or Melba Sornsons…  
…or Christian Greys.

Christian Grey. I've let him off the hook. I didn't file that court order that I planned to file that could have put him in jail.

So now he doesn't have to ruin my career…or look into my past…or ever see me again.

We don't even work out at the same gym anymore.

Why does it feel like somebody just hit me in the chest with a sledge-hammer?

I hold my head down and try to shake off the feeling of doom. As I raise my head, I catch the corner of a piece of paper or card on my windshield. How did I not see that before? I grab my purse and briefcase and my few belongings and get out of the car. I see that the object is actually a business card. The front of the card is a picture taken from the ground up of a beautiful building downtown with a gorgeous blue Seattle sky with big fluffy clouds behind it. They must have waited for weeks to get that picture because we hardly _ever_ see days like that in Seattle. That's when I realize I recognize the building. I've only been there once, but I would know the building anywhere. It's Grey House!

Holy. Cow. Batman.

Christian Grey left his business card on my windshield. What the hell? I don't know how to respond to this. Is he trying to remind me that he has some kind of control over me? Okay, so you know my car. Have you been watching me? What the hell does this mean? I turn the card over and I am nearly floored by the very few words I find in beautiful handwritten script on the back of the card.

_**I'm sorry. CG**_

I am speechless. Is he just groveling because he doesn't know what's going to happen next?

_Or could it be that he wants to see you again?_

Could that be it? I feel a catch in my chest and a feeling of relief works its way through my legs. I've got to give this a little thought. Every single meeting we have had so far has been full of angst. What could he possibly _really_ want with me? He's rich and beautiful and arrogant as hell. Five minutes in each other's company and we would surely rip one another to shreds. Who the hell am I fooling? "

Okay, so you're sorry. Thanks." I let the business card fall to the ground and walk to the elevator.

I have brushed my teeth and my hair and put on my comfy pajama pants with a camisole. I need to rethink the direction of my life a bit. It's about 9:30pm so I give my best friend a call.

"_Hey Jewel, what's up Baby?"_

"You sound a whole lot better than the last time I talked to you. How are you doing?" I ask.

"_Wonderful. Everything's wonderful."_ I could hear him smiling through the phone. _"James wants us to move in together." _I gasp.

"Really? That's great! I'm so happy for you, Al. See? I told you everything was going to be okay." I really am happy for my friend. He has had many flings and a few semi-long-term relationships since we have been friends, but I have never seen him over the moon for anyone until now.

"_I'm really excited about it. We are just trying to decide if we are going to live at his place or my place or_ _just buy a new place and start over."_ He sounds like a little schoolgirl.

"Well, it's a buyer's market if you want to buy a new place. Then of course that leaves the burden of getting rid of your old places."

"_Yeah, we've been pondering that, too. For right now, we've been staying in both places, whichever is_ _convenient for the night…I love him, Jewel."_

"I know, Al." I smile.

"_I'm scared."_

"Of what?"

"_Of getting hurt. Of having my heart broken. Of him not loving me the way that I love him. You name it." _

"That man loves you, Al. You better sit and enjoy it, because it doesn't come along often." I say these words with a bit of melancholy. "Anyone could look at you guys on Saturday and tell that he loves you. Hell, he risked getting his Benz towed to get to you in that restaurant!" Al laughs loudly on the line.

"_Yeah, I forgot about that. Oh! That reminds me. James swears he saw Grey at the New Orleans that_ _night." _

I swallow hard. He what? Did he just say that Grey was at the restaurant?

"Christian Grey? He must have been mistaken." I say, aghast.

"_Well, I didn't see him and you didn't see him, but I will tell you this. I Googled him to see if we were_ _talking about the same guy because I've never seen him before. James said that's who it was—and he_ _was sitting close to the door."_ I'm scanning the room in my memory and I'm coming up completely blank. _"There's more, Jewel."_

"What?" What more could there be?

"_Remember the 'hottie' from the club last week that you never got to see?"_

"Yes…?" I answer expecting.

"_It was Grey. He was the guy dancing with you on the stage."_

"No fucking way! Are you absolutely certain?" This _can't_ be right.

"_I am 100% certain…about six feet tall, reddish brownish hair, grey eyes, body like a god, buns of steel…"_

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's him." I have to stop his description as I feel some significant heat in my lower regions. Just the thought of this man makes me hot.

"_Jewel, this guy didn't look like someone who wants to ruin your career."_

"You haven't met him, Al."

"_I don't need to meet him! The way he was looking at you on the dance floor? Like he wanted to sop_ _you up with grits and a biscuit? Hell, I thought the sprinklers would come on any second!"_ Is this real? The McElroy, the gym, and now the New Orleans? Is the universe trying to tell me something here?

"Al, I'm not doing group sessions anymore."

"_Whoa! Talk about change of gear! How did we get from hot club dancing to group sessions?"_

"That's where I normally saw Grey…and it was usually a nightmare. It's no coincidence that he saw me at these places. He's probably following me. Did I tell you he did a background check on me?"

"_He did WHAT?_" Al asked horrified. _"Why?"_

"I don't know. I went to his office to find out and we had a horrible argument, then we…" I trailed off.

"_What Jewel? What happened?" _Al is feverish for me to finish the sentence.

"We…kissed." I said just above a whisper.

"_Hold on…I didn't hear that. What did you say?"_

"We kissed!" Al gasped.

"_You kissed that hot hunk of deliciousness? And you didn't tell me? I feel so forlorn!"_ He exclaimed. _"When did this happen?"_

"Last Friday." I put my hand on my forehead. "One minute we're gnarling at each other and the next minute, he's got his tongue down my throat."

"_Well, spill, how was he, Jewel?" _Al nearly squealed.

"Masterful." I breathed. "I thought my thighs were going to explode!" Al laughs heartily at me.

"_So what happened next?"_

"I ran away." I could almost hear him drop his head.

"_Please tell me I didn't hear you just say that you ran away…from this gorgeous, chiseled chunk of loveliness…after he _kissed_ you!"_

"I panicked, Al! I mean seriously, we were screaming and snarling at each other. It was absolutely brutal! And the next thing I know, this man has got me in a vice grip and my body is on fire! I fucking panicked!" I defended.

"_Well, I can see why."_ Al says almost sarcastically. _"I would have panicked, too, but I would have stood my ass right there until it passed!"_

I sigh heavily. "It gets worse, Al." I hear him scoff.

"_Oh, you have got to tell me how it gets worse than you were kissed by Zeus and you ran away."_

"I decimated him in group session today…in front of the entire group…and then I quit." Al was very quiet on the other end for quite some time. I thought we were disconnected. "Al? Are you still there?"

"_I'm trying to process this, Jewel. I don't know what's more shocking out of what I just heard—that you_ _humiliated Billionaire Boy in front of a group of people, or that you quit something that I know you_ _love_." He says concerned.

"I haven't quit my practice…only the group sessions. They were so draining and they felt like a waste of time. No one was being helped by them, not even me. And after tonight's debacle, I knew it was time for me to walk away from it. I'm surprised the whole thing didn't go nuclear before now."

"_Well…how did _that_ turn out for you?"_

"I'm relieved. I didn't want to admit it at first, but I'm relieved. I can concentrate on my practice now and on helping the people that really want to be helped."

"_What about Grey? Do you think he still wants to ruin your career? You didn't make it to six sessions with him so you can't turn in that court report…which means you can't ruin his life now."_

"I know, right? I'm not sure what he wants since he…OH MY GOD!" I dash from my living room to the elevator and frantically push the button. "Come on, come on, come on…" I will the damn thing to move faster. "Come on, dammit!" The "ding" signaled that my salvation had arrived. I scurry inside and push the "P" button for the parking structure. A few seconds later, I am scrambling into the parking structure in my pajamas and bare feet searching frantically on the ground around my car. "Where is it? Where the hell is it?" Tucked partially under the driver's side tire was the small picture of Grey House. I fall to my knees and grab the card like I had just found the winning lottery ticket to the 10-million-dollar Big Game. I let out a huge sigh as I turned the card over and examined Christian Grey's exquisite handwriting. That's when I realized that my blackberry was still in my other hand.

"Al?!"

"_You know I was on my way over there, right?"_ He said, matter-of-factly. _"Which would not have made my boyfriend happy right now, I might add."_

"No no no, no need, Al." As I return to my apartment, I explain to him the events that occurred that evening up to and including my mad dash to the parking lot in my PJ's. Another laugh for my best friend at my expense.

"_So what now, Jewel? You know he wants you…or he wants something. How do you proceed?" _

"I don't know. Our interaction is pretty volatile…" I trail off.

"_Hey, that makes for hot sex!"_ Al adds.

"Al!" I scold.

"_Well it does! Shit, didn't you say your hips almost exploded with that kiss?"_

"I said my thighs, but hell, my hips too."

"_Well, there's one good thing about letting go of the group sessions. Technically, he's not a 'patient'_ _anymore_." This is true—I hadn't thought of that. _"What are you going to do?"_

"I have no fucking idea. Right now, I'm going to bed. I have a lot of thinking and rearranging to do already, but when I decide what I _will_ do, you'll be the first to know."

"_That's all I ask. Love you, Jewel."_

"Love you more." I end the call, lock the door, turn out the lights and head to my bedroom. As I remove the duvet from the bed, my blackberry rings again. Damn, Al, what did you forget to tell me?

"Didn't I tell you I was going to sleep?" No voice on the other end. "Hello? Hello?"

"_Rosie?"_

Fuck!

Edward.

* * *

_**A/N: "Houston, we have a problem." Tom Hanks, Apollo 13**_

_**Please review!**_


	14. Chapter 14: Out With The Old

_**LOVE—yeah. To the Guest that wrote the review suggesting that I should use another word besides "love" to describe Christian's feelings for Ana…WHO'S STORY ARE YOU READING? Where—at all—did you see me say that Christian **_**loves**_** Ana yet?! I actually had to go back and do a search for the word "love" in my own story because I was questioning myself for a moment…and I wrote the damn story! People, if you are going to correct someone—or constructively criticize someone—on their chosen content, make sure that you are reviewing the CORRECT STORY! Your complete review did not make it to my review page because you are obviously addressing the wrong story as I have made NO REFERENCE WHATSOEVER to Christian loving Ana…yet! **_

_**I have to say that I have this one reviewer that is very enigmatic in her reviews. I look at her reviews like, "I can tell you liked it, but what are you trying to say?" Eventually, I end up responding with something like, "Ahee, ahee, ahee, hee, hee, thanks." I won't say her name, but I love to see it because I'll be like "OMG, what is she going to say this time?" and I'm on bated breath WAITING to see her reviews! I love you guys!**_

_**To Beachycolor: Thank you—so glad you are enjoying the story!**_

_**To Beth: Thank you so much. I love long chapters and I love details. When I wrote the first four chapters, they were fairly short (3000-4000 words I think-which is fine if your are posting everyday) and I put them all out in the same week—one right behind the other. Then I thought about the chapters that I like to read and decided that they needed to be longer and detailed enough to put the reader right there in the story, **_

_**To Guest2: Yeah, Ana was having a moment that night. CG finally opens up and she goes postal—whassup wit dat? But yeah, we had to kill that doctor/patient-type relationship for obvious reasons, right? And our Ana had to go out with a bang!**_

_**To Guest3: Love it! Love it! Love it! Ana will be getting that "beef injection" sooner than you think. ;-)**_

_**To Jaimini: Yes, Ms. Ana gave it to poor little Christian with both guns. It had been building up as we all know and had to come out at some point. Don't you worry about good old Eddie. He will surely get what's coming to him!**_

_**To Shandy: I am so glad you are enjoying the story. Now don't blink, because it's. About. To go. Down! ;-)**_

_**To Trushy: Girl, my sentiments exactly! I can understand a typo here and a typo there, but I proofread my stories three times to try to catch those things and I have wonderful fans who will send me emails and messages if they catch them so that I can fix them. I am very OCD about that. And I am glad that you are enjoying my little story.**_

_**I know you guys are anxious for some lemony goodness between Christian and Ana. They haven't jumped each other's bones yet, because I want the reader to get a thorough detailed idea of who these characters are before they get intimate. Ana has already surprised us in many ways. Those surprises are going to continue—particularly in the way that she discovers things and how she reacts to information. Christian is going to surprise us too, so stay tuned. Lemony goodness is right around the corner!**_

_****__**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 14—Out With The Old…

_**STEELE**_

Oh, good grief. It's too late at night to deal with this man, especially after the day I've had. I could just hang up, but he would just keep calling back if I did that. I could just turn off my phone, but then I would have a hundred drunk voice mails in the morning. I'm sure that's the only reason why he's calling me…this late…on a Monday night. I sigh heavily into the phone.

"No, I have _not_ been drinking." He says with a clear strong voice. He knew that's what I was thinking.

"Then why are you calling me?" I protest. I hear him sigh.

"I need to apologize…for what happened at your apartment." Dude, really? _That's_ what you need apologize for? "I'm not sorry that it happened. But I should have controlled myself, and I am sorry for that."

"Fine, Edward. I need to go to sleep now."

"Rosie, please…"

"Ana!" I correct him.

"Ana…" He sounds completely broken. What the hell has happened to him?

"What's wrong, Edward?" I ask.

"Nothing…everything…I miss you, Ana. I can't sleep at night. I think about you all the time. Please, please tell me what I can do to make this right between us." I hate to hurt anybody. Really, I do. But if this man thinks he's getting within ten feet of me in _that_ way, he is out of his mind.

"I don't know how many ways I can tell you that it's not going to happen. I don't understand why you don't get it."

"Ana, we never talked. We never really broke up. You just put me out."

"I am too sleepy to even begin to debate all of the flaws in the statement you just made." I say while yawning. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Edward."

"Ana wait! Please, just have dinner with me on Friday. Let's just talk, please." I paused shaking my head. If I don't agree, I'll never get to go to bed. "Please, Ana…"

"Dinner on Friday." I agree.

"Thank you, Baby." I could hear him smiling in the phone.

"Don't call me Baby or I'll cancel right now and hang up in your ear." I snap. This is a pity date, and a chance for me to lay everything on the line and be done with him once and for all.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry about that." After a pause, he says, "Friday…7:00, okay?"

"Okay. Goodnight Edward."

"Goodnight, Ana." I hang up. I must have stepped off into the fifth dimension somewhere. Not two weeks ago, my biggest concern was whether or not I would find those cute peep-toe platforms online at Asos. Now two of the hottest, sexiest men in Seattle have my panties in a wad—one of them I don't know what his intentions are and the other one I don't care. I _definitely_ need sleep…now!

* * *

It's about 1:00pm and I have been worthless for the whole day. I have seen four patients already and I have two more to see before the day is out. I'm going to rework my schedule and take in more patients from my waiting list to fill my Mondays and Thursdays. Since I plan on being a revived party girl on the prowl, I'm going to leave my Fridays light, which should be easier to since I have five days to work with now instead of three. Marilyn buzzes into my office.

"_Ana, you have a visitor."_

"Who is it?"

"_Mr. Ronald Carlisle."_ What does he want? Why couldn't he just call?

"Send him in." I hope he's not here for a showdown, because I'm not in the mood. When he walks into my office, I gesture to one of the chairs in front of my desk.

"Have a seat." He sits down.

"Ana…we may have both acted in haste last night." He began. When I didn't respond, he continued. "I know that this Grey situation has you on edge and I should have recognized that maybe you should have taken last night off as well. In the few minutes that I observed, your class showed that they are very unique." That's an understatement. "I'm sure that it must take a lot of patience to deal with a group of people so eclectic, especially when one is as…demanding…as Christian Grey." You have no idea. "I just wanted to give you an opportunity to speak your piece without all the hostility that we were feeling last night…if you want to, that is."

I drop my head for a moment, then I stand up and walk to my window. "Charles Stoles."

Ron looks at me confused. "Excuse me?"

"Charles Stoles. He was as 52-year-old gentleman who lost his wife in a car accident about two years ago. He reminded me a lot of my dad. Maybe that's why I liked him so much." I folded my arms and continued to look out the window.

"Okay." Ron said expecting.

"I called him 'Stoley.' He liked that. Stoley was in bad shape when he came to group. He had been to several therapists, churches, transcendental practitioners, even a hypnotist to try to help him move on with his life. By the time he got to me, he was emaciated, sick, and nearly suicidal. He clung to almost every member in the group for some kind of relief, healing, something. Stoley participated in two separate groups, which means he was actually with me for 12 weeks. The first six weeks he was actually on the list and the second six weeks, he just wanted to sit in, to hopefully reinforce what he had acquired. He was a wreck. I felt it necessary to invite him to my office one evening after group and ask him what he needed. Do you know what he said?"

"What?"

"'I just want to sleep.'"

"Sleep? All he wanted was sleep? What was the problem?" I turned around to look at him.

"Exactly what you just said. _That_ was the problem. The doctors prescribed sleeping pills. The churches told him to pray. The quacks told him to meditate. The hypnotist tried to trick his mind into sleeping. After several thousands of dollars, endless doctors and practitioners, shamans, medicine men, preachers, priests, and popes…nobody could see the simple truth. This man had been sleeping next to the same woman for twenty-five years. That's more than 9000 nights with the same woman, and she was just snatched away from him without warning. He didn't _want_ to move on. He didn't _want_ to forget. He didn't even want to heal at that point. He just. Wanted. To sleep." I turned back around to look out of the window.

"Sometimes, the solution to a problem can be so simple, but because of the severity of the problem, we convince ourselves that the answer must be riddled with difficult twists and turns and complicated formulas. Remember the KISS theory?"

Ron nodded. "Keep It Simple, Stupid."

"It didn't matter what they did to him. They diagnosed him with depression. Of course, he's depressed—his wife had died—but he was not _suffering_ from depression. He was suffering from _grief_. So here they are loading him up with anti-depressants and sleeping pills, acupuncture, meditation, music therapy, casting out demons—hell, I'm surprised they didn't _bleed_ the poor man! But nobody bothered to treat his grief. A simple human emotion that we all experience, and nobody bothered to treat it. They couldn't understand that they could dope him up, pray over him, use him as a pin cushion…they could even hit him over the head with a sledge hammer, but the moment he rolled over and felt that empty space he was wide awake again…and _grieving_." I sighed.

"Stoley and I talked that night until well after midnight. We talked about his wife and their kids, about his memories, their trip to Disneyland. We talked about a cruise that he had taken her on three months before she was killed. And you know what Stoley did at about 12:35?" I looked at Ron who sat there waiting for an answer.

"He yawned." I replied. "Nobody told Stoley that it was okay to think about his wife, even if he did so for hours. Nobody told him that it was okay to _remember_, not even his children. They were too busy trying to help him get over his loss to see that he needed to celebrate his love. Stoley went home and slept like a baby, and never had another sleepless night since." I turned around to face Ron and pointed to something behind him. "Do you see that?" I asked. Ron looked over to where I was pointing to the bottle inside the glass cabinet behind him. "That is a 1965 bottle of Rare Edition Remy Martin Cognac…valued at $5,175.00." Ron whistled. "Stoley gave that to me. He bought it at auction and he was going to use it to take some pills so that he could go and be with his wife. And when I helped him out of his sleep-deprived 'depression,' he gave it to me instead."

"That's a wonderful story but why are you telling me this, Ana?" Ron asked.

"There are 52 weeks in a year, Ron. Fifty-two. I spent the better part of half of that time in that room trying to help people that didn't want to be helped. Out of 100 people, I only helped Stoley. He's the only one. I can't help people who don't want to be helped. I can't point you to the light if you refuse to look in that direction. I can't pull you out of misery if you like it there. And week after week after week of 99 out of 100 participants that seemed to want to wallow in darkness was consuming me. I was a ticking time bomb and I didn't even know it. It was just waiting to explode. And yes, Grey was demeaning, obnoxious, and rude, but he was just the catalyst to the avalanche that was waiting to happen. So you see, I don't think I acted or spoke in haste last night. If anything, I think I waited too long. And if I hadn't waited so long, maybe I would not have been so disrespectful to Mr. Grey. So you'll get your wish. In my own time, I will be apologizing to Mr. Grey for my outburst, but I won't be coming back to the center." Ron looked down and sighed heavily.

"Well, you've answered one of my questions. Now I need to know the answer to this one." He put Grey's file on my desk. I know what's in it, so I don't need to open it.

"I didn't spend enough time with him to be able to make an adequate evaluation." I say.

"But where are your notes? I know that you had plenty to say about Mr. Grey. I also know that this report was complete the last time that I saw it." I sighed.

"He needs another evaluator, Ron, not me. I don't even need to influence his evaluation. Handle it however you're going to handle it but you're going to have to do it without my input."

"And that leads me to my third question. Is there something going on between you and Grey?"

"Ex_cuse_ me?" I almost choke on the word when I say it.

"To say that the man was all a-flutter when you weren't in group on Thursday is an understatement. You two took some very strong liberties when you spoke to each other on Monday. There is a thin line between love and hate and I need to know if you've crossed it." He states plainly. I chuckle lightly.

"You know, Ron, I no longer work for you, so that's really none of your business—but I'm going to say this anyway so that you can put your little mind at ease. I have too much unfinished business to have feelings for anybody, much less somebody that I've only known for less than three weeks." I'd like to thank the Academy…

"Well, then, I guess this is it." He stands and extends his hand.

"I guess it is." I shake his hand.

"Good luck, Kid." He turns to leave and just as he gets to the door, "Ron?" He turns around.

"Don't call me 'Kid.'" He smiles at me and closes the door behind him.

I go back to the window and look out over Seattle. I can see Grey House from here. I know which one it is now. Was I trying to convince myself or Ron that I felt no attraction to Grey? The truth is that something strange has been blossoming in me since day one, only fed by our battles of will, combusted by that kiss, and now fueled by the secret dance at the nightclub, the silent observations at the gym and the restaurant, and the business card tucked neatly in my wallet with the expertly scribbled message on the back. And now, Ron waltzes in here and tells me that Christian was affected by my absence on Thursday.

_Christian_…I like the way that sounds.

"Christian."

I feel like Beatrice in _Much Ado About Nothing_, tricked into loving a man that she hated. That's not to say that I love Christian Grey. I don't even know him really. But as I stand here looking at Grey House and knowing that he's there, for some reason I can't shake the feeling of being in his arms.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Three days.

Three fucking days since I left her my business card and I have heard nothing.

Shit! Is she torturing me on purpose? I have never been itching to get into this group thing but I have to see her. She has to talk to me tonight. For one thing, this is the sixth session and I need to know what she's going to do. But most of all, I need to know how she felt about my feeble attempt at an apology since she hasn't said anything. I'm sitting impatiently in this room again, waiting for her to arrive. I don't bother mulling around, and just sit down and go through the hundreds of emails that I seem to accumulate during any given day. I look again at the information that Welch has sent me on Greta Ellison's financials. Sure enough there was a $20,000 deposit into her account on the day that we met and $30,000 deposit the next Monday…both from Elena. It's not unusual for Elena to reward her girls but this doesn't usually happen until after the contract is signed and Elena has been paid her finder's fee. And $50,000? Elena knows I take very good care of my subs, so what's with the padding of the account? I don't know what's going on, but I have a bad feeling about it—especially since I've never heard of this girl before, and with her special tastes and skills, she would have surely been a commodity in my circle.

I almost hate for the ladies to start arriving because I know there's going to be the mad dash for seating when they get here. I make sure to pay no attention when they do. I notice at least ten emails from Elena as I scroll through my blackberry. I still take issue with her and this revelation about Elliot. I'm not quite sure what to make of it, but I have an appointment with Flynn tomorrow so I'll run it by him. I figure I had better get in some sessions with him soon since it's possible I could be spending some time in the pokey!

There didn't seem to be as much musical chairs today. I guess the ladies were duly chastised on Monday and quickly learned their lessons. Promptly at 4:00, Carlisle comes into the room. I wonder where Ana is? Is she taking every Thursday off now? And for what reason? My question was soon answered when Carlisle announced that he will be facilitating group sessions from now on, after which everyone—including Carlisle—turned to look at me.

"What?" I snapped. If they all have the audacity to glare at me, I have the audacity to ask them why. Of course, none of them had the guts to answer, but some of them did have the balls to roll their eyes at me. Fucking sycophants. _We love Ana! Why did you make her go away?_ I could read it in their eyes.

Fuck.  
She's gone.

I run my hands through my hair as I sit through this agonizing two hours…without Ana. During the break, I instructed Taylor to find out where she was and what she was doing for the last two hours. The newest guy—Davenport—has been assigned to her this evening and he claims that she's been at Forsythe's for a while and then went back to her apartment. At the end of the session, I made a bee-line for the door and Taylor only to be stopped by Carlisle.

"Mr. Grey, if I could have a moment please?" I want to tell him to fuck off, but I really need to know what's going to happen with the court order. "I'll try not to keep you too long, Mr. Grey. I can appreciate that you are a busy man." We make our way to his office and I sit down in the chair opposite his desk.

"First, I would like to apologize for your experience here at the center on Monday. That is not how we handle things here and it won't happen again."

"Was An…Dr. Steele dismissed for that incident? Is that why she's not here anymore?" The asshole tilts his head. I know he's trying to read me, but I remain impassive. I fucking hate shrinks.

"She wasn't dismissed at all, Mr. Grey. She quit." The shock that must've registered on my face kicked "impassive" out the door, into the hallway, and down the elevator shaft.

"Did she say why?" I ask. Carlisle gets that _I know something you don't know_ look on his face. It's that same look that Flynn gets when he's about to announce some big revelation about me and he's hit the nail square on the head. Did I mention that I hate shrinks?

Well…maybe except one.

"I'm not at liberty to say. I am going to need your help with something though." He pulls out a file and pushes it over to me. It has my name on it. There's only one piece of paper in it—the court order…and it's _blank_! What's this? I know for sure she filled this out. She read it to me—word for vindictive word.

"I'm not sure that I understand." I frown. He put his hands in what I like to call the _Shrink Steeple_.

"You don't talk in group, Mr. Grey, and I have no notes on you. Nothing. She shredded everything and left me only this." He gestured to the blank court order. She shredded everything? Fuck! What does that mean? I'm feeling that emptiness again that I felt on Monday when she wouldn't let me into her office. "That leaves me in a difficult place, Mr. Grey. If you don't talk in group, I have nothing to give the court, which won't fare well for you. So like I said, I need your help here." I'm not stupid enough to repeat the same mistake I did with Ana. So I just ask, "What am I supposed to do?"

"You've got to give me something, Mr. Grey. Like I said, Ana shredded all of her notes, you don't talk in group. Except for the outburst that you two had on Monday, I have nothing." I sit back in the chair. What does this asshole want from me? "May I ask you a question, Mr. Grey?"

"Shoot." I sure as hell have nothing to lose at this point.

"What did Ana mean by 'dead mommy issues?'" I knew it was coming. It had to. Time to pull out _Broken Christian_ and another Jedi mind trick.

"I can't talk in front of the group. My whole life will be tabloid fodder if I do. I tried to tell…Dr. Steele this same thing and it didn't go over well…probably because I was a first class asshole the first time I spoke to her." Well, that part is true. "To say that I had a fucked up childhood is an understatement…"

I gave him about 15 minutes of the Poor Little Christian spiel until he seemed satisfied that I couldn't talk about my issues in front of the group.

"Well, we may need to work out some sort of one-on-one sessions because I have to be able to submit something to the court. So we'll see what we can work out on Monday if that's alright with you."

"That's fine with me." I reply. The sooner I can put this behind me, the better!

"Again, I am very sorry about your experience here on Monday. By the way, Ana says that she would also be offering you her apologies." Fucker called her Ana. How cozy is he?

"How can she offer apologies if she doesn't work here anymore?" I ask.

"I don't know but she indicated that she will offer apologies in her own time," In her own time? "Which led me to believe that there was a relationship outside of the group." I glare at him. What is he getting at? "Coupled with your obvious concern for her absence both this week and last week, I have to ask. Are you in love with her?" What the hell? Is this guy for real?

"That's none of your business, Carlisle. Where do you get off asking me something like that?"

"I'm a psychiatrist. Mr. Grey, and we are trained to listen to what people say as well as what they _don't_ say. And what I noticed about you and about Ana is that you both answered that question the same way. You both said that it was none of my business. Neither one of you said 'no.' Neither one of you said how ridiculous it was that I asked the questions. Neither one of you denied it. Her behavior _suggests_ that there could be something going on between the two of you. Your behavior _screams_ it. So either there is something going on between you two or there is some insane UST in effect here and it is _palpable_ when you two are in the same room. So I'm just trying to tell you that whatever is or is not going on between you two, the only people that you are fooling are _yourselves_. I just call them like I see them." He rises out of his chair. "There's nothing that I can do about it since she doesn't work here anymore, not that there's anything I _wish_ to do about it. I'm just letting you know that it's pretty obvious, okay?" He proffers his hand. "Tell the kid I said hello when she gives you that apology and I'll see you on Monday." I accept his hand.

"Not much gets past you, does it, Doctor?" I say, sort of begrudgingly.

"Not much, Mr. Grey."

* * *

On Friday afternoon, I find myself in John's office about to partake in one of the most difficult sessions we have ever had…although I don't know it yet.

"Why don't you start at the basest feelings that you are feeling right now?" John began.

"That's the problem. I don't know what they are."

"Just start talking, and let's see where it goes."

"Well, Elliot's an idiot. He always has been. An idiot in a fun way, I guess." I run my hands through my hair, trying to place the sentences in the right boxes and slots in my brain. "I used to be jealous a little of how he and Mia seemed to fit in so well and I didn't…but you already knew that. Elliot was the life of the party. Everybody liked him. Still do."

"Could it be that you may have felt that he was getting all of the attention that you weren't?" You're getting warmer, John.

"Somewhat, but at the time, it seemed normal to me. I was an imperfect kid in a perfect family. It was no big deal that he was given the attention over me…especially since I was always in trouble."

"Okay, so let's relate this to Mrs. Lincoln. For the sake of argument, let's assume that she _did_ make a pass at Elliot. Let's assume that she approached Elliot in the same way—or similar—that she approached you. And what if Elliot had accepted?" John leans in to me.

"That's where I start to feel a little strange…"

"Think back on your relationship with Mrs. Lincoln. How did it make you feel? How did _she_ make you feel?"

"Well, you know all of that, John. She helped me when I was out of control. She gave me direction and a sense of purpose. True, it was unconventional…"

"…And illegal…" John added. I scowled at him.

"…But it put me on the right track. It gave me control and made me the man that I am today." I finished the thought.

"Okay, so that's supposedly what she _did_ for you, but how did she make you _feel_?"

I had to ponder that for a moment. "It's hard for me to pinpoint what I felt. I was a horny teenage boy. I wanted to fuck. If I did what she said, she fucked me. The collars, gags, and whips all just seemed like part of the game until she started to teach me control."

"We're getting closer, Christian. You are telling me how you felt physically. How about emotionally?"

I'm completely out of my realm here. Elena always told me that love was for fools, so she never taught me how to put a label on my feelings. To avoid doing so, I accepted that I didn't have a heart or a soul. But I am feeling something here…something right now. And in order to determine what it is, I have to explore what I felt then.

"I felt like I belonged." I admit. "I felt like Elena and I were part of our own secret club where we didn't have to explain to other people what we did. Hell, even now, it's still the same. Nobody understands our lifestyle unless they are a part of it. Outsiders look at it as taboo and brutal and violent and vicious. We look at it as a preference. We relate to each other now through that preference and we related to each other then."

"But do you understand that you were a kid, then?" John interjects, and I start to scowl. "You need to hear this out, Christian, because every time anyone brings this to your attention, you immediately get defensive and shut down. And now you are trying to explore some mystery feelings about the situation but you refuse to see it for what it was. Congratulations, you learned control from a situation that you should have never been exposed to at your age in the first place. You were a kid; and impressionable, horny, misguided kid. She exploited your weaknesses to her advantage for years until you learned how to use what you learned to _your_ advantage. But you should never have been exposed to that lifestyle _at that age. _Do you understand that?"

And for the first time, it started to sink in. It would infuriate me when he would call her a pedophile because he never understood what she did for me. _What_ she did wasn't so wrong as _when_ she did it. There was still one big problem though…

"You do understand though, that if she hadn't done _what_ she did _when_ she did, I might be in jail or dead right now?" I protest quietly.

"That's something that we'll never know. We know that because she did what she did when she did it that you _didn't_ end up in jail or dead. We _don't_ know that if she _hadn't_ done what she did when she did it that _something else_ may not have come along that would have put you on the right track or straightened you out." My silence was his cue to continue. "So now you have this club to which you and Mrs. Lincoln belonged where you felt normal—more normal than you felt when you were with the family that loved you, when you went to school…" I nodded at the comparison.

"…and now there's a possibility that she may have been trying to recruit Elliot." My head snapped up at him. It was like he had hit me. Elena trying to recruit Elliot into our club. The feeling was becoming more and more pronounced now, along with all of the other feelings associated with it.

"Do you have any reason to believe that Elliot would lie about this?" John asked. I shook my head.

"Is there any reason why Elliot would have been mistaken about her intentions?" He continued. The man whore? Not after all of these years, absolutely not.

"No…he's telling the truth, and he wasn't mistaken." I say flatly.

"So what does this mean? How does this make you feel?" John asked.

"I thought she did it for _me_." I shook my head. I hated this feeling. I can't believe this. All this time, I've been so fucking blind. "I thought she saw a troubled boy and taught him how to control himself, his behavior, and his surroundings." I stood up and started to pace. "It could have been Elliot." I look at John. "It could have been _anybody_." She was just trolling for young boys. She wasn't looking to help me. She would have taken whoever came first…or both! And is she still doing this? How long had she been doing this before me? Was I the first to succumb? "Shit! Was I the last?" I didn't realize I had said that last part aloud.

"So Christian, besides obvious outrage, how did you feel about this now?"

All of the myriad of emotions and anger, questions, frustration, everything that I couldn't put into words jumbled around in my head and came out with the one word that I had been searching for, that I couldn't pinpoint from the moment that Elliot told me what happened…

"Betrayed."

I thought I was special. I thought she singled me out to save me—to put me on the right track. I thought this was something that she and I shared. I don't know why I felt that way. She was in the lifestyle before we met and she's still in it now. But somehow, I always thought _we_ were different. We were supposed to be connected in a way that no other Domme/sub would be. That's why she remained a part of my life long after our sexual relationship had ended. But now, I realize that I wasn't special at all. I was never special to her…I was just the next kid in line. _The next kid in line._ The words burn at the back of my throat and threaten to come out in hot, molten lava and destroy Flynn's office. Flynn notices the intensity of my introspection and attempts to bring me back.

"Christian? Are you okay?" I shake my head. I'm not saying _No, I'm not okay._ I'm more saying _No, this isn't right. This can't be right._ I had _already_ been victimized. I had been victimized terribly by the crack whore's pimp—and Grace saved me. Now along comes this woman—bored with her life as a trophy wife with an inclination towards little boys—and victimizes me again! What's even worse is that she did it under the guise of helping me, of saving me—and I bought it! Hook, line, and sinker, I swallowed this line of bullshit. I think I'm going to be sick.

"I need you to talk to me, Christian." John prompts.

"She's a pedophile. She's a fucking pedophile." I squeak, my fists balled so tight that I can feel my nails digging into my palms. John sighs heavily.

"I've been trying to tell you that for years." He says softly. I dropped my head.

"Everything I ever knew is a lie. Everything I thought I knew is a god damn lie." I shake my head. "I have no life, John. I haven't had a sub in weeks, and now I go home at night and sit around and wonder what I'm supposed to do next." I'm still shaking my head. "I can run my business without a glitch—there will never be a bump in _that_ road…but my personal life…" I run my hand through my hair. "This is what she taught me. This is all I know. I don't know how to be normal." I'm pacing Flynn's office, looking for some kind of answer. "And now there's this woman…" I can feel John's expression change even though I'm not looking at him.

"Go on." He coaxes when I stop talking. I clasp my hands.

"She's a psychologist, can you believe that?" I snicker at John. "I fucking hate shrinks."

"Well, at the rate that you pay me, you can hate _me_ all you want. But what about this girl?" John goads.

"She's headstrong and mouthy and fucking annoying. She drives me fucking crazy! And I can't stop thinking about her." I say in defeat.

"Where did you meet this girl?" John asks.

"The group sessions." I confess. The light of realization dawns on John's face.

"Dr. Steele?" he asks incredulously.

"The one and only." John laughs aloud. Well, that's really professional. I'm so glad that you can have such a hearty laugh at my expense, you asshole.

"I'm sorry, Christian but—this is classic. I mean, you can't write this stuff." He leans in to me to better illustrate his point. "You hit this guy and end up having to go to group therapy. You meet the therapist who now has a modicum of control over you for a total of six weeks—and she looks just like one of your subs. You attempt several times to exercise some dominion over her and each attempt is a more miserable failure than the last, all the way up to the point where she could possibly put you in jail. And now, you have discovered that you may have feelings for her—right after you discover that your closest friend and mentor is actually a pedophile that has taken advantage of you and tried to seduce your big brother. This is tragic, Christian. You can't make this stuff up!"

Yes, I know. Thanks for the summary, Dr. Mudd. "She can't put me in jail anymore." John's laughter subsided.

"And why is that?" he asked.

"She doesn't facilitate the group sessions anymore. She quit." John's face fell.

"Because of you?"

"Most likely." I conclude. "I tried to apologize the best I could on short notice, but I haven't heard anything from her, so…" I trail off.

"Have you tried to contact her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"What do I say? 'I'm sorry I chased you away from your job. Now can I tie you up and beat you?'" John's expression changes drastically.

"You want this woman to be your _sub_?" His tone of voice made it sound like the possibility was utterly preposterous.

"It's all I know, John." I shrug.

"How likely is _that_, Christian?" He looks at me wide-eyed. "From what you've told me about this woman, you can't even get her to sign a form and you think you're going to get her to _submit_?" John's tone of voice is getting more and more disbelieving as the conversation continues. But now that he has put it that way, he may have a point. "What am I supposed to do, John?" I'm defeated again.

"Well, if you like this girl, you're going to have to rethink how you're going to pursue her. You can't pursue her as a sub." I've only pursued subs, but all of my subs have been women. The pursuit of a sub is as simple as an interview and finding a common ground. That's not going to work with Ana. But all of those women do like nice things and being treated like a lady, and _that_ I can do.

"Looks likes I've got some work to do." I say.

"Looks like it." John nods, sitting back in his chair. I stand up.

"Sorry I took up so much of your time today, but hell, you're a richer man for it." I say as I walk to the door.

"Always the charmer, Christian." He says sarcastically. "Next week?"

"Next week, John. I'll call you." I close the door behind me and head to the SUV. I have some things that I need to set in motion, but first, I need to have a little chat with one Mrs. Elena Lincoln. On the way back to Escala, I text her.

_****How soon can you be at Escala? We need to talk.****_

Almost immediately she responds"  
_****Is everything alright?****_

I type in my response:  
_****Couldn't be better. We need to talk.****_

Rooting for information, she asks:  
_****Should I contact Ms. Ellison to join us?****_

Silly little pedophile…  
_****No. Just you for now. How soon?****_

Again, almost instantly she says:  
_****Twenty minutes.****_

I type back:  
_****Good. I'll see you then.****_

"I'm so glad you contacted me. You had me worried for a moment." Elena purrs as she sits at the breakfast bar in my apartment.

"Why were you worried, Elena?" I ask as I pour us both a glass of Sancerre.

"You just haven't been acting like yourself is all." She answers sweetly. "I was wondering why you wanted to see me so urgently. Have you made a decision about Greta?" She prompts before she takes a drink of her wine.

"First things first, Elena." I sit on the other side of the breakfast bar. "I'd like to talk about my brother's unhealthy discomfort around you." She froze momentarily then put her glass on the counter.

"'Unhealthy' is right. I mean, I have no idea where Elliot would get the idea that I would have been coming on to him all those years ago." She says, trying to exude confidence but failing miserably.

"Yes, I've been trying to figure that out myself." I rub my chin. "He was after all only…how old?"

"Fourteen…I think you said." She nervously took another drink of her wine.

"Yes…he did tell me that he was 14," I lean into the counter, "but I never told you that."

"Of course you did, Christian." She callously threw her hand at me.

"I. Never. Told. You. That!" I make sure that she knows not to try to convince me otherwise. She is starting to fidget with her ring. She decides to try another tactic.

"Christian," she begins nervously, "I remember the age because…Elliot actually tried to come on to me."

It's a good thing I didn't have any wine in my mouth at that moment or she'd be wearing it right now. If I was shocked and appalled before, I am thoroughly horrified now.

"What?" I say in complete horror and disbelief.

"I know," she says, her voice shaking. "I was just as shocked as you are right now. I couldn't believe it was happening." I run my hands through my hair. What does this woman take me for?

"If that were true, Elena, why wouldn't you have said something before now?" I snap.

"Oh, what would you suggest I do…tell one of my closest friends that her teenage son was making advances toward me?" I couldn't believe my ears. This woman would do absolutely anything…_say_ absolutely anything…to save her own ass—and that includes throwing a 14-year-old kid under the bus. I just look at this woman. I had considered her my friend for many years, someone who would surely always look out for my best interests. I was her protégé, so to speak—or so I thought. I was looking so hard, trying to read into her black soul—blacker than mine, I think. I mean, I would never fuck a child! I don't understand why it seemed so repulsive to me that she was mostly likely doing this to other children but not so repulsive when it happened to me. I think it has something to do with Flynn's theory of my own self-degradation—or it could be that I thought it was something altogether different between us…

"Christian? What is it?" She asks, fear clearly evident in her voice. I hadn't noticed that I had fallen into my patented stare, but Elena is one person who never fell prey to it, even though I could tell that it visibly gave her chills.

"What exactly happened between you and my brother, Elena?" Even under her salon tan, I can see the color leave her face.

"What do you mean, Christian?" She gasps. "Nothing happened between Elliot and me. Nothing at all!"

"I've heard Elliot's side of the story. And now I want to hear yours. What exactly happened when my brother was 14?" She is staring at me horrified now. I want answers and I am going to get them, and if she doesn't give them to me, then I've already got my answers. I sit silently and wait for her response. The wheels are turning feverishly in her mind as she attempts to concoct a story that will appease me, but it's too late now. I know the truth. I have heard all that I need to hear from this vile human being.

"Elena…you can go now." I say, flatly. She's terrified now.

"Christian, what does all this mean?" She gasps. "You believe me, don't you?"

"Elena! You can _go_ now." I repeat. She stands indignantly and snatches her clutch from the breakfast bar. In an attempt to save some of her dignity, she asks, "What should I tell Ms. Ellison?" Her last "hoe card"…she's playing her trumps—or so she thinks—because she feels her power slipping away. What she doesn't understand is that it already has.

"You _really_ want to talk to me about a sub _now_?" I ask impassively.

"Well, forgive my confusion, Christian! Less than three weeks ago, you acted as if you would have fucked anything willing…"

_Almost_ anything….

"…and now you're behaving as if you've lost your nerve." Wrong move, Elena.

I close the distance between us until I am face to face with the cocky Mrs. Lincoln. "One of these days, you are going to get the message that you can no longer control what I do with my dick. Now leave my home and don't come back unless I summon you." I growl.

I can only describe her expression as aghast because surprise just doesn't cut it. "Christian, there's no need to be so dramatic," she is almost pleading. "I've only ever tried to help you, to be your friend…" Oh, _that's_ rich! Yeah, that's what I thought, too.

"Then it would do you well to remember that I am not your sub anymore. That I fuck who I want, when I want, and how I want and _you_ are not going to dictate how that happens. Do I make myself clear?" After a frightened pause she responds, "Crystal." She speaks just above a whisper. Although I was completely unaware of it, I have moved into dominant mode.

I take a single step back from Elena, trying to remember that once upon a time I valued her as a friend and _not_ the harpy that just tried to manipulate me by insulting my manhood and my dominance as well as tried to seduce my brother and God only knows how many _other_ children before and after us.

"Tell Ms. Ellison that I won't be requiring her services." Elena gasps. It's about time that I start to separate myself from this woman. She still sees that 15-year-old hormonal boy that she victimized, and I can't have that anymore.

"But Christian! She's perfect! Don't let a disagreement between us cause you to make a rash decision." She's right, of course. Greta is perfect. But she has two major flaws. One, she's associated with Elena and right now, I don't know exactly what that association is. Two, she's not Ana. I don't know what I want from Ana. All I know is that whatever it is that I see in Ana, I can't get from Greta.

"Oh, don't worry yourself, Elena. I'm not. She's just not going to meet my _particular_ needs right now. Goodbye, Elena."

"Christian…" She protests.

"Elena," I interrupt, "I suggest you leave before I forget that _sometimes_, I'm a gentleman." Elena opened her mouth to say something but immediately thought better of it as she quietly turned around and left the apartment.

_Good girl_.

"Taylor!" Taylor appeared a moment later.

"Sir."

"Have the access codes to Escala changed immediately." I say as I walk into my study.

"Yes Sir."

* * *

It takes less than an hour to get the codes changed. It's about 7:30pm when I ask Taylor where Ana is.

"She's having dinner with a gentleman, Sir."

"Forsythe?" I assumed. I learned his name once I saw them together at the restaurant right before Flemings showed up. She's been spending her weekends with him so far.

"No sir, another gentleman." Maybe it was the guy who was coming on to her at the bar.

"Where are they?" I ask.

"Canlis, Sir." Shit! This is a date. He's definitely trying to impress her. I've got to think fast.

"Do we know who this guy is?"

"No we don't, but Davenport has the license plate of the car he was driving. Dr. Steele met him at the restaurant." Hmm, separate cars. Maybe it's not a date. I can't take the chance.

"Get the information over to Welch and have him run it immediately. I need his intel in five minutes. What is Ms. Steele wearing this evening?" Most likely something blue. After a few moments, Taylor says, "Purple off-the-shoulder cocktail dress with matching shoes, Sir."

Purple. It's worse than I thought. A few minutes later, I have the intel on her date. SHIT! It's her ex-boyfriend. I remember this from her background check. Not a good sign. I grab my suit jacket and head for the door, Taylor two steps behind. Once in the SUV, I look in my blackberry and find the contact name I was looking for.

"Thank you for calling Canlis, this is Sarah."

"Hello, Sarah. This is Christian Grey. Is Mark or Brian in the restaurant tonight?" At the mention of my name (or it could have been the voice), she turns into a stuttering idiot.

"Um…y-yes sir, Mr. G-Grey. Brian is here this evening. I'll…get him for you." I few moments later.

"Christian! You devil! To what do I owe this honor?" Brian's jovial voice rang through my blackberry.

"Brian, good to talk to you. How are Chris and Alice?" I ask about his parents who ran the restaurant before he and his brother Mark took control of the family business a few years ago.

"Just fine, just fine. Living the easy life while my brother and I slave over the business. You know how that goes." We laugh heartily. "And how are Grace and Carrick? Doing well, I hope."

"They are wonderful, Brian. Thanks for asking. We really must get together soon." I add.

"Yes, yes, we must. I know my parents will be thrilled to see you guys, and I haven't kicked your ass in racquetball in years!" He laughs.

"Don't worry, I haven't _played_ in years!" I laugh as well. "Listen, I need a really big favor from you. I know it's Friday night and you are packed to the walls, but I'm on my way there right now and I'm going to need a little help pulling something off. Do you think you can accommodate me?" Brian knows not to turn me down.

"Anything for an old friend of the family. You name it. What can I do for you?"

"Look around. Do you see a woman there—brunette, blue eyes, small frame, wearing a purple off-the-shoulder dress?" After a few moments, Brian says "Yeah, real bombshell. She's with a date…and she doesn't look too thrilled." All the better for me.

"How far into their meal are they?" He pauses for another moment and says, "They just finished appetizers." Luckily for me, Canlis is only four miles from Escala.

"Okay, I'll be there momentarily. This is what I need you to do for me."

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Dr. Mudd is the doctor that treated John Wilkes Booth for a broken leg after he assassinated President Abraham Lincoln. Mudd went to jail for conspiracy to assassinate the President even though he didn't know that Booth had just killed the President, hence the American saying that when someone is in deep trouble, "my name is Mudd." This was Christian's way of calling John a quack.**_

"_**I'd like to thank the Academy"—during the Oscars, the winners usually thank the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences for being nominated. This is Ana's way of acknowledging that this is a performance for Ron's benefit, even though she hasn't completely admitted having feelings for Christian yet.**_

_**Make sure your got to pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/ to see the restaurant that made Christian dash out of Escala in hopes of crashing this date.**_

_**I would love to know what you guys think could possibly happens next!**_

**_Reviews please!_**


	15. Chapter 15: In With The New

_**To the guest who reviewed chapter 12 and said that my story is a slow burn and getting boring, please be my guest and GO AWAY! You will forgive me if I don't listen to you but instead listen to the 488 and counting reviews that say my story is great. My story is written at least five chapters in advance, and it's not going to change because you don't like the pace or the content so…SHOO, FLY, YA' BOTHER ME!**_

_**I want to thank my back-up beta Killashandra Falta. I go through my story at least three times before I post it and Killy will go in and go "Oops! Found a typo!" I can overlook a typo here and there in someone else's work, but I HATE them in my own story! It's like stabbing myself in the eye, so thanks Killy!**_

_**I love how violent everyone got when Edward showed up! It was like "What the hell is this mother fucker doing here? Get rid of him NOW!" And there were so many colorful names:**_

_**Fucker  
**__**Jerk  
**__**Lying cheater (of course)  
**__**Mother fucker  
**__**Poor lil Edward  
**__**Shit eater  
**__**And my personal favorite, Son of a goat fucker**_

_**I think it's safe to say that we do NOT like Mr. Edward David. **_

_**In addition to the magnificent nicknames that Edward got, one fan in particular is getting special mention for the fantabulistic nickname she gave to Elena Lincoln. This is a woman after my own heart. GroovyExcel gets the prize of the day for calling Elena a "dirty, skanktastic, pedo-fabulous, slut-faced, hoe-bag!" (applause! Applause!).**_

_**To anailuj (Re: chapter 13): Good to see you as always! They did end therapy with a bang, didn't they? And Ana was very hard on him. But we had to get her away from therapy—and she removed herself completely. She even removed her name from his court order. I wasn't sure if Christian was going to tell her that he saw her dancing or if Al was going to tell her—but somebody was going to tell her. So glad you are enjoying the story! (Re: Chapter 14) Yep, the pedophile has finally been exposed! And yes, Carlisle did call him on his bullshit, didn't he! And don't worry…you get to be a fly on the wall in Canlis RIGHT NOW, lol! Thank you for your kind words. **_

_**To Anon: Yes, I guess I should consider writing a book…about cows, maybe? Lol. I loved your review!**_

_**To Carol: Thank you. Here's more for you! ;-)**_

_**To Gabby: When have you ever known Christian to just sit on his cute butt for too long? ;-)**_

_**To Guest1: You would think that a person could make someone leave their life permanently, but there are some psycho, sick, persistent, or lonely folks that just won't get the message—which is why Christian has psycho subs that come back on him because they couldn't get the message either. **_

_**To Guest2: Thank you. Ana is "kick ass," isn't she? ;-)**_

_**To Guest3: Very glad you are enjoying it!**_

_**To Guest4: If Christian cuts Elena out of his life for good, there would be no more drama…and we love drama, don't we? ;-) No matter how many attempts there will be to cut ties, we all know that Elena will not go down that easily.**_

_**To Guest5: Shenanigans—love it! Here's Christian's shenanigans for you!**_

_**To Guest6: I think many times people forget that remembering is part of the healing process—that your loss is never going to go away, but you don't want to forget the love that you shared. When it came down to Elena, we all know from the books that Christian lacks empathy. You can try to get him to understand someone's feelings or point of view by giving him a "for instance" but he just couldn't get it. By putting someone he loved in a position where they were almost victimized by Elena, only then could he see her for what she really was. He couldn't see it for himself because of all of the supposed benefits he received. But there was nothing "wrong" with Elliot so why the hell was she hitting on him? I had to introduce that concept in order for Christian to see Elena as a pedophile because he never would have any other way. Even in the book when he ran to Elena after he found out Ana was pregnant, he still said, "I understand that what WE did was wrong." He still didn't see Elena as a pedophile. Yes, Christian has a masterful plan for Canlis…read on! Thanks for reading and reviewing!**_

_**To Guest7: A UNICORN? GREAT FUCKING IDEA! I like your ominous music better than mine!**_

_**To Guest8: "Nicely done!" You sound like my McDreamy, lol. Thank you. ;-)**_

_**To Lexus: You along with the rest of us, lol! Thank you for your review!**_

_**To Lokie: Don't worry! More drama coming soon! Thanks for your review. **_

_**To Lovelace: Thank you, Dear! Here's some more goodies for you!**_

_**To Shandy: OMG I ADORE FIFTY SHADES OF FATE! Yates seem like he's a little crazy, though. I think he has something to do with those letters that Ana is getting, too! GO READ FIFTY SHADES OF FATE YOU GUYS! BY SHANDY96! GREAT FUCKING STORY!**_

_**To Tik: Sawwy for the big bad cliffhanger! Maybe this will make up for it!**_

_**To Trishy: Thank you, Darling! Here's more goodies for you! ;-)**_

_**To Twinings: Thank you. I think I have been convinced. I'm putting ideas together for a book right now.**_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 15—In With The New

_**STEELE**_

Dinner with the ex…oh goody.

I am dreading this in the worst way, but if I want to get on with my life, I need to have this talk with him. I need to take away all of his excuses and dash all of his hopes. And if he comes at me with some bullshit, I'm going to turn around and walk away, change my number, and get a restraining order if I have to. He kept asking to pick me up, but I was insistent on driving my own car. I'm not going to be stuck anywhere at his mercy.

"I don't know why you just won't tell the bastard to 'go to hell.' What could this possibly prove, Ana?" Val is lying across my bed with her feet bent behind her while I get dressed. "I mean why would you want to go on a date with this fucker after all this time?"

"It's not a date," I protest quietly, "It's an appointment."

"Well, at least you have the right idea about the whole thing but still..."

"I don't want to go, Val. Really I don't." I reach for my NoeMie purple summer New Elegance fold dress. "But he called me just as I was going to bed on Monday night and I wanted to get some sleep. I wasn't going to get any peace if I didn't agree to go." I sigh heavily. I remove robe to put on my dress and Val gasps.

"Anastasia!" What the fuck…? "Are you planning on sleeping with him?"

"Are you crazy? What the hell?" I glare at her.

"Then why are you wearing Agent Provocateur?" I look down and review my lingerie. I am wearing the Love strapless bra with the Joseline suspender garter belt and matching thong and Diabolo stockings.

"Have we met?" I snap. "When I have not worn sexy underwear on an evening out, Val?"

"But AP, Ana? That is screaming 'fuck me!'" She says accusingly.

"So what if it is?" I defend, pulling my dress on over my head. "Who the hell is going to see it?" I zip my dress on the side. "And anyway, I paid a fucking fortune for this garter and I'm going to wear it somewhere, okay?" I growl. She puts her hands up in surrender.

"Okay, okay. Just please don't fall into bed with Casanova David." She warns.

"Give me some credit, okay?" I say as I step into my purple velour stilettos with black platform and heel. "The last thing I plan on doing is falling prey to Edward David." I sit on the bed next to her. "But I do plan on making him suffer as much as possible tonight before I tell him that he will never get another whiff of this!" I smile innocently.

"That's my girl." Val pats me on my back. "Now let's get your hair done."

Val has painstakingly curled my brunette locks all over and scooped them up to the top of my head. With some form of wizardry of which I am still not aware, she has manage to pin all of my hair to the top of my head with two black embellished hair combs that lay daintily on the sides of my head, the curls cascading down the back and just barely kissing my shoulders. A few tendrils fall provocatively around my face and stray curls fly strategically around various parts of the style giving it a slightly unkempt, "JBF" look. She knows I like my make-up subtle so she just gives me a touch of color on my cheeks and lips and a little mascara. I complete the outfit with my onyx earrings and ring and a couple of large black bangle bracelets. I am ready to go and break the heart that broke mine.

I arrive at Canlis at 7:00 sharp, not because I'm excited to see Edward—I just hate being late. I give my keys to the valet and wait outside for David to arrive, as we agreed. Moments later, his BMW drives up and he steps out, looking stunning in a tan summer suit and tie. "Ana," he breathes as he walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. "You look breathtaking." I smile politely, but don't respond. He holds his arm out gesturing to the door. "Shall we?" I walk ahead of him into the restaurant.

Canlis is a beautiful, exclusive restaurant that sits near the water. The two story family owned establishment has an award-winning wine cellar and world renowned chefs. The floor plan is open and cozy at the same time. You can choose to dine in a private den with couches and a fireplace, in the main dining room where the atmosphere is friendly and inviting, or at a quiet table next to a wall of windows overlooking the marina. There is sophisticated live music every night played by the house band. I have to give it to Mr. David…he has great taste.

We are shown to our table in the corner looking out over the water and residences going off into the distance. It's all very romantic, but that is _not_ why I'm here. I need the proper goodbye that I didn't get three and a half years ago and then I plan on moving on from here. I almost feel sorry for Edward, because I know that he's expecting some sort of reconciliation that I simply can't give him.

Edward orders a bottle of the Jordan Alexander Valley Cabernet Sauvignon—a very nice vintage. He has started the night out trying to impress me, I see. When the waiter comes and uncorks the bottle, he insists that I do the tasting. When I approve, the waiter serves the wine and leaves. Edward places his hand on top of mine sitting on the table.

"I've missed you so much, Ana." He says softly. I feel the same jolt I've always felt when he touches me-not as powerful as it used to be, but still a jolt-so I move my hand. I take another drink of my wine, but say nothing. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" he asks.

"You didn't make it easy for me, Edward." I reply, flatly. He sighs heavily.

"I know. Believe me, I know."

"Do you?" my head snaps up to look at him. "All of those sleepless nights, all of those days that I was completely convinced that I was crazy and paranoid, all of our friends laughing at me—I was so blind." I shake my head and drop my eyes again. "You have no idea what you put me through. You never will. You know why? Because I'd never do that to you. Whatever you're feeling for however long you have been feeling it, it doesn't compare to what you put me through. How could you do that to me then just stand there and watch?" I glare at him waiting for an answer. I know that he doesn't have one that will satisfy me, but I really want to know what he has to say for himself.

"I don't know, Ana. I don't have an answer that can make this all right. I was a fool. I was stupid. I didn't know what I had. I was cocky and unfeeling and inconsiderate, but I swear to you that I'm not that man anymore. I've changed, Ana, and I only want the chance to show you how much I've changed—to treasure you like I should have done four years ago, to treat you the way that you deserve to be treated."

"But why now, Edward? What's different now?" I want to wail.

"I am!" He answers earnestly. "I'm a different man. I _know_ what I lost. I _know_ what I had in you and what I threw away…"

"And how did you come to that conclusion? From all of the skanks and floosies that you slept with? You didn't even have enough discretion stay outside of our circle of friends. You just grabbed anybody who handed it to you." I am fighting to keep my voice low. The waiter comes back and asks if we are ready to order. I can't even think about food, so I am grateful when Edward orders for me. I take another drink of my wine. Suddenly, it doesn't have the same delicious flavor it had a moment ago. It is mixing with the flavor of bile threatening to present in the back of my throat as I and my cheating ex-boyfriend rehash the painful details of what was our relationship. "Why, Edward? Can you tell me why?"

He sighed. "It made me feel like a man." I literally had to do a double-take on him when he said that. He continued. "Knowing that I could have any woman that I wanted at any time made me feel like a man. It fed my ego. And each time another one ended up on her back, the beast got bigger and bigger. It was out of control._ I_ was out of control. And when you cried to me, I couldn't hear you. And when you suffered, I couldn't see you. And when you left me or put me out I should say, you were just one gone. It was no big deal—there was always another one right behind you. And when that faggot friend of yours dropped off my stuff, I knew that you were gone for sure." I glared at him

"Don't. Call. My. Friend. A. Faggot!" I growl through clenched teeth. He dropped his head and straightened his tie. He didn't acknowledge what I said or what he had said. He just continued with his tale.

"The next day, I moved into a hotel like nothing had happened. I kept right on going with my activities—it was no big deal to me. So you were gone. So what? So you were hurt. Big deal. None of it mattered to me, then. I don't know what happened, Ana. I had women on top of women on top of women and one day, I just woke up. I looked around and realized that I had lost the best thing that ever happened to me. You were gone and I didn't know what to do with myself." He dropped his head again. I was about to speak when the waiter showed up with our appetizers—Peter Canlis prawns and Dungeness crab cake. They look delicious. I know I need to eat something to offset this wine, and to push this bile back down my throat. The appetizers do not disappoint—they are as delicious as they look. We sit in silence for a moment while we eat. I drink a bit more of the wine before I start to talk again.

"You are basically telling me that the more women you had, the more you wanted. That all the crying…and begging…and pleading…and hurting that I did meant absolutely nothing to you, as long as you can get your dick wet in as many holes that would take you," I say flatly. He sighs.

"Yes." He answered, shame evident in his voice.

"And one day you just miraculously came to the conclusion that the woman who had been there waiting for you and loving you for years, the woman that you left behind, was the right woman all along?" I am fighting back angry tears. He swallowed.

"Yes."

"And now, I'm supposed to run into your arms like nothing happened? Like none of this pain ever occurred? I'm supposed to fall back into your bed like one of those stupid little bimbos that have been chasing you around for the last four years?" I am gladly interrupted when the owner comes over to the table with a waiter carrying another bottle of wine.

"Hello, my name is Brian. I'm the owner of the establishment. How is your meal so far?" I have to muster up politeness, now. I assume this is part of the service here, so I'll play along.

"Excellent, thank you very much." I smile. "The prawns were superb. Did I taste the slight flavor of vermouth?" Brian is impressed.

"You have an excellent palette. That is dry vermouth you detected. Most people can't tell that." I laugh coyly.

"It's a real treat for me to be here, Brian. I have champagne taste and beer money." He laughs with me.

"Well, hopefully this token will assist in your tastes. This is a 2004 Grace Family Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. It is compliments of a gentleman that hopes that you both enjoy your meal and wants to apologize profusely for all of the difficulty that he has caused you over the past three weeks." He gestures across the table to a gentleman sitting three tables away, looking out of the window at the marina like a GQ model.

Hell! It's Christian!

My pulse feels like it doubles while I'm sitting there. The waiter uncorks the bottle and pours the tasting for me in a fresh glass. It's like silk. I nod once for him to fill my glass and I relish the flavor. It's the most divine wine I have ever had in my life.

"Please tell the gentleman that I said 'thank you.'" I say to Brian. He smiles widely, nods, and leaves the table with the waiter. Edward has fallen deathly silent as he surveys the wine menu. The look in his eyes tells me that he has located this vintage.

"This is a $1500 bottle." He looks up at me. "You know this guy?"

"It's Christian Grey." I say, flatly.

"Christian Grey." He repeats as he looks over at Christian. "Christian Grey sent a $1500 bottle of wine."

"Looks that way." I say as I savor the nectar in the wine glass.

"While you're sitting here with me, he sent you the most expensive Cabernet on the wine list."

"Actually, if you listened to Brian, he sent _us_ the bottle of wine. He sent _me_ his apology." I sip the wine again. It's tasting better and better with every swallow.

"Well, if you hadn't been sitting here, I'm pretty certain that he wouldn't have sent a $1500 bottle of wine to _me_. So it's safe to say that he sent the bottle of wine to you." I pour myself another drink. This is delicious. "And why is he apologizing? What did he do to you?" Edward asked, a bit demanding.

"Not that it's any of your business, but he was an asshole!" I snap, a little louder than I intended. The wine is getting to me.

"Well, excuse me if I'm a little put off by the fact that I'm sitting here pouring my heart out to you and another man in the restaurant sends you a bottle of wine. A very _expensive_ bottle of wine!" He shoots. He has the nerve to feel affronted? Seriously?

I knew it!

I knew it!  
I knew it!  
I knew it!

I knew I shouldn't have come, but noooooooo. I wanted closure. I wanted to give the cheating liar with two first names the opportunity to speak his piece. Well, now he has. Now I know how he feels. Now I know why he did it. And now he's going to get it. I finish off the second glass of silk.

"Ana, you have to drive." He comments. I'm coherent enough not to slur and not to stumble, so I got this. I keep my voice just loud enough for him to hear me.

"You flaunted your affairs in my face for years. You made me sit at home waiting for you while you were out night after night laying up under some hoe. You made me doubt everything I am, everything I knew. I tried everything to make you love _me_, to make you pay attention to _me_, to make you want _me_, and _nothing_ worked! You turned me into a shadow of myself. You turned me into a laughingstock to all of our friends. And when the cat was completely out of the bag and I walked in on you and one of your fucking bimbos, you didn't even have the guts to apologize. And four years after this has all occurred, I still can't seem to get myself together to allow anybody to love me!"

"_I_ love you…" He began.

"I'm not finished!" I snap. I think I scared the shit out of him because he jumped in his chair and snapped his mouth shut. "I finally open myself back up to try to have some kind of life again and just when I do, you show up _begging_ me to subject myself to you again? You expect me to _trust_ you? To put my life, my love, and my heart in your hands _again_?"

"I swear to you, Ana, I've changed. I only ask that you give me time…give me a chance to show you. Please…" He's desperate, but I can't hear him. There's no way in hell I'm going to subject myself to this man ever again.

"I am so happy that you have changed." I begin softly. I take his hand. "I am so glad that you have seen the err of your ways, because that means that you are a better man, and a better human being. We all have to grow and we all have to understand that we can't stay the same. But I can't do this. You had your chance with me, and you blew it, and I can't let you in again." He dropped his head.

"Ana, please…" His voice is shaking. I have to leave…soon. I can't sit here and watch him break down.

"Never, Edward. Never again. I'm so glad that you are a better man, but you are a better man for someone else now. I'm part of your past, not your future." I say with no malice. He looks at me with pain-filled eyes. I kiss him tenderly on the lips, then I stand and pick up my purse.

"Goodbye, Edward." I say before I stroll quickly out of the restaurant.

I step into the night air and breathe it in. The valet comes over to me expecting my ticket. I drop my head and compose myself. I speak very slowly to prevent the inevitable tears that I know are coming.

"I need the keys to my car, but I would like to leave it here because I think I've had a little too much wine. Is that okay?" The young valet looks at me kindly, with a little sympathy.

"Yes. Ma'am, that's fine." He nods.

"Would you mind terribly calling me a taxi?" I say, my voice finally cracking on the last word.

"That won't be necessary." The smooth caramel voice says from behind me.

* * *

_**GREY**_

When she kissed the guy, I nearly crawled over three tables to get to them. I wanted to choke the fucker. But then she stood up and damn near ran out of the restaurant. That looked like "goodbye." Was that "goodbye?"

I discreetly follow her out of the restaurant and spot her over by the valet. I get just close enough to hear her conversation with the young man.

"I need the keys to my car, but I would like to leave it here because I think I've had a little too much wine. Is that okay?" Her voice is soft and melodic, almost forced.

"Yes. Ma'am, that's fine." The valet responded.

"Would you mind terribly calling me a taxi?" She asks, and it sounds like she's going to break down any minute. I walk over to the valet.

"That won't be necessary." I say, taking her ticket from her hand and giving it to the valet. She turns around and looks at me, tears brimming in her eyes. "I'll make sure that you and your car get home safely." The valet looks at me and then at her, awaiting her approval. She nods to him and he's off to get her car. She stands there momentarily with her head down, clinging to her purse, until the valet returns with her car. She walks to the passenger side and almost flinches a bit when I open the door for her. She mutters a barely audible "Thank you" before sitting in the passenger seat. I palm the valet a large tip before getting in the driver's seat. I turn to her and ask "What's your address?" She looks over at me with a half sneer on her face.

"I'm sure you already know," she says softly, before dropping her head. I guess there's no use in pretending anymore is there?

"Well, I do, but I haven't memorized it." I lie. She gives me her address and I call Taylor, informing him to meet me at her apartment and pretending he needed the address, too. I felt like she should have some of her dignity intact after what looked like a very public break-up.

"Boyfriend?" I asked cautiously. She looked over at me. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry."

She sighed. "Ex."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she continued. "It was nearly four years ago."

"Oh." I said, pretending not to already know, but glad to find out that the relationship hadn't been rekindled.

"He was trying to reconnect." She's had a bit of wine in her and I'm sure that it's making her a little chatty.

"We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to." I say.

"It's okay." She says, looking out the window and wiping one lone tear from her face. "It's definitely over now." She clears her throat. After a moment, I ask, "Do you still love him?" She took a moment to answer the question, a little too long for my taste.

"He'll always have a place in my heart," she says. "I don't want to see him hurt, that's painful. I think about him a lot when I'm alone because he's all I know." She pauses again. "But, no. I don't love him anymore. I needed closure, and I got that tonight. I just didn't expect it to feel so…_final_." That's the definition of closure, Dear. "I don't understand you people!" She snaps.

"'You people?'" I ask. I'm sure I'm supposed to know what this means, but I don't.

"You people with the penises! The only good ones I've ever met are my friends and my dad…the rest of you are…idiots." I laugh aloud.

"Thanks!" I say, shaking my head.

"Oh, come on, Christian. You've been a real asshole for the last three weeks. I was beginning to think you weren't even human." She lays her head against the window. She's right as usual. But the way she said my name…something shot through me. I don't know what it was, but I have to get her to say it again.

"Nobody calls me that." I chuckle. She looks over at me.

"Calls you what?" She asks.

"By my first name."

"Christian?" Music. I hear violins and cellos, beautiful piano concertos when she says it.

"Yes," I say, a little breathy. "Only my family…" and the crazy pedophile bitch that I need to get out of my life.

"There's someone else." She picked up on it immediately.

"Someone that I used to call 'friend.'" I say matter-of-factly. "Other than that, everybody calls me 'Sir,' 'Mr. Grey,' or just 'Grey.'"

"Just Grey." She repeats. I smirk a bit and look over at her.

"Just Grey." I say, knowing that she is recalling our initial introduction. She looks back out the window.

"No girlfriend?" She asks cautiously.

"I've never had a girlfriend." She looks at me skeptically. "It's a long story. Maybe one day, I'll tell you." She rolls her eyes.

"I'll hold my breath." Oh, Ms. Steele, don't tempt me tonight. I have had _many_ dreams about bringing you to submission, and whether they can come true or not, I sure as hell would love to try. I turn into her parking garage and wait for instructions. She looks at me expecting.

"You don't know it already?" She laughed.

"No, Ms. Steele. That bit of information did not come up on your background check." She shifted uncomfortably.

"Ana."

"That's your code?" I say, puzzled.

"No. Call me Ana. My code is 2715." She says solemnly. I punch in the code and she directs me to her assigned spot.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"Would you like to come in?" I find myself asking as he hands me my car keys. He looks at me skeptically. "Don't worry. I'm not some drunken college student that makes bad decisions and forgets them in the morning. Your virtue is safe." I push the button to call the elevator. He strides in behind me when it arrives and just as the doors close, I feel the electricity again. It's that same electricity I thought I would only feel for Edward, but it's different. With Edward, it's a spark—a jolt. With Christian, it's like fire! I stay on my side of the elevator for fear that I _will_ turn into a drunken teenager and jump his bones! Come on, come on, come on, I urge the elevator to hurry up. I think I gasp with relief when it finally got to my floor.

I scramble a bit to get out of the elevator and my heel gets caught in the opening on the floor. Almost in slow motion I am tumbling to the floor before strong arms wrap around me and pull me back up, close to his body. His muscles feel like steel, but warm. I'm panting, but I don't know if it's from a bit of shock from the near fall or from being this close to this wall of beautiful man. Maybe it's a bit of both.

"Methinks the wine may be getting to you a bit, Ana." He said, a little mockingly.

"No," I said, pointing to the shoe now stuck in the elevator, "Methinks my shoe got stuck." He looks at the shoe.

"Could be that, too." He snickers.

He lets me go and I'm now on my hands and knees prying my shoe out of the slot between the door and the floor. I was just about to declare victory when the heel breaks and the elevator doors close.

"Dammit!" I exclaim getting to my feet and examining the now useless beautiful purple stiletto. "I _loved_ these shoes." I lift my foot and snatch the other stiletto off. "That's what I get for wearing some of my favorite shoes to a bloodbath." I walk to my apartment door and open it. "Welcome to my humble abode." I say as I throw my purse and keys on the dining table. "Make yourself at home." I walk into the kitchen examining my dead stilettos. "Shit!" I say aloud as I toss them in the garbage. "Can I offer you something to drink?

"What do you have?" He asked.

"Cabernet Sauvignon—not as good as the bottle you bought unfortunately—Chardonnay, beer—domestic, orange juice, sparkling water and cranberry, bottled water, tea and coffee. Hard stuff's in the bar." I point to the wet bar at the end of the dining room. "I'm going to opt for the coffee and the water." I go to the refrigerator and crack open a bottle of water.

"Coffee sounds good to me." He says.

"I have gourmet, Columbian, French Roast, and good old fashioned Folgers. Do you have a preference?" He laughs a little.

"Whatever you brew is fine."

"Are you laughing at me, Christian?" I ask, coyly. He flashes the biggest, brightest smile I have ever seen. My knees go weak and think I just got a coochie boner.

"I'm just amazed by how prepared you are. You're like a boy scout."

"I've never been compared to a boy scout." I say, as I start the coffee maker.

"Well, I've never seen a boy scout that looked like you." He says, almost seductively. Oh boy, this is going to be a long night.

"Well, while the coffee is brewing, I'm going to go change into something other than this beautiful dress before it gets ruined along with my sexy stilettos." I pause. "My best friend usually keeps some clothes here for when he needs to crash. I'm sure he wouldn't mind your borrowing some if you want to get more comfortable but..." I eye him from top to bottom, "I'm afraid you're a bit bigger than Al." He smiles again. Heaven help me.

"If you don't mind, I can just take off my jacket and my dress shirt and wear my t-shirt and that will be fine."

"Fine by me. Be right back." I dash into my bedroom and take off the purple fold dress. I feel the need to remain pretty and I'm going to need a little help, so I leave on the Agent Provocateur lingerie and just grab my princess seam floral mini-sundress—easy to put on and comfortable—and a pair of slides. When I come back out of the room, he is standing with his back to me. He has just removed his shirt and he is draping it over one of my dining chairs along with his navy suit jacket. His t-shirt is clinging to his muscular form and his pants are hanging off his hips just so, framing one very sexy ass. Bon Dieu Tout-Puissant! Where does God get off creating such wonderful specimens as this! He turns around to face me and the front looks as good as the back. Strong, chiseled chest, easily definable six-pack abs…

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that it's not nice to stare, Ms. Steele?" Oh shit! There's a mouth attached to this vision of sexiness. I completely forgot. I shake my head a bit and drop my eyes.

"I'm…sorry." I mutter.

_Well, fuck, I'm not. Look again! Look again!  
_Will you please try to control yourself, you horny heifer?  
_Oh, and you're not? I saw your eyes headed towards his dick! If he hadn't said anything, you'd be gawking at it right now. Go ahead, tell me you wouldn't! I dare you!  
_Oh dear Lord, please let her shut up tonight? In my not-quite-dissipated wine-induced haze, I might start talking to her crazy ass out loud.

"Are you alright, Ana?" Christian questions. I am able to gain a bit of my senses.

"A little embarrassed," I say as I make my way to the cabinet to get coffee cups. "You…caught me a bit off guard."

"Don't be." He says in his deep, sexy voice and I have to stop myself from almost staring again.

"Cream or sugar?" I ask as I hand him his coffee.

"No thanks." He replies taking a sip. I smile.

"Black…a man after my own heart." The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to catch them. I silently curse myself as I replace the coffee pot and sit down across from him at the breakfast bar.

"Why did you quit?" He asks as I take a sip of my coffee.

"Excuse me?" I put my cup on the counter.

"Why did you quit? Was it because of me?" He wraps his hands around the cup. I look down at my coffee and tuck a curl behind my ear.

"Not entirely." I begin nervously. "I wasn't doing my job. I wasn't helping anyone. No matter how hard I tried, I had become cynical. Each face ran into the next. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"What about your practice?" He asked.

"Oh I love my practice. It was the group thing that was slowly draining the life out of me. I guess everything that helps you may not necessarily be _for_ you." I noticed he stiffened a bit with that statement.

"Yes. I'm realizing that lately." He takes another sip of his coffee. We sit in an uncomfortable silence for a moment, then I stand up from my stool.

"Are you hungry, because I'm starving." I walk over to the refrigerator to raid what I may have. "I only have leftovers hiding in here, probably nothing to match your delicate palette," I say playfully mocking, "but I only had appetizers this evening, so I'm going to try to throw something together." When I turn around to him, he looks quite pleased with the idea.

"I could definitely eat something since I was slightly distracted at 'dinner.'"

"Do I even want to know how you knew where I was?" I ask as I place an antipasto tray on the breakfast bar between our two seats. He shifts uncomfortably.

"I've been keeping an eye on you since our encounter last week." He admits. I pull some French bread from the refrigerator and put in under the warmer.

"Which means you been having me followed." I say flatly. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

"I wanted make sure you were okay. And I wanted to see if I needed to turn myself into the authorities!" he states, a little sarcastically. "It seems like I scared you."

"You _did_ scare me," I said, moving the bread to the chopping board and cutting a few thin slices, "mostly because I had no idea why you were kissing me." I add softly.

"I was caught in the moment," he said, his voice getting slightly deeper. "You have to know that you are a very beautiful woman." Oh, boy...breathe, Anastasia, breathe.

"No prettier than the next girl," I say, as I mix drinks of sparkling water and cranberry to accompany our light dinner.

"Oh, seriously, Ana? You have to know what you do to men. That's why this David fellow is panting after you like a sick puppy." He states.

"Oh, please, let's not talk about him. He's panting after me because he was a lying, cheating dog. I broke up with him years ago and now he wants me back. End of story." I grab an olive and a chunk of provolone. "So tell me, Christian, why no girlfriends?" He looks at me like I've just asked him for the secrets to the Da Vinci Code.

"I don't think I'm ready to tell you that just yet, Ms. Steele." He says taking pieces from the tray for himself.

"Ana. And why not?" I ask before chewing and swallowing a piece of salami. "We already have background checks on each other. All that's left is to fill in the blanks." I sip my water and cranberry. He takes out his blackberry and starts typing away. "That's so rude. What are you doing?"

"I'm telling Taylor that he can leave and I will call him when I am ready to go. He's been sitting outside waiting for me all this time." Oh. Okay.

"Sorry." I say quickly. "So…girlfriends?" I say, still munching away.

"I have a question for you first." He says, trying to redirect the conversation, no doubt. But okay, I'll bite.

"Fine. What is it?"

"Lambert. Why?" A terrible chill just went through me. I feel myself start shaking and then I get a little light-headed. The next thing I know, I have fallen off the stool. I don't know when or how it happened, but I am nearly on the floor, in his arms…again.

How the hell did he get here? Did he jump over the damn bar?

"What happened?" I gasp.

"I think I may have asked a question that I shouldn't have asked." He said concerned. "I'm sorry." I look up at him and his eyes are gentle, soft, concerned silver grey. He lifts me back up and sets me gently on my feet. I'm holding on to his biceps trying to steady myself.

"Are you okay?" He asks softly.

"Yes," I breathe and swallow hard, as that electricity from the elevator resurfaces and threatens to burn through every bit of my sanity. I bite my lip as I try to regulate my breathing and my heartbeat. He puts his thumb on my chin and releases my lip from my teeth. "Please don't bite your lip." He says, just above a whisper.

"Why not?" I say, my voice still breathy. Without warning, he bends down and traces my lips with his tongue. I feel as if I will truly combust any second. Oh God, he smells so good. His lips replace his tongue, brushing against the left corner of my mouth, then the top lip, working his way over to the right corner, and finally my bottom lip to end up back where he started. When he starts the journey again with his tongue, my tongue reflexively comes out to meet his. Then, he pounces, pulling me hard against him, his arms snaked possessively around my body. He is kissing me feverishly and every part of my body that was asleep has now awaked for sure. I thread my fingers into his feathery soft hair and return the kiss, rewarded by a deep moan in his chest.

I'm a goner.

I don't know how long we stand there making out in my kitchen, but when he pulls his mouth from my lips and presses his forehead against mine, we are both completely breathless.

"Good grief!" I whispered, panting, the first to break the silence. His hand is on the side of my face and neck, and he's peppering my lips with gentle kisses again. I whimper softly as his hands slides back into my hair, still scooped up in the magical Valerie Marshall up-do. I can only feel heat. Heat everywhere. Heat from his body, heat from his lips, heat from his fingertips, heat from his erection pressing against my belly…

"Ana." He moans as his lips travel down to my neck. I am fighting for precious air. My limbs feel like spaghetti. "Do you want me to stop?" He's kissing and licking the tender skin on my neck. I am once again holding onto his biceps to steady myself, not that I need to because he's not letting me go _anywhere_.

"Christian…" I breathe. Against everything my body is screaming, I manage to say, "Wait…please…"

He let me go quickly, much like he did in his office a week ago, only this time he doesn't turn away. I am leaning against my refrigerator, my chest rising and falling almost violently. I can almost imagine the many shades of pale and pink that must be coursing through my face right now. Christian is leaning against my breakfast bar a few feet away, examining me with slate grey eyes filled with desire. He is breaking me down just by standing there. Jésus-Christ, aide-moi!

_Are you crazy? Why would you deny me when I'm so close?  
_Oh for the love of God, please shut up and let me think!  
_Don't think! I'm horny! I can't take it anymore! I'm losing my mind!  
_Okay, this is it. Insanity is officially setting in.

"You want me." His voice breaks me from the internal argument with the Bitch.

"Huh?" I'm still kiss-dazed and confused. He is walking slowly towards me, stalking me, closing the space between us.

"I don't know when it happened and I don't _care_ when it happened. But I want you, and I know that you want me. So are we going to continue to pretend that's not what's going on between us or are you going to let me take you to bed and give your body what it so richly deserves?"

Saint. Vache. Batman.

My mouth is hanging open and I can't even form my words. I can imagine that I must look like a dear caught in headlights. I am certainly going to expire. Death by anticipation.

_**Here lies Ana—all she really needed was a good fuck. **_

He is so close to me but not touching. I can't think. I close my eyes for a moment— respirer, Ana, respirer.

"Open your eyes…" he commands gently. I look up at him, molten grey eyes piercing through me and snatching away all of my resistance. "What's it going to be, Ana?" He cups the side of my face with his huge hand. "Do you want me to go home alone and sleep tonight, or do you want me to stay here with you and make you scream all night?"

Wha…wha…? All I can do it nod. He brings his lips feverishly close to my ear.

"You have to tell me, Baby." His breath in my ear is sending shock waves through my knees. I don't think they're going to hold much longer. "What's it going to be?"

"Take me to bed." I whisper.

He pushes me hard against the refrigerator and bends his knees slightly so that he is at my level. He is kissing me so deeply and so passionately, like he has been without human contact for just as long as I have if not longer. I feel as if I will physically sink down into him and disappear. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my hands in his hair again and pull slightly.

"Fuck!" He groaned into my mouth as his hands went down to my ass. He grabbed the cheeks and forcefully pushed me against his growing erection.

Sacre bleu! Pyrotechnics in my crotch!

I lift my legs and wrap them around his hips. He stumbles a bit trying to catch us both before we fall. With one arm around my waist, the other hand pushes my dress up and he grasps my thigh. He buries his face in my neck and groans loudly. "Shit, Ana! Are you wearing stockings?"

"Uh-huh!" I gasp, holding my head back to give him better access to his target. He starts to carry me through the apartment.

"Which is your bedroom?" He mumbles.

"End of the hall…to the left." I pant. He bursts through the door of my bedroom like a man breaking out of jail. He slides me down his body onto the floor and reaches around to remove my arms from his neck. He strokes my arms from my shoulders all the way down to my hands, dropping to his knees in front of me as he goes. It is taking everything in me to control my breathing as I look down at him, running his hands up my calves to my thighs then lifting my dress so that he can see the tops of my stockings. He gasps as he is presented with the sensual lace at the top of my delicate jet black hosiery.

"Beautiful," he says as he kisses the tender exposed flesh of my thigh. Jolts of pleasure shoot straight from his lips to my center and I whimper as I grab on to his shoulder to keep from collapsing. I can feel my poor little thong getting drenched from my juices as his hands travel back up to my bare ass and his tongue continues to tease the pale skin of my thighs.

"Christian…!" I whine, unable to stand on my own. He stands quickly and turns me around.

"Let's get you out of this, shall we?" he unzips my dress. He gently takes the straps in his fingers and pulls them off my shoulders, allowing the feather-light material to billow gently to the floor. I step out of my dress and my slides simultaneously. His touch on my skin is sending delicious twangs of desire coursing through every inch of my body. I close my eyes and absorb this feeling that has eluded me for so many years. He pulls me close to him as he cups my breasts in his hands from behind, teasing my nipples through the material. He is licking the back of my neck, peppering soft and wet kisses and nips along my collarbone, my bare shoulders, my back. "Oh, Christian, please…" I breathe.

"Impatient, Ana?" he coaxes.

"Yes." I close my eyes and lean back into him. "It's been too long."

"Well," he says as he reaches back and unhooks my bra, "we'll have to rectify that, won't we?"

* * *

_**GREY**_

I turn her around to face me and she looks exquisite in her lingerie, naked from the waist up. My own little Ana doll that I get to play with as I please. She will forget about everything tonight—all the demons following her, the painful memories of ex-boyfriends, the long time it's been since someone has touched her body right. It's my job to make her forget it all.

I lay her on the bed, her chest heaving a frantic pace. "Relax, Baby." I kiss her gently on the lips and look into her timid blue eyes. "Are you nervous?"

"A little," she says softly.

"Why?" I ask. She bites her lip again. Fuck, that is so sexy.

"It's been a long time and…I'm…out of practice." Is she worried about satisfying _me_? Isn't she sweet?

"Oh, Ana. This is all about you. So you just relax and enjoy." I can still see trepidations in those deep blue pools, so I kiss her left eyelid, then her right. "Relax, Baby." I gently kiss her cheek then her jawbone around to her ear. "Let me handle it," I breathe into her ear before nibbling her earlobe, "okay?"

"Okay." She whimpers softly and I can tell that she is trying to control her breathing again.

I trail kisses down her neck to her chest before taking one of her beautiful breasts in my mouth. I torture her nipple with my tongue and teeth while I pinch and tease the other one between my fingers. She is writhing underneath me as I hear her whimper repeatedly, "No…no…no…" more to herself than to me. I recognize this as an attempt to fend off a pending orgasm.

Oh goody! This is going to be _so_ much fun!

"You like that, Baby?" I breathe against her nipple.

"Oh, God, yes!" she gasps. She's likely to come any second, but I want to play some more, so she will have to wait. I move from her breast down to her stomach at the top of the suspender garter belt. This is so hot and sexy…I think we'll leave this. I move down to her pretty lacy transparent thong. Brazilian wax.

Oh, fuck! My manhood twitches wildly in my pants. It feels like Christmas.

"Ana, are you on birth control?" I ask cautiously.

"Yes," she breathed, "Ever since…for many years." Her mood shifted slightly. I need to bring her back—back to ecstasy with me. I nestle my head between her thighs and rub my nose against the flimsy thong. "Ah!" She called out, more from surprise I think.

"Oh, Baby. Your smell is so alluring." I lick her lips through the thin material.

"Mmm!" She whimpers. It almost sounds like she's going to cry. I look up at her and her head is thrown back in pure passion and she's grabbing the sheets. Let's not make this little flower wait any longer. I pull her thong to the side and begin my assault on her clitoris, around and around. Fuck, she tastes divine.

"Aaggghh…..Christian!" she almost screams as she grabs fistfuls of my hair. "Oh, God…no…no…" She's thrusting her hips into my mouth. She is positively primal. I loop my arms underneath her thighs and clamp them over her hips, basically immobilizing her.

"You are going to have to keep still, Baby." I growl as she attempts to regain control of her body. I kick off my shoes as I resume the stimulation of her most sensitive parts.

"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhh." She screams again as she attempts to withstand the torment. Now she must endure the pleasure, unable to move her hips. "Christian! Fuck!" She's still trying to fend off her orgasm. Baby, don't you know I plan to make you come all night? But that's okay. You've waited a long time for this. You fight it as much as you like…but that doesn't mean I'm going easy on you.

I feel her clit stiffen and begin to pulsate and I know her orgasm is seconds away, so I stop the stimulation and blow gently on her exposed clit through her panties. "Christian….no…" she mewls.

"Ssshhhh." I soothe as I place her hips gently back on the bed. I stand and quickly remove my pants boxers and socks. She gasps at the size of my fully erect member. "We'll go slow, Baby. I know it's been a long time."I crawl between her legs again and part her thighs. In two swift movements, her flimsy thong is a small piece of useless material tossed somewhere on the floor.

I position my head right at her entrance. I'm throbbing as I reach between us and stroke up and down teasing just inside the lips on the side of her clitoris before gently massaging the nub with my fingers.

"Mon Dieu…Christian!" She begs as she arches her back slightly. _Shit_! Was that French? That was fucking hot!

"You like that?" I tease, fueled by her bilingual reaction.

"Yeeessssss!" She moans.

I separated her folds with my cock and then gently slipped into the wetness inside. I could feel her folding around me, welcoming this invasion like a long awaited visitor. "Ooooooohh…aaahhhh." She cried out at the fullness.

Oh fuck. She feels just as good as I thought she would. Better, in fact. I can't move. She's so tight that if I stroke now, I will most certainly come immediately.

"Please…" she whispers in my ear. Control, Grey. I move slowly, gently grinding my hips into her.

"Ah!" She moans into my neck. Oh…shit. I take her mouth and start to fuck—deep and hard. Her feet clamp together behind my back and I groan into her mouth as I rock my pelvis, my dick sinking into her soft, hot, wet velvet folds all the way to the hilt. I can feel her start to quiver. Not yet, Baby, not yet. It's too soon. I pause moving until the vibrations stop.

"Christian, please!" She whimpers.

"I know, Baby." I start to move again, relishing the feeling of her wrapped around me. It's exquisite. I'm rubbing the delicate skin on her ass and she feels divine.

"Fuck." I growl as I bend to taste her neck and her jaw. I feel a small sheen of sweat develop on her skin as I take her nipple between my fingers and tease it until it is hard and pink.

"Ah…Christian…" She's panting now and I can feel her hips move to meet me. "Please…don't stop…please…" She begs through her breaths. Shit, she is so hot. I can't hold on much longer. She is a perfect fit and my cock is begging to be buried here forever. Fuck! Control, Man, control. My mouth is back on to hers and my hand travels up to her neck. I hold with the slightest firmness, my lips grazing her cheek as I drive my cock into her over and over again—deep and slow, then a little faster.

"Oh, God…Christian…" She whimpers again, and I feel the quivering again. It won't be long now. I pull her thighs further apart and gyrate my hips a bit to open her vaginal lips. I feel her clit against my pelvis.

"Ah…ah….ah….." I take her mouth, swallowing her moans, feeding off her pleasure, mercilessly hitting her clit each time I pound into her precious wet flesh. "Shiiiiit!" I hiss as I feel my own release hovering just beyond my reach. This is sensuous, carnal, searing pleasure. It almost makes me feel like I have a soul…almost. I look at my Ana. Her mouth is open and her eyes are closed. Pure ecstasy. Oh, fuck, she is too much. I need her to give herself to me…_now_!

"I've got you, Baby," I say in her ear. "Give it to me." I feel her stiffen and her pussy clamps down on me like a vice. She starts to wail almost and my mouth covers hers, claiming her cries as my prize. As she rides out her orgasm, my release comes like a burning tidal wave—searing and burning from my feet up through my calves and thighs and through my balls and cock like flaming fucking hot lava.

"Arrgh….ah…fuuuck!" My teeth are clenched and I can't move. I feel like the bottom half of my body has literally separated from the top, and I can do nothing but ride out this agonizing, intense, pleasure, pain experience. "Oh…fuck…Ana!" It seemed to go on forever. After an eternity, it finally subsided and we are both lying on her bed, gasping for precious air.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**I'm sure that you all know this already, but there may be a few that do not. The "JBF" look-JBF hair is "just been fucked" hair. It's how Christian's hair looks all the time but Ana's sported a sexy JBF look for dinner with Edward.**_

_**I had someone tell me that they didn't know what a "coochie boner" is. Your coochie is your vagina. You know what a "boner" is. Figure it out. ;-)**_

_**I picked the Joseline garter because it is wide enough and high enough in the back to cover her brand...so, no, Christian hasn't seen it yet.**_

**_Make sure that you check out my pinterest page for Ana clothes and lingerie pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/_**

_**Was it worth the wait? Please review! (Hiding my head-my first lemon EVER)**_


	16. Chapter 16: He Has Met His Match

_**Wow, you guys! There was a lot of panty changing, hubby humping, cold-shower taking, and coochie boners in last nights reviews! You know I love you guys, right? So I couldn't leave you hanging right in the middle of lemony goodness! This chapter was meant for Wednesday, but it just didn't feel right to wait. So this is TRULY a bonus chapter, folks, and then it is back to Wednesday and Saturday (with maybe a few exceptions here and there)!**_

_**Thank you all so much for the MASS of wonderful reviews on my first lemon. I did my best to respond to you all either here or in PM, but if I missed you, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE forgive me! More than one person brought it to my attention that the A/N are getting kind of long and yes, I thought so, too. To that end, I will only address certain reviews individually, but I still feel it necessary to at least mention those who have taken time to review even though I could not respond by PM. ;-)**_

_**To anaulij: I fucking love your reviews so damn much! I just had to say that. **_

_**To Beachycolor: It's possible that I may spin it that way later on, but I have a little surprise for you. Canlis is actually a real restaurant in Seattle; the Grace Family Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon is a real wine and the 2004 is actually the most expensive Cabernet Sauvignon on the wine list at Canlis. It's strange that it worked out that way but—yep, I read the wine list while I was writing and the best vintage of my girl's favorite wine just so happened to be named after the mother of the dude that bought her the bottle and took her home that night. Coincidence? Hmmm….**_

_**To Carol: I do my best. I appreciate that you guys take the time to read my story and review. ;-)**_

_**To Twinings: CLIT DICK!? Girl, I almost spit water all over my damn laptop! That shit was funny as hell!**_

_**Also thank you to Beth, Bird, Jaimini, May of Rose, Shandy96(I know you have a login, but it won't let me respond!), Tik, and to a**__**ll of my guest reviewers (especially the one that said my lemon was "FRIKKEN FRAKKEN HOT!"). **_

_**If you guys haven't read this story, go check out "Save Me From Myself" by LizLemonnumber2. It's an AU fanfic too and I like how it's going do far. **_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 16—He Has Met His Match

_**STEELE**_

Mary Sweet Mother of Jesus! I just had sex with Christian Grey…and it was _fantastic_!

In my post-orgasmic state, I am panting profusely. My lower regions are throbbing immensely. I don't think sex has ever been that good in my life…_ever_. EVER!

Did I mention _EVER_?

Christian induced a delicious pleasure/pain feeling when he withdrew from me and lay next to me on the bed. I'm lying on his shoulder, slowly catching my breath. His arm is underneath me, his hand dangerously close to the forbidden zone, but my garter belt has the area completely covered so I'm safe for now.

"That was amazing." He said, his voice raspy.

"I concur," I coo. "That was a $90 pair of underwear you destroyed."

"I'll buy you more," he laughed. "Did I hear you speak French?" He inquires. Oh, shit. Did I?

"Peut-être…" I answer nervously.

"Perhaps?" He repeats.

"Coulda been." I squeak. "It's kind of a reflex thing." I'm shrinking a little bit here.

"Mmmm, nice reflex." He squeezes my bottom. He lifts my head up by my chin and kisses me deeply. The fire down below is starting again. Hell, it never really went out. He rolled me onto my back, him on his side and he is deepening the kiss. Just as I put my hand in his hair, I hear my blackberry ring.

Shit!

"Let it ring." He says against my lips.

"I can't." I respond.

"Why not?"

"Because everybody close to me in the city knows that I went out with the lowdown, dirty, lying cheater tonight and if I don't answer the phone, somebody is going to assume that something is wrong and Al has a key!" I spit out all in one breath. He sighs and lets me go.

"Get your phone," he surrenders.

I roll out of bed and run to the dining room where I left my purse. I pull out my blackberry just before I'm sure it will go to voicemail. It's Val.

"Hello?"

"_Hey, Babe. How did it go?"_ She asked.

"Wonderful!" I answered, thinking about Christian.

"_Do I even want to know what that means?"_ She responds. Oops, we're talking about Edward here, aren't we? I must've taken too long to respond because she snaps back, _"Ana, what the hell? Did he get to you?" _

"Um, no…." I'm still being too vague for Val.

"_What the hell is going on, Anastasia?"_ Just as I am about to give her some kind of information, two strong arms slide around my body and caress my stomach while hot lips bite and suck my earlobes.

"Aaahh, nothin'." I say in a high-pitched, breathy voice. Val conspicuously stops talking. Christian's hands move up to my breasts, pinching and squeezing my nipples as his mouth moves to my neck. "Ah…" It escapes before I can catch it.

"_Are you fucking him, Ana!?"_ Val growls. I close my eyes and arch my back, pushing my breasts into Christian's hands. I'm panting again.

"No…no, I'm not." I say, trying to speak as normally as possible.

"_Don't bullshit me, Ana. I'm not letting you off this fucking phone and I can have Al over there in ten minutes."_ Control your breathing, Ana, and put out the fire that is Valarie Marshall.

"No, Val…I'm not fucking him." Christian's hand moves down to my sex and parts my lips, rubbing deeply inside my folds. "Ooooh…"

"_Is he there!?"_ She yells.

"No…no…not him." Christian is palming my sex as he inserts one then two fingers inside my warm core. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.

"_But somebody's there…"_ She states suspiciously.

"Yes…yes…" I pant.

"_Was that for me or for him?"_ I can hear her smirking.

"Both!" I snap.

"_Did you pick up some __random _guy at a bar, Ana?" She yells at me. Christian is still working my left breast, his right hand now circling in and out, round and round, in and out…oh fuck!

"No! I did not!" I yell as I am coming dangerously close to an orgasm while I'm talking to my dear friend. Christian pushes me back against him so that I can feel his throbbing erection. He is stroking it between my ass cheeks, stimulating the hole with every pass. His arm crosses over my body to my right breast. He is holding me steady while he causes delicious friction between my butt cheeks against my sensitive bud as he continues to penetrate me with his fingers and now he's massaging my clit with his thumb. He moans loudly in my neck and I whimper audibly, forgetting that I'm still on the phone.

"_Oh, God. Steele, really?"_ Val sounds disgusted. Well, we would all be doing just fine if you let me get off the fucking phone, _Friend_!

"I gotta go, Val." I wheeze. Oh shit, I feel the quiver.

"_Okay, Ana, but tomorrow you're going to fucking tell me everything."_

"K. Bye!"

* * *

_**GREY**_

I wonder if that fucker David is the one who's calling her-trying to see what she's doing? Can't let him spoil a good night now, can I? I jump out of Ana's bed and find her in the dining room. She looks positively scrumptious standing there with her ass to me in nothing but Agent Provocateur garter belt and stockings. My dick starts twitching immediately. I walk over to her spread my hands over her delicious skin. Ooo, she feels so good. I smell her hair and take in her scent. She makes me want to lose myself in her. I suck her earlobe and kiss her flawless skin. Hang up the phone, Baby, I will her. I'm not finished with you yet.

I am exploring various areas of the wonderland that is Ana, loving her reaction and her attempt not to let on what is happening to her. I find out that she is talking to someone named Val. I start to tease her deliciously wet pussy deeply but make the mistake of pushing that delectable ass against my dick. Oh, fuck. I bend me knees and pull her harder, closer against me and stroke my dick between her cheeks. Shit, one day I want this ass but right now, this feels good as fuck. I moan in her neck to let "Val" know that she is not alone._ Hang up the fucking phone._ By the time she says, "K. Bye," and clumsily hits the end button, she is coming loudly and wetly on my hand. I hold her up because I know if I don't, she'll be on the floor. Before she stops quivering, I put one of her legs on the dining chair and slam my dick into her pulsating flesh. She cries out, reaching behind her to grab a handful of my hair. Oh hell. It sends desire through me that feels like it's going to tear me apart.

"Oh, Ana!" I moan as I pull my dick all the way out to the head and slam into her again.

"Oh, God, Christian!" She wails. I pound into her over and over and she's screaming my name repeatedly. Every time I hear her, it's like a balm to my ravaged mind—like I was meant to be right here all along. What is this woman doing to me? I pull out of her and take her over to the wall.

"Wrap your legs around me." She complies and quickly puts her arms around my neck. I drive into her again, dropping her hard down onto my erection.

"Fuck!" She screams, as her mouth flies open and she's panting furiously now.

"Again?" I choke out. It'll be a miracle if I don't come in the next two seconds.

"Please! Yes! Please!" Her eyes are screwed shut. I lift her hips and slam into her again, digging my hands into the tender skin of her ass. It is so deep, so warm. I pound her relentlessly, burying my dick inside of her each time. I notice that she is matching my rhythm, without my help. With her arms wrapped around my neck, she's using the strength in her legs, stomach, and hips to ride me. She is clenching my dick and I don't think I can hold on. I back away from the wall to try to lessen her assault, but that only makes it worse. She tips her head and captures my mouth, her tongue deliciously attacking mine while she bounces relentlessly on my swelling throbbing manhood. Fuck! She is incredible! I run my hands over the taut skin of her back. Her muscle tone is impressive and she is using it to torture my poor little helpless member.

Did I say _helpless_?

Fuck, did I say _little_?

"Christian. You feel so good." She purrs, seductively. Oh, hell, I feel it coming. We are racing to the finish line. My balls are truly ready to empty having no control over this current situation, and her walls are vibrating ferociously like her pussy is going to suck the very soul out of me. "Aaaahh…" she moans deeply, throwing her head back. Two embellished hair combs are sent sailing to the floor and her beautiful brunette curls are now cascading down her back and brushing against my hand. It's more than I can take. I have backed up all the way against the dining table now. I grab the hair at the nape of her neck and bury my tongue in her mouth. I'm about to come and she shows no sign of relenting.

"Aaaahhh." I moan in her mouth.

"Come on, Baby." She says is a deep, sexy growl.

I think my balls jump up and pop like firecrackers because the explosion that followed was lethal.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh, Aaannnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Aaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhhhhh!" I was trying to hold her still to ride out my release but she was bouncing through her own.

"Christian! Oh Fuck! Christiaaaaaan!" I stumble sideways, desperately feeling for a chair or any moment now, we're going to both be on the floor. She is milking every bit of juice out of me and I am fucking seeing stars and flashing lights. I'm feeling light-headed and she is still grinding out her orgasm.

"Oh…shit, Ana…please…stop…" I beg. I feel like I've shot the head of my dick off inside of her. She mercifully stops moving, but the constriction and pulsing of her vaginal walls continue and I am at her mercy.

"Fuck, Baby." I groan, as I sit back in the chair, trying not to move a muscle below the waist as she peppers my face with kisses. She kisses my lips tenderly, sweetly, sensuously.

"I'm sorry, Christian." She breathes. "I hope I didn't hurt you." Oh, shit, is she trying to make me come again?

"Hurt me? Are you serious?"

"I told you I was out of practice." She said quietly. Her beautiful eyes searching mine.

"Baby," I took her face in my hands, "that experience was indescribable! I'm afraid to move! And you're worried about your performance?" She looks at me and chuckles a bit.

"Well, when you put it that way…" She laughs and I laugh with her. She puts her forehead on mine. "Will you be okay if I get up?" She asked softly.

"Yes, I think I'll be okay. Just move slowly." She gently rises of off my dick which falls limply in my lap. She looks at it almost adoringly.

"It's impressive even when it's limp." She says, never taking her eyes off of it.

"Yes, I'm a big boy." I smirk.

"He's all tuckered out." She says in a little cartoon voice as she looks up at my eyes.

"For now," I reply. I pull her over to me and cup her ass in my hands, kissing her stomach. "Beautiful," I say softly. She gently runs her fingers through my hair.

"Thank you." She whispers. She pulls my hand to take me back to the bedroom. She takes something out of the drawer and heads to the bathroom. "I'll be right out." She says with a smile before closing the door. I put my boxers back on and dash back to the dining room, pull my blackberry out of my jacket pocket to text Taylor.

_****I hope you didn't wait up. I'll see you in the morning.****_

* * *

_**STEELE**_

While in the bathroom cleaning up after two wild sessions with Christian Grey and three mind blowing orgasms, I change into my Victoria's Secret Dream Angels black satin slip with pink lace trim. I remove my garter and stocking since I can't very well justify sleeping in them. I'll just have to make sure I keep my back covered.

When I come out of the bathroom, Christian is in his t-shirt—which he never removed, by the way—and his boxer briefs. I head towards the door.

"I notice you didn't eat much." I begin. "Are you still hungry? I have to put the antipasto away." It's about 11:30pm and antipasto is perfect for late night. After a myriad of thoughts went over his face, he said,

"Absolutely. I should definitely eat." He followed me to the kitchen and I refreshed our cranberry spritzers. We took our same seats and began to eat. It was quiet for a moment then I said, "the awkward after-sex silence." I looked up at him and he chuckled.

"Forgive me. I'm having a bit of a new experience, here." He said.

"What do you mean?" I ask, curious.

"Let's just say I don't have many 'getting to know you' moments with women." He answers. Oh, yes, no girlfriends. Instead of asking that question again, I decide to go in a different direction.

"Why did you do a background check on me, Christian?" I ask. He is visibly uncomfortable.

"I'm not totally sure," he responds. What the hell does that mean? "I normally do backgrounds checks on nearly anybody who comes in contact with me. Even though it probably came out wrong, I meant what I said in session on Monday. Somebody is always out to get me, and I have to be careful who I let near me." He pauses to chew a bit, then continues. "I didn't know if you presented a threat to me or not. I didn't _think_ you did, but I still wanted to be a step ahead of the game. Then when we had our…disagreement…I'll admit that I was trying to find something that I could use in case I needed it to keep from going to jail." He crossed his hands on the counter. "Your background check was missing two years. Anybody else would have figured that it just had something to do with school records but…I was a little more diligent." He looked up at me to examine my facial expression. I don't know what it told him, but he continued. "Welch found your…alias, and kept digging, and…"

"You know what happened…" I squeak. He came around the breakfast bar and put his hand on my cheek.

"I know that a beautiful young girl was indescribably harmed by unknown assailants. That's all I know." He used his free hand to tuck stray hair behind my ear. What a delicate and kind way to describe such a brutal and vicious occurrence. It was almost comforting coming out of his mouth. I drop my head. He sat in the stool and pulled me over to stand between his legs. "Welch threatened to quit if I used the information in any adverse way, but I couldn't do that anyway. When you came to my office on Friday, I was asking Welch why no one had been brought to justice and if there was anything that could be done about it." I snapped my head at him and stiffened. He grabbed me like a caged animal about to make a break for it. "I haven't done anything. I didn't get a chance. You came into my office and called me a tree." I drop my head and laugh.

"You _are_ a tree. You're sitting and you're still taller than me." He strokes my arms.

"Now, it's your turn." I look into his slate grey eyes, looking a little sleepy now, and I know what he's talking about.

"I don't know what the law is everywhere else, but whenever there is a violent crime in the state of Nevada, the victim is always notified if there is any change in the case. If a minor is involved, the case is sealed. So when I was notified that Anastasia Lambert's file had been flagged for a check, I was terrified. There's no reason for anybody anywhere to want to know anything about Anastasia Lambert. She's nobody. She had no friends, she didn't hold a job; all she did was graduate from high school." I must have been getting that scared doe look again or fidgeting too much because he pulled me closer to him trying to comfort me. I took a deep breath and continued." My father is ex-military. He has a friend who could find out who was looking into my past. Of course you can see why I would want to know. His information led me to Welch which of course led me to you. My guy took the liberty of doing a background check on you which is how I knew you were adopted." He stiffened a bit.

"What else did the background check say?" He asked nervously.

"That your birth mother died when you were four, and that you were adopted." I didn't know how to approach the scars that I saw and I took notice that he still hasn't shown his chest—much like I won't show my lower back. "I know that there was some abuse before you were adopted." He looked at me questioning. He didn't give me details, I won't give him details either. "I'm sure he could have found more, but he only had the basics so that I could have something to go by," I say, and he relaxes a bit. "Except for the fact that you were adopted when you were four which was an open adoption since no family came forth and the fact that you had been abused as a young child, everything else that I was given could be found on Google." He sighs a visible sigh of relief before taking more of the antipasto. "So am I going to discover that you're a serial killer with bodies hiding in a basement somewhere, because there is obviously something that you're afraid for me to find out." He looks at me, impassively. "Like why you've never had a girlfriend. And by the way, where does that leave me?" Okay, now he's really on the hot seat.

"Ana…" He begins.

"I'm not saying that I'm trying to be your girlfriend," I interrupt before he has to start back-peddling. "We are two consenting adults who had a very volatile acquaintance; we both had needs to be met and we didn't mind each other's company for that purpose because you are obviously attracted to me and I am obviously attracted to you. I had some absolutely, earth-shattering, mind-blowing sex and I'd like to know if that's going to happen again. And if this situation has absolutely no chance of going anywhere, I'd like to know that, too."

"Fair point well made. Ms. Steele." He said.

"You're determined to call me 'Ms. Steele,' aren't you?" I say, almost sneering.

"Force of habit," He says without pausing. "But know that when I do it this time, it's a term of endearment." He smiles. I shake my head in defeat. He turns me around to face him, his hands on my hips.

"I've never had a girlfriend. One day, I'll tell you why, but not tonight. I don't know if this is going anywhere. All I know is that from the first day I saw you, you affected me. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind—and that has never happened to me before. When I close my eyes, I see you. And when I open my eyes, I _want_ to see you. I know why David is pursuing you. He threw away a treasure and he's trying to get it back. And for the record," he takes my face in his hands and kisses me deliciously, and deliciously again, "I would _love_ to have more absolutely," kiss, "earth-shattering," kiss, kiss, "mind-blowing sex with you." Kiss, kiss, kiss. "So what do you say we continue to do that for a while and see where it takes us?" Again, he could ask me for anything. Thank God I'm not longer his group facilitator.

"Okay." I squeak. I get rewarded with another delicate delicious kiss.

"Now, let's clean this up, because I think we both need some sleep." He smiled.

We cleared away the glasses, put away the antipasto and cleaned the counters before Mr. Grey led me back to my bedroom. I took the duvet off my bed and he laid down first. When I came to bed and turned off the bedside lamp, he pulled me into him, my back to his front.

Oh wow. It's been years since I've been spooned.

I only vaguely remember him kissing my back because I was asleep in moments.

* * *

The sun is peeking through my windows and I attempt to roll over only to find that I am in the clutches of an unknown force. I lift my head to see the gorgeously angelic face of one sleeping Christian Grey, and he is strategically wrapped around me like a boa constrictor. I try to stretch but he has me locked down, so I settle for stretching my neck a bit as I plop my head back down on the pillow. I look over at the clock on my nightstand. Seven thirty…too early. I opt to snuggle back down into the comfort of my bed and the arms of Adonis and go back to sleep.

I feel feather soft kisses on my stomach as I struggle to gain consciousness. It is a wonderful feeling coupled with that of a strong hand gently stroking my hip. I look down to see a beautifully disheveled mass of copper locks grazing my abdomen. An involuntary moan escapes my lips and I am rewarded with sensual, hooded grey eyes.

"Good morning," he says, his voice heavy with desire. His hand travels down to my mound and he rubs the outside skin, still a little sensitive from the Brazilian.

"Good morning," I breathe, my voice husky as I push my pelvis into his hand. He quickly rolls on top of me, parting my thighs with his. He brushes his lips against mine. When I dart my tongue to lick his lips, he captures my mouth in a sensuous kiss. His erection starts to throb in his boxer briefs as he invades the crevices of my mouth and his hips begin to gyrate between my legs, his hard member providing delicious friction on my clitoris. "Mmmmm," the sound is involuntary again. I will not come this way…I will not come this way…

As if he can read my mind, he thrusts his hips into mine and gyrates deeper, harder.

"Aah," I gasp into his mouth, "Christian…" He moves his hands to my breast and he is stroking my nipples through the satiny material. Oh, fuck.

"Christian…please…" I gasp, my eyes closed and my fingers entangled in his hair.

"What do you want, Baby?" He moans, his voice raspy.

"You…inside me…please," I pant, trying to fend off an orgasm from his relentless dry-humping. I feel bereft when his hands move from taunting my breast but I am delighted to find that he is removing his boxer briefs. He pulls them down his hips and I push them the rest of the way with my feet. He's kissing, licking, and sucking my neck as he strokes the head of his penis up and down my dripping wetness and I swear I'm about to become unraveled. Please stop teasing me, I can't take it, I think to myself.

"Oh…s'il te plaît bébé." I beg and he groans on to my neck.

"Tu me veux?" His baritone voice whispers in my ear. That's it, I'm coming. Too late, don't stop now. He continues to stroke me with his shaft as my clit throbs in ecstasy and I am coming completely undone. Before I finish pulsating from my orgasm, he slowly inserts himself into my walls, deeply, completely filling me.

"Aaahhhhh…." I arch my back to meet him and undulate my body beneath him, earning me another deep throaty moan from him as he grasps my hips.

"Oh…Ana…" He breathes and he starts a delicious, burning rhythm.

"Oh, Christian, tu sens si bon!" My back is arched and my eyes are closed. I feel the inferno coming again, and it's magnificent. He is reaching spots and touching things and bringing out sensations that I never knew existed. He's killing me! But fuck, what a way to go!

"Tu aimes ça, bébé?" He's still licking and kissing and sucking upper extremities while his hips work feverishly and expertly on my core.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes!" I exclaim holding on to the sheets, trying to maintain some grounding on planet Earth. He put his arms under my shoulders and brought his hands up until his fingers ran through my long brown locks and cupped my head. He's holding me firmly against him, cuddling my shoulders to his, grinding his pelvis into mine and sending jolts of unmitigated pleasure through me that I had not felt in years...if _ever_.

Did I mention _EVER_?

"Oh, God…Christian!" I felt my muscles tighten on his cock.

"Oh, Ana!" He moaned as he rocked his hips, pushing himself deeper inside of me. My wetness coats his massive penis as he fills every crevice of my sex. My legs wrapped around his waist, I am grinding feverishly into his cock, basically riding him from the bottom. He tries to slow, but I can't. He stills in an attempt to stop the rhythm but I am relentless—chasing this orgasm that is building in my hips and my thighs, even in my chest. I grab the sheets to anchor myself and continue to move—up and down on his cock, and then circles, getting the full feeling as his dick hits my sweet spot and the stimulation of my clitoris from the grind. "Ana…Ana…stop…" He pleads trying to avoid his impending orgasm. "Ah…..ah…ah…..ah….." I know it's coming, any second. I raise my hips higher, pounding into him hard, pull up and back as far as the bed will let me and pound again. "Fuck! Ana…no!" He growls. Too late. I tighten my legs around his hips as I shatter into a blinding, mind-numbing orgasm around his cock. "Aaaaaaaaahhhhh…..oh Goooooooooodddddd!" I scream as my legs jerk and I am unable to move. The wave rides through me with immense intensity. Christian is panting in my ear as his arms go around me and he cries out with his own release. "Ana, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" He jerks into me several times, grunting out his orgasm. He collapses with his full weight on me, his arms still wrapped around me. "Shit!" He breathes, "I didn't think I was going to hold out!" I'm still panting heavily in his ear and his weight is not making it much easier to get air.

"Christian…I…I can't…breathe…" He rolls off of me and we both lie there, heaving and panting and staring at the ceiling.

"Good…GOD!" He exclaims between breaths. "If you keep…making me…come like that…you'll be…the death of me!"

"_Me!?"_ I cry out. "In case you didn't notice, I have the incredible throbbing coochie here." He burst into laughter.

"Fair point well made, Ms. Steele." He laughs. "Does that mean we have to take it easy on each other?"

"Fuck no." I say flatly.

"Good. I was a little worried for a moment there…"

I still don't do big breakfasts, so Christian is going to have to deal with some scrambled eggs, bacon and toast since it's fast. He comes out of the bedroom after a shower in dark blue jeans and a t-shirt. Okay, where did these clothes come from because they are clearly not Al's?

"I had Taylor drop me some clothes," he said, reading my facial expression.

"When did this happen?" I ask, plating the food.

"This morning, while you were asleep." He sits at the breakfast bar.

"Oh…okay." I shrug. I pour two glasses of orange juice and take a stool next to him at the breakfast bar. For a while we eat in silence. I want to bring up that I noticed he conspicuously never took his T-shirt off—during sex, while we slept, never. Then I remembered the pictures of him as a child and the scars on his chest. Just as I am about to try to formulate some kind of questions, he asks, "So what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"Well, I don't know yet. I usually try to spend Saturday with my friends. We're all so busy that we don't get too much of any opportunity to get together throughout the week."

"Is there any chance that I could see you tonight?" I shrug again.

"Would you like to come out with me and my friends? I don't know what we're doing yet or who's even going to show up, but you're welcome to come." He gets a very uncomfortable look on his face.

"I don't do well with crowds." He says. I look at him skeptically.

"You're kidding, right?" Megalomaniac Christian Grey doesn't do well with crowds? Then I remember our experience in group sessions and all of a sudden, it's not so hard to believe.

"No, I'm not." He says, flatly. Don't tell me he's a recluse!

"But I've seen you at red carpet affairs…" I protest.

"Where?" He says, surprised. Oh, like I can't go to a red carpet affair? Smug asshole.

"You told 20 people to Google you, so I did!" I snap, affronted. I stand to take the dishes to the kitchen and he grabs my wrist and snatches me back into his arms making me gasp. He wraps his legs around mine and both of my hands are clasped in one of his behind my back. His other hand roams up the front of my body over my slip and under my robe. I close my eyes as his touch elicits a small moan from me. Good grief! This man is a machine!

"Christian…my pussy is going to break…" I protest. I can't take another round.

"I'm not trying to fuck you, Anastasia. I'm just trying to touch you." He says as his mouth closes over the delicate skin on my collarbone, my chest, my sternum, my breast…

"This kind of touching usually leads to other things." I breathe as I hold my head back, giving him access to my neck.

"It doesn't have to," He says seductively. "I may want to just remember your feel…your smell…and your taste…in case I don't see you tonight." Oh he's good. His hand goes under my robe and up my thigh until he firmly cups one of my butt cheeks.

"Christian!" I gasp, playfully. His hand releases my wrists and grabs my other cheek pulling me against him.

"You're intoxicating. Do you know that?" he says. I bite my lip. "Don't bite your lip, Anastasia. That's what started all of this in the first place." I release my lip. "I have a few things to do today. If you are free this evening—even after you've seen your friends—I would love to see you again." His voice is like caramel. If I weren't so loyal, I would ditch my fucking friends.

"I'll call you…okay?" I say, relishing the feeling of his hands stroking my backside.

"You do that." He answers and he stands and takes a handful of my hair. He pulls my head back and plants a smoldering kiss on my lips that leaves me breathless. While I'm standing there panting, he goes back to the bedroom to collect his things.

Shit! I won't be able to walk straight for days!

I'm just putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher when Christian comes out of my bedroom with his duffel bag and wearing his Kicks. Christian Grey in sneakers…it's kind of cute. Good God, he's hot. He puts one arm around me at the kitchen sink and pulls me against him. He kisses me gently on the lips…then again…then again. "Hopefully, I'll see you later." He whispers.

"We'll see," I breathe. One more gentle kiss and he is out the door. Oh, man! I'm in for the ride of my life. I may have fired Luc a little too soon—I need to build my stamina up again! I need a bath!

I start my bath and add my Desert Bambu Lemongrass Citrus bath soap to the water. I got some from the Wynn Resort in Vegas years ago and ever since, I can't live without their products. I watch the soap begin to bubble and smell the delicious fragrance fill the bathroom when I hear a knock at the door. Okay, could be Al. Or…Christian's coming back! I turn off the bathtub and run to the door, snatching it open with a content smile on my face.

Oh hell! Not again!

Standing before me is a very angry Edward David, and when I say very angry, I mean fucking livid! I cannot for the life of me understand why he hasn't caught on that the _only_ time he is able to actually get in touch with me is when I think he is someone else! You would think this dense, dumb asshole would go out and buy a fucking clue!

"Edward, what are you doing here?"

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asks flatly.

"Hadn't planned on it." I snap. He brushes past me anyway. What the hell?

"Edward, you need to leave." I say, still standing near the open door. He turned to face me.

"Mmmmm, I smell lemongrass. About to take a bath?" He says ignoring me.

"I said you need to leave." I am really getting angry…and he wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

"Are you sleeping with him?" He says calmly and I am truly taken aback.

"What!?" I ask aghast.

"Oh don't act all shocked and appalled by it, Ana!" He snaps. "All I want to know is why did you agree to have dinner with me when you were sleeping with someone else!?" He's angry but not as angry as I am. I cross my arms and look him dead in the eye.

"If I am shocked and appalled by anything, it's your audacity standing here in my living room asking me who the fuck I'm sleeping with when there aint shit between me and you!" I growl.

"I saw him leave your apartment this morning." He sneers accusingly.

"I don't care if you saw him and 50 other mother fuckers that look just _like_ him leave my apartment this morning. This is none of your damn business! And what are you doing, stalking me? Do I need to get a restraining order?" I shoot.

"That is not necessary and you know it, Ana. You know I'd never hurt you…" he begins softly.

"No, I don't know that. All I know is that the man who cheated on me and treated me like shit for years and is no longer dating me and no longer living with me has been watching my apartment for I don't know how long waiting for my male company to leave so that he can stand in my living room and confront me about who I might be fucking now!" I reply, nearly screaming.

"Ana, I…" he sounds defeated.

"I've tried to walk away quietly but you wouldn't let me. When that didn't work, I tried to ignore you and move on…let you live the life that you so desperately wanted to live, and you _still_ wouldn't let me. And when all else failed, I tried to let you down easy, and you still refuse to let me get on with my life!" I yell.

"Ana, I love you." He drops his head. "I can't live without you."

"Well, you probably should have thought about that when you _had_ me…when I loved _you_…when I couldn't live without _you_. Because now, I can! I _can_ live without you. I cried for months and months and even after I saw that woman in your arms, I prayed for you to come back. I wasn't going to call you, and I wasn't going to beg you anymore, but I still wanted you to come back, but you didn't. I was broken, I was beaten, I was emotionally battered; but I'm all whole and healed now, and there's no way in hell I'm going to let you in again so that you can run rampant through my heart and soul and tear up what I've rebuilt like a bull in a China shop! I will not be giving you any details of my life because it's none. Of your. _Business_! And since I can't move on peaceably, I will tell you that I want you to go away, and I want you to _stay_ away, or I will get a restraining order against you, David!" He looks at me in horror.

"Ana, please…" he begs.

"No!" I cut him off. "I don't want you! You hurt me! You misused me! You made me think I was completely crazy! You shattered me! You turned me into nothing!" I'm wailing now and I had no idea the tears had started. I am so pissed because I did _not_ want to give him this. I didn't want to give this bastard one more tear! But here is the cursing out this asshole so richly deserves. Unfortunately, it comes with the fucking adrenaline tears. "It took an eternity to get over you. It took forever to get past what you had done to me. It took watching everyone falling in love around me for me to see how broken and destroyed and cut off I really was. And now I'm over you, and I never want you back."

"Then why are you crying?" He asked.

"Because I'm pissed off and I want you the fuck out of my apartment!" I scream through my tears. I'm heaving and slobbering and a few moments later, I hear a welcome voice coming from the direction of the open door.

"You heard the lady," he said almost growling. I look quickly towards the door to see Christian walking into the apartment. I can take care of myself just fine but right now, I need to feel his warmth, his touch. I need _him_! I launch myself into his arms, bury my face in his neck, and trying to control this idiotic blubbering.

* * *

_**GREY**_

I'm whistling when I get into the SUV.

"Nice evening, I take it, Sir?" Taylor jabs. This is one of those moments where I remember that Taylor has been with me so long that sometimes, we consider ourselves friends.

"Escala, you asshole." I jab back. Everything seems right with the world…which scares me, because I know that is definitely not so. Anastasia and I have a lot of ground to cover, and I have no idea where to start. I am one fucked-up individual and I don't know how she's going to take that. I've had no other relationship besides what I have had with my subs, so this is completely new territory for me. But I decide that right now, at this moment, I'm going to be content with these thoughts that I have of Anastasia. I reach for my blackberry to check emails and start my short schedule for the day. Fuck! It's not in my pocket. It's in my jacket…hanging on Anastasia's dining chair. I never forget my blackberry. What the hell is this woman doing to me? I laugh aloud.

"Turn around, Taylor."

"Sir?" Taylor asks bemused.

"I left my blackberry. Turn around." I chuckle. Taylor's head jerks as he glares at me in the rearview mirror. He _knows_ this is out of character for me.

"Yes sir," he says with a little mirth in his voice. Watch it, Taylor!

When I step off the elevator, I can hear loud voices in the hall. Initially, I'm not concerned until I approach Ana's apartment and realize that the voices are coming from just inside her door. I step slowly to the door so as not to be noticed and listen for a moment.

"I've tried to walk away quietly but you wouldn't let me…" Ana's voice is dripping with pain, anger, and contempt. I feel a strange twang in my chest listening to her vehemently making her point to whomever is in the apartment with her. "I will not be giving you any details of my life because it's none. Of your. _Business_! And since I can't move on peaceably, I will tell you that I want you to go away, and I want you to _stay_ away, or I will get a restraining order against you, David!" Her voice is getting more and more strained as she speaks. David. The ex-boyfriend. I'm glad I'm not the only one that she calls by their last name when she's pissed. When I hear her mention a restraining order, the hair rises on the back of my next and I am trying not to charge in and grab this fucker by the throat. When I hear her scream that she wants him out of her apartment, I take my cue.

Showtime, Boys!

I make my presence known at the door. David sees me but Ana has her back to me. A fleeting look of horror comes across his face and that's enough for me. "You heard the lady." I say entering the apartment, trying very hard to control myself.

"This is a private conversation…" He sneers at me, but before he can get his words out, Ana is running across the room and jumps into my arms with so much force that I have to steady myself so that we don't fall. She's grasping onto my neck like a drowning animal and her feet are dangling from the floor. Good grief, I forgot how strong this woman is! I wrap her tightly in my arms. It's okay, Baby, I've got you.

"It's looks to me like the conversation is over now, Sport!" I say emphasizing the "t" in the last word and holding Ana protectively close to me.

"Ana, I'm sorry. I really didn't intend to upset you…" David starts to grovel to a weeping Ana.

"Get out!" She wails, clinging to me, her voice muffled. I don't need to say anything else. I move away from the door so that this vermin can find his way out. He scowls at me as he passes. Yeah, yeah, yeah, scowl all you want, but I've got your girl in my arms and you're leaving. I smirk at him as he angrily leaves the apartment. I kick the door closed behind him and lock it, then scoop Ana's legs over my arm. I take her over to the sofa and sit with her on my lap. She's usually so strong-willed and defiant. I've never seen her like this.

"Sssshh," I comfort, "It's okay." I rub her back trying to calm her down.

"He just…p-pisses…m-me off…so…much! Who…the…f-fuck…does he…th-think…he is!?" She is _pissed_!

"_There_ she is. You had me worried for a second there!" I say with a chuckle. She lifts her head off my shoulder and glares at me, still sniffing and shaking with sobs-tears-stained face, piercing blue eyes and all. "Hey, you've always given me what for, so when I saw you in this condition, I knew it had to be bad." I say in all seriousness. She drops her gaze and continues sniffling. I wipe her cheeks with my thumbs and cup her small face with my hands. I kiss her gently, again and again. Yes, I'm trying to calm her down, but her lips are so soft—it seems like it's more for me than for her. And I really don't like to see her cry.

What the hell is coming over me? I feel like I could kill this guy if he approaches her again! We both stiffen when we hear a knock at the door. We must've gotten the same idea when we heard the knock…David has returned.

"Mother fuck…" I start to move Ana from my lap and she stops me.

"No…no." She says softly, between sniffles." If we ignore him, he'll go away." She lays her head back down on my shoulder and slowly starts to control her breathing. The knocking is becoming more insistent and I am ready to rip this fucker's throat from his body. Ana sits up and pauses for a moment like she's expecting something.

"That's not Edward." She says calmly. Then who is it, knocking on her door like the damn police?

"Who…" I begin, but she puts her finger up to tell me to wait. We sit silently and a few seconds later I hear a key in the door. What the hell? She visibly relaxes.

"It's Al." She says calmly. Al? Oh, Forsythe.

"Jewel?" I hear a loud but effeminate voice yell through the apartment. "JEWEL!"

"In here." She beckons. This should be interesting.

"Was that the double-dicker I just…OH!" Forsythe stops short as soon as he clears the door and sees a robe-clad Ana still sitting on my lap. "I'm so sorry! I—" He pointed to the door. "I knocked."

"It's okay, Al."Ana says sweetly to her stammering friend as she rises from my lap and gives him a hug. "Al, this is Christian Grey. Christian, this is Allen Forsythe. He's my best friend. Get used to it." A little birdie must have told her about my possessive tendencies. I rise from the couch to take Forsythe's extended hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grey." Forsythe's voice takes on a few lower octaves. I laugh internally.

"Christian. The pleasure is mine, Mr. Forsythe."

"Al, please. Mr. Forsythe is my father." He answers. Ana eyes us suspiciously, her arms folded.

"What?" We say in unison. She shifts her weight on her feet and points at me accusingly.

"You already know who he is." She says to me matter-of-factly. I twist my face a bit like I'm trying to think.

"Um…yes." I confess. Al looks at me cautiously, and then at Ana.

"How does he…?" Al begins.

"I'll tell you later." She cut him off.

"'Jewel?'" I ask curiously.

"I'll tell you later." She shifts again. "Incidentally, why did you come back? Did you see Edward come into the building and decide that I needed a white knight?" She smiles coyly. Oh, that smile is so cute.

"I wish I could say that, but no." I walk over to her dining chair and pick up my suit coat. "I forgot my blackberry." I take the blackberry out of the pocket to show her. She laughs softly.

"Yes, you egomaniacal billionaires can't go anywhere without your blackberries." She drops her head and rubs her forehead. I walk over to her with my suit coat and shirt over my arm.

"Are you okay?" I ask cautiously.

"Yes, I just wonder how I manage to get myself into these situations," She says almost facetiously. I stand close to her.

"Are _we_ okay?" She looks up at me, beautiful, searching blue eyes.

"Yeah, we're fine." She says softly. I put my arm around her waist and snatch her to me. I give her a deep, yearning kiss that I know will leave her wanting more. I break my lips away from hers and brush them gently against her cheek to her neck.

"Hopefully, I'll see you later." I say softly, my voice full of promise.

"Hopefully," she breathes. She takes my dress shirt from my arm. "I'll be keeping this."

"Why?" I ask puzzled.

"Because I said so!" She raises an eyebrow at me then leans in gently and licks my bottom lip. "And because it smells like you." Oh, fuck! I have to get out of here before I take her in front of her best friend. I groan loudly, squeeze her ass, and let her go.

"I'm going to leave you two to it." I say as I walk past Forsythe.

"Goodbye, Christian." She says in a taunting sexy voice. I just shake my head and leave.

_"Mr. Grey._" Welch answers the phone as I get into the back seat of the Audi.

"Welch. Edward David—yes, that really is his full name. I want to know everything. When I say everything, I mean I want to know every. Single. Thing. About him. I want to know where he's from, what he does, and how many dust bunnies he has in his pocket right now! I want to know what brand of toothpaste he uses, I want to know his thoughts, his hopes, his dreams—I want to know if the asshole has nail fungus. I particularly want to know what he's been doing over the last ten years. Start with Anastasia's background check."

_"In other words, you're on a level five._" Welch indicates the highest level in our in-house security code.

"I'm on a level _eight_. I'd go higher, but I really want you to take this seriously."

_"Absolutely, Sir."_ I end the call. The car is not moving and Taylor is watching me carefully in the rearview mirror.

"Something you want to say, Taylor?" I snap.

"Not particularly, Sir. I'm waiting for instructions on this matter. I know you have some for me." And _this_ is why I hired him.

"Correspond with Welch on this fucker. I want to know where he is every second of every day. I want to know his schedule before even _he_ knows it. I want someone posted on him 25/8. I want to know where he goes, what he's doing, and who he talks to. I want to know when he's taking a shit, jerking off, or day-dreaming. If he goes anywhere near Anastasia Steele, take his ass down. I want to know if his car is even parked pointing in the direction of the general vicinity of somewhere she _may_ be visiting next week!"

"Are you sure that Ms. Steele will be okay with this?" Normally, I would cut into him for questioning me, but I know his intentions are good.

"She knows that she's been under surveillance and she has made it _very_ clear that she doesn't want anything to do with this asshole, but I saw it in his eyes—he's not giving up. I'm pretty certain that she will be filing a restraining order against him on Monday. So if he comes anywhere near her, get his ass away from her by any means necessary! Is there anything unclear about what I just said?" I ask.

"Nothing unclear at all, Sir." He's starts the car and drives off in the direction of Escala.

* * *

_**A/N: **_

_**Thank you, Aelly for helping me with my French translation.**_

_**Now Edward has made an enemy in Christian Grey and vice-versa. What will the future hold?**_

_**Please review!**_


	17. Chapter 17: I Can't Let Go

_**Just to clear up the confusion for those who may not know (I had a couple of people say something about it), "25/8" is one hour more than a day and one day more than a week. What it basically means is that you need to be on top of your shit MORE than 24/7—you need to be on top of your shit even when you are asleep! It's just a way of showing a sense of urgency/priority. **_

_**I love that I have created an antagonist in Edward David that everybody loves to hate…and you guys haven't even seen his ugliest side yet! (Rubbing my hands together in evil anticipation). My favorite new nickname for Edward from the most recent reviews: 31 flavors of dumb courtesy of GroovyExcel. **_

_**I appreciate all of your reviews you guys, you keep me motivated. **_

_**To My Frikkin Frakken Guest: You're welcome and thank you. ;-) **_

_**To My "Lemon Queen" Guest (you know who you are): the Lemon Queen—you are too kind! You have analyzed my Ana to a "T." Edward was not part of the mob that tortured Ana. I couldn't do that to her. He was her first love and she would probably go into a state of shock knowing that her first love was one of the people who tortured her. I need my Ana to be strong; she has a bumpy ride ahead of her—and that would have broken her down completely. I got big plans for Elena, too. **_

_**To Pinky223: Turn your PM's on, Hon! And I think the illusion here is that Christian never really **_**had**_** control. He's going to have **_**moments**_** of control, but keep an eye on the dynamic and you'll be able to see who really has control.**_

_**To Sophie (My newest reviewer): Welcome to the jungle, Babe! Thank you so much for your wonderful review. **_

_**To Twinings: The sassy bitch thanks you! (That was so cool!)**_

_**Still doing my shout outs to Beachycolor, Beth, Bird, Carol, ChoppingPeppers (I love that name), Jaimini (tell hubby that Bronzy says "you're welcome"), Leah (step away from the bottle…on second thought, don't!), My "Lonely Boy" Guest, SnS4eve, and to all of my other guest reviewers. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, you guys!**_

_**Sorry for the long author's note, but I like to acknowledge my reviewers, particularly if I can't respond to them on PM. ;-)**_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 17— I Can't Let Go

_**STEELE**_

"Jewel!" Al says in amazement after Christian closes the door. I cover my face, blushing.

"I know. I'm a slut!"

"Well, wouldn't have used that word, but what the hell, Jewel? How the hell did you go from turning him in to the court to fucking him? This I must know."

"It's a long story and I was just about to take a bath."

"Well, you do that, and I'm going to watch some television and raid your refrigerator. And when you come back, you can tell me how I saw one man leaving your apartment and then walked in and found you sitting on another man's lap!" Oh, what a screwy 24 hours this has been!

Luckily I hadn't filled the bath too far before the disaster that is Edward David interrupted me. I turned the hot water on full steam to heat the bath and picked out my underwear. My blackberry buzzed a text message. Must be Val looking for juicy details. Wrong.

_****If I had known an expensive bottle of wine was all it took to get you in the sack, I'd have tried it a long time ago.****_

This bipolar son-of-a-bitch. I minute ago, it was "Ana, I love you, I can't live without you, I didn't mean to hurt you." Now, he's fucking calling me a slut!  
_Wait a second, didn't you just call yourself…  
_Do I need to remind you about my imaginary friend?_  
_

It's amazing to me how easily men conveniently forget how they were the low-down, dirty, rotten cheaters breaking women's hearts when they discover that she doesn't want them back.

_****That's okay, Asshole. You tried it many times without me, so you already knew the answer to that one.****_

A few moments later:  
_****He's a handsome, rich billionaire. What would he want with damaged goods like you?****_

Oh, he's hitting below the belt, now. I know he only does this to lash out when he's incredibly hurt, but I really don't fucking care anymore. You want to swing low, you got it!  
_****He wants the same thing you do, Darling. The only difference is that he's getting it and you're not!****_

I turn off the water in the bathtub. I can shoot a few more at him if he wants to.  
_**** He'll use you up and throw you away like the sloppy seconds that you are.****_

You think so, huh? Well:  
_****Hmm. Sloppy seconds? It that why you were just standing in my living room sniffin' up my ass and begging like a sick puppy…hoping to get some of those sloppy seconds?****_

It's silent for a while and I think our exchange is over, until:  
_****You're a real fucking bitch, Anastasia. You're going to pay for this shit.****_

Okay, I've had enough of this.  
_****And thank you so much for that. I'll make sure that I let the judge see this when I file for my restraining order on Monday! I never EVER want to see your fucking face in my life EVER again! You are dead to me!****_

Still trying to get the last jab:  
_****You were dead to me when I fucked Charlotte in your bed.****_

Why doesn't that surprise me?  
_****No problem, Edward. I got rid of that contaminated thing right after I kicked you out. But Christian and I christened the new bed twice—as well as the dining room wall and chair. And there are plenty of other surfaces that we need to cover before we're through. And while I'm riding and sucking my billionaire lover's big billionaire dick, I won't be thinking of you at all! Goodbye, David.****_

I tap send and immediately set my phone to block all calls and texts from his number and to send him a generic text that his number has been blocked by the sender. I'll send out a mass message to all except Mr. David when I change my damn phone number on Monday, too. I'm going to take my bath.

"Ooo la la, mon cher, magnifique!" I have emerged from my bedroom in my Victoria's Secret pink maxi bra top dress that halters around the neck and has an empire waist and a cut out back—just enough to cover the brand. I am also wearing a pair of Sigerson Morrison nude Fabiana wedge shoes. These are one of my more expensive pairs of shoes, but I feel special today. I've always known that I was fairly attractive, but Christian makes me feel _pretty_—and today, I want to look the part.

"Merci, Monsieur," I say with a light curtsy before joining Al on the couch.

"Okay, Chick. Spill the beans." Al has gone into gossip mode. Hell, where do I start?

"I don't know where to start, Al…"

"How about starting with how the delicious ginger hottie ended up in your apartment!"Al says, oozing impatience. I sighed.

"Well, as you know Edward called me early in the week and I agreed to meet him for dinner last night." Al threw a very sour look at me. "As you can imagine, it didn't go well."

"I've been wanting to ask-why did you meet him at all, Jewel?" Al inquired.

"I was trying to close the book on us once and for all. To be honest, I felt like I didn't have any closure. He couldn't seem to take 'no' for an answer—the whole 'we never really said goodbye' thing. So I figured that if we sat down, had a meal, and talked like civilized human beings and I let him know under no uncertain terms that there was absolutely no chance for us that he would finally get it and go away."

"Yeah, and how'd that work out for ya?"

I shook my head. "I couldn't get past the hurt. Every time I opened my mouth, venom flew out. It wasn't cruel, but it wasn't pretty."

"Well, it served him right." I kind of nodded my head back and forth. "What is it, Jewel?"

"He was pouring his heart out to me, Al, and all I could feel was spite and contempt. I never knew that I could feel that way towards anyone but…" I closed my eyes and flexed my hands trying to find my words and shake the feelings that were bubbling up inside of me. "All of the apologies and the explanations—it was such _bullshit_; spoonful after spoonful of Edward David charming ass bullshit. Just when I thought I couldn't take another mouthful of this crap that he was feeding me, the owner of the restaurant comes to our table with a $1500 bottle of Cabernet." Al gasped and his mouth flew open.

"Oh my God, I am so jealous!" He squealed.

"Al, it was magnificent! Napa Valley 2004 I think he said. I tell you, angels must have crushed those grapes!" Al smirks his lips a bit.

"I guess the bastard does have taste." He said begrudgingly.

"Edward didn't buy the wine." Al frowns at first, then gapes at me as realization hits.

"Christian?" He said in disbelief. I nod.

"He was sitting a few tables away the whole time. Supposedly, he sent it as an apology for being such an asshole in the group sessions. I think he sent it as an apology for much more than that." I say the last part as an afterthought, but that didn't slip by good old Al."

"What else would he have to apologize for?"

"Oh, you have no idea…but try to focus; there's more." I clear my throat. "Ed was more than a little perturbed that another man sent over an expensive bottle of wine while he was pouring his heart out. What he just couldn't understand was that his mission was doomed for failure before he even made the reservations. So I drink a couple of glasses of the liquid orgasm, say goodbye to Edward as civilly as I can letting him know in no uncertain terms that he will never get another whiff of this, and then I ask the valet to give me my keys but call me a cab. Christian comes up behind me and tells the valet that he will see me and my car home safely."

"And _did_ he see you home safely?" Al smiles a huge Cheshire grin.

"Oh, boy, did he." I throw my head back on the sofa and kick up my leg. "Several times!" We both laugh like cackling hens.

"Did he take advantage of you, Jewel?" Al said a little more soberly than before.

"No, Al, he didn't. I was slightly impaired, but by the time anything happened we had come back here, had coffee, water, and dinner, and talked for a while. He didn't do anything without asking me repeatedly if it was okay. He was a real gentleman…in the sense that a gentleman can fuck you like you've never been fucked before and make you come so hard so many times that you can't speak properly."

"Oh, Jewel!" Al said, a little breathy, "Talk about getting your pipes cleaned!"

"Al, these pipes have been cleaned, snaked, dusted, flushed, oiled, and polished!" I say with a sensual smirk on my face.

"Well, good for you. But that doesn't explain why I saw the double-dicker leaving your apartment."

"Ugh!" I threw my hands up in the air, and went to the bedroom to retrieve my blackberry. "Edward knew Christian was here. I don't know if he happened to show up as Christian was leaving or if he sat outside all night, but just as Christian left, Edward showed up—and I tell you, it was brutal. By the time Edward left, I was screaming and crying, Christian had come back to get his cell phone…it was awful." I dropped my forehead into my hands. Al gently rubbed my arms.

"It's okay, Jewel. It's over now." He said comfortingly.

"No, it's not." I handed him my blackberry set at the eviscerating texts Edward and I were sending to each other and hour earlier.

"_Shit_." He said in awe. "This is really fucked."

"I know." I said. "It was okay for him to screw anybody he wanted, even while we were together, but the moment I find someone, it's Chernobyl!"

"Are you really going to get a restraining order against him?" Al asks.

"Don't you think I should?" I gesture to the blackberry. Al shrugs.

"Well, all you've got are some pretty harsh words so far…"

"I beg to differ. As far as I know, this man stayed outside in front of my home all night waiting for my male companion to leave at which time, he ambushed me. I don't know what would have happened if Christian hadn't come back. On top of that, he sends me a text telling me that I'm going to 'pay for this shit.' True, he has been blocked from my phone and I've even considered getting a new number, but what's to stop him from harassing me—from stopping me on the street and making me 'pay for this shit' as he so eloquently put it? Aren't I completely within my rights?" I'm almost squealing.

"Yes, Dear, you are. Just realize that once you do this, you're going to be declaring war." Oh hell, I don't want a war with Edward, but he's conveniently forgetting which one of us is the bad guy here. And anyway, if he starts feeling too froggy, I have a Glock with a full magazine and one in the chamber waiting to help him see reason.

"Sometimes, you have to do what you have to do, Al." I look at him solemnly. He squeezes my shoulder.

"Do you want me to get this rolling for you on Monday?"

"I would really appreciate that, thank you." I smile.

"Good. Now, how would Mr. Gorgeous know who I am?"

"Okay, so there are several long stories that I must tell you. We need sustenance and maybe a few more friends because this is going to be the story of a lifetime—of _my_ lifetime anyway...well, _one_ of them..."

"Heifer, are you really going to make me wait until the troops get here to tell me what's going on?"

"No, I'll tell you some of it, but I just don't want to have to repeat everything, so I'm not going to tell you all of it. I'll call Maxie and Val, you call Gary…see if their available and tell them we'll meet at Tat's. We haven't been there in while.

An hour and a half later, the entire original crew—including Phil—was all meeting up at a little deli in Pioneer Square called Tat's. It was just like an episode of "Friends." Now, all we told them was that there was something that needed to be discussed, but the moment we pushed three of those tables together, Maxie looked at me and announced, "You got laid." I gasped as my widened eyes darted from her to Val to Al and back to her.

"And you two knew," she pointed accusingly at Val and Al. They looked to each other and Al asked Val, "How did you know?"

"I called her last night and she answered the phone damn near mid-stroke." Val responded. Phil laughed.

"You never answer the phone mid-stroke!" He scolded.

"I wasn't mid-stroke!" I defended.

"How did _you_ know?" Val asked Al.

"I got there this morning just as the double-dicker was leaving." Al responded. Thanks, Al.

"Holy fuck! It was Edward!?" Gary gasped.

"NO!" Al, Val, and I all scream in unison. I turned to Al pointing my finger in his face.

"You need to qualify that answer! You made this mess now clean it up!" I almost yell.

"It was not the double-dicker, okay?" Al exclaims to a very angry group of people.

"Well, who was it, then?" Val asks impatiently.

"It was Christian Grey." I answer. Okay—everything after that happened very quickly…

**Maxie**—"Christian Grey!?"  
**Al**—"Yes, Christian Grey."  
**Gary**—"Billionaire Christian Grey?"  
**Me**—"One and the same."  
**Val**—"CEO Bachelor Christian Grey?"  
**Al**—"Yeah, _and_ he was the hottie from the club?"  
**Gary and Val together**—_"That was Christian Grey!?"  
_**Me**—"Yep, that was him."  
**Phil**—"I feel so left out."

We lunch on subs, hoagies, and corned beef sandwiches while I tell the crew the saga of the story of Christian Grey. Hell, they might as well know. I'm hoping they'll see him around a bit more.

"But how did he always seem to know where you were?" Maxie asks. "I mean I know you were a little nervous about the background check and now…" she trails off. Did she say_ a little nervous?_ I was terrified! But I know Maxie is trying to respect my wishes because our conversation last Thursday.

"Well, the night club and the gym I'm sure was just coincidence. Hell, I even saw him at the courthouse, but he didn't see me. At the risk of sounding creepy, it was like fate was pulling us together. Everywhere I looked, he was there…he was even there when I _wasn't_ looking. I think after the kiss, though, he was having me followed. That's the only way he could have known that I was at those restaurants."

"Doesn't that freak you out just a bit?" Val says.

"Yeah, a little bit, but not a lot. If they are following me, you can't tell they're around. They're covert operations like Green Berets or something, who knows."

"Well, I don't think I would want a man knowing my every move." Maxie protests.

"Hey!" Phil jabs her gently in the side.

"What is he going to do with the information? 'Gee, Ana went to the market today. I hope those mangoes are ripe!'" I tease.

After I tell them everything about Christian, then I tell them about the horrific events with Mr. David, starting with our disastrous date and ending with his unflattering exit from my apartment this morning and the nasty texts that followed.

"Well, hell, what did he expect?" Phil asked as we settled the bill for lunch.

"I don't _know_ what he expected," I begin as we leave the restaurant. "We broke up nearly four years ago because he wanted to sow his wild oats. I left him to do that. Go. Sow! When he had me, he didn't want me. But once I was gone, I became the 'Heart of the Ocean.' And once I move on to someone else—the only man that I've been with _since_ him, mind you—now I'm a bitch and a slut. If you can explain _that_ to me in a rational way, I'd really like to know, because I'm the one with the degree in human behavior and I got nothing!"

"Well," Maxie breaks in, "I've got the degree, too, and I can't help you either."

"Anybody?" I say, sarcastically.

"Sorry," Gary began. "I don't speak 'asshole.'" Thanks, Gary. We needed a little laugh.

"So...Phil and I need to go to the Marketplace. Anybody game to go?" Maxie asks.

"I'll go." I pipe in.

"Me too," Al is right behind me. Gary and Val shrug and we're all on our way to the Marketplace.

Al and I are picking out some fresh vegetables for a special dinner that he wants to make for James while Val is getting a little juicy gossip on this Jose character. It turns out that James was doing the same thing with Jose that I was _attempting_ to do with Ed, but that didn't go well for either of us.

Men!

I always bring my flower basket when I come to the Marketplace because they have the most beautiful rhododendrons. I always look for the fuchsia and violet hybrid because they are so rare. As I'm standing there picking my flowers, I am positive that I'm being watched. I scan the Marketplace for a familiar face, or even one of Christian's famous "Trees in Black." Nothing. Gary notices my head darting back and forth and comes over to me.

"Ana, what's wrong?" He asks, his words getting the attention of the others.

"Somebody's watching me." I say, still scanning the area.

"I thought you said Grey's guys were watching you, Hon." Maxie says.

"Somebody _else_ is watching me." I said, rubbing my thumb over my fingernails. I dig in my purse and pull out my blackberry and Christian's business card. I guess I should save his number in my phone, huh? I send him a text.

_****Am I still being watched?****_

"Who are you texting, Jewel?" Al asks.

"Christian." I say, impatiently waiting for a response.

_****How did you know?****_

_****Because I feel like someone is watching me.** **_

"What is he saying, Baby?"

"Nothing yet."

_****How long have you felt that way?****_

I respond:

_****About the last twenty minutes.** **_

After another pause:

_****Are you alone?****_

I respond:

_****No, I have five other people with me.****_

After a few moments, I hear my familiar ringtone, Michael Franks "Dr. Sax." I look at the phone—it's Christian.

"Hi" I answer timidly.

"_Where are you?"_ He asks

"What's going on, Christian?" Oh, I've got everybody's attention now.

"_If you just started feeling like somebody's watching you, and you trust your instincts, then someone else _is_ watching you because I've had the same guy watching you for days."_ I could hear him asking someone _"Who's on Ana?"_ Damn, I've got my own detail!?

"Shit, what's going on, Christian? Am I in danger?" I ask. I'm starting to freak out and Al comes over and puts his hands on my arms.

"_Not from me, you're not…"_ There's a pause. "_Where the fuck is David?"_ I hear him yell.

"You're asking me?" I squeal.

"Ana, what's going on?" Val demands. I hold my finger up for her to wait. David…Edward! I quickly scan the Marketplace and sure enough, about 40 feet away, there's Edward's smug ass standing there looking at me.

"I'll call you back, Baby." I say to Christian.

"_Ana, are you in the Marketplace?"_ Christian asks earnestly.

"Christian, I'm fine, and I'll call you back." I repeat.

"_Ana…?"_ He says my name in that sing-songy scolding manner. Sorry, Grey, but I've got this one under control.

"Christian, I promise, I will call you back." I say gently. After a pause,

"Right_ back, Ana!"_ He says with enough force to mean it, but not to order me.

"Right back." I end the call and glare directly at Edward. He comes sauntering over to me like he's still the man of my dreams. I taste bile in my throat and I'm afraid I'm going to vomit. It seems he's been triggering that reflex in me quite a bit lately.

"Well, you look good." He snarls, "Being a billionaire's bitch must agree with you." Gary is ready to lunge at him but Al holds him back.

"Don't do it, Gary," Al says, looking at Edward. "After Monday, he won't be able to come within 1000 feet of her."

"Yeah, hold your boyfriend back because it's not Monday yet, is it, Faggot?" Edward sneers. Al doesn't pay him any attention but that word cuts through me every time I hear him say it. I flinch a bit. "Does that bother you, Ana?" He goads. Two more days and I don't have to deal with this ever again. It's time to go. I turn leave and he grabs my arm. "Where are you off to so soon?" He barks.

What the…?

Before I know it, I drop my bag, my purse, my phone, my basket, and my flowers on the floor. I swing around with my free hand and grab his balls in the tightest vice-like grip my little hand can muster.

"Let. Me. Go." I say quietly through clenched teeth. Edward is now crouched down trying unsuccessfully to hold his legs together. He is holding on to my arm like the Jaws of Life and I think it's a reflex—but I have given him a command that he has not yet followed. So I adjust my fingers a bit and tighten the grip. "Let. Me. Go. Or my next move, I'm going to twist."

My friends are behind me stifling laughter (those that aren't standing there with their mouths hanging open). Needless to say, Edward lets me go.

"If you ever put your hands on me again, I'm going to rip these off, put them in a box, and mail them back to you UPS!" I growl. He stands there looking off into the distance, his mouth hanging open, in obvious pain. "Nod with me!" I bark, clenching my hand even harder on his balls and nodding. "You got it?" He nods obediently like a good little puppy. By now, we have a small crowd gathering. "Now listen carefully. I see you as a threat—a threat to my personal safety. You call me terrible names and you bully my friend in public. You show up at my apartment uninvited and then you proceed to threaten me for something _you_ did. And now, you're following me around Seattle. Do I have your attention, Mr. David?" I nod and he nods with me.

"Good boy. Now as you have heard, Monday I'll be getting a restraining order against you. You won't be able to contact me or come within 1000 feet of me. I will be changing my phone numbers and letting building security know that you are not welcome near me. That's two little days from now. I'll be counting them." I hold up my free hand. "See? One…" I show him my index finger. "And TWO!" I flip him the bird. "Until that time, you are going to stay the _fuck_ away from me, because if you don't, this…" I give his balls a tiny little twist a squeeze, eliciting a painful yowl from him, "Is the _nicest_ thing that I could do to you. Do I make myself clear? Nod!" He nodded feverishly. "Good! We understand each other now! We won't need to have this conversation again, will we? Shake your head…" I instruct like I'm talking to a five-year-old. Once he shakes his head like a good little Neanderthal, I let him go and he falls to the floor in a little ball, clutching his little twigs and berries. "Now go crawl back into whatever hole you crawled out of and leave me alone!" The faces in the area look at me in amazement.

"I need hand sanitizer…_now_!" As Maxie digs feverishly in her purse for my request, Mr. David is trying desperately to save some small bit of face.

"Bitch, you used to suck this dick!" He squeaked, using all the air he could muster and still holding on to his family jewels. I turned around to retort, but Phil beat me to it.

"Dude!" He says harshly, gaining the attention of even more spectators. He crouches down to Edward. "You are in the public Marketplace, on the ground, in the fetal position, squirming in pain, holding your nuts, talking two octaves higher, with tears in your eyes…" he pointed to me, "…and that little lady in the cute little pink dress and the high heels…_put_ you there! You can't even stand up and she didn't break a nail. Did you break a nail, Ann?" I dramatically look at my hands after I have thoroughly rubbed them with hand sanitizer.

"Nope, not even a chip." I respond.

"You hear that?" Phil continued. "You're wondering about the future of your bloodline and she doesn't even need to touch up her manicure! You're heaving and trying to catch your breath and she didn't even break a sweat. She had you noddin' and shakin' yo' head like a puppet…in public…with an audience! You need to just be quiet. You are on the ground and she is picking flowers. She is every bit of half your size. You have no dignity left, Dog. Shut the fuck up!" Phil stands shaking his head. Edward made some kind of sound like he wanted to retort. Phil turned back around and made the chopping sign across his throat.

"Eh. Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh. Shut the fuck up, Dude!" Phil reinforces. As Phil walks over and helps me pick up the items I had dropped, Al steps over to Edward and says, "Oh, and by the way, if I were you, I would ease up on the whole 'faggot' thing, because not only is it illegal and considered 'bullying' in the state of Washington, but I also now have a new big, beautiful, black boyfriend who would just _love_ to get his hands on you and beat you within an inch of your life. Have a nice day!"

When Al came back over to me, I quietly inform him, "You know that bullying law only applies to schools, right?"

"Yeah," he whispers, "but he don't know that." He winks and I laugh aloud. Once we have gathered all of my items and I pay for the flowers I accidentally ruined as well as a few whole ones, I see the infamous black suit start making his way towards me. "Oh, great!" I exclaim. "The tree approacheth! Where were you ten minutes ago?"

"I was over there, ma'am." I follow his point to a black SUV with a stunningly beautiful man leaning against it, his legs crossed at his ankles and his arms folded over his chest. He's still wearing his t-shirt, jeans, and Kicks, but now he's also sporting a pair of Ray Bans, copper tresses blowing in the wind all sexy and shit. He is so fucking hot. I could just…

"Why are you still standing here!?" Val breaks me out of my trance. I literally jump at the sound of her voice. I look over at Al.

"Don't look at me," Al says, "I was thinking the same thing." I smile and hand off the bags and flowers I am carrying and walk over to the waiting Adonis.

* * *

_**GREY**_

I don't know why I am trying to get any work done today. I am sitting in my study staring blankly at the screen thinking of Ana's thighs in my hands. We seem to fit together perfectly. She smells, feels, and tastes just as fine as I thought she would. And her moves…she does not disappoint in any way. I didn't get a chance to test her oral capabilities, but that's because I wanted to touch and taste that body in every way I possibly could last night, just in case the Fates are unkind and I don't get to touch her again. I plan to make sure that is not the case. However, I am concerned about how she will react to my playroom. I know I will probably never get her to be a sub, but right now, I just want her to agree to be with _me_.

What the fuck are you saying, Grey?

I know exactly what I'm saying. I _want_ this woman. I wanted her before, but now I've tasted her passion—she _has_ to be mine. I will do whatever it takes to make her mine. I can still smell her scent. When I walked back into her apartment and that asshole was standing there watching her cry, I could have broken his fucking neck. And when Ana jumped into my arms, it was like heaven opened up and gave me a gift that I knew a degenerate like me didn't deserve. I have seen her strong enough to make a grown man tap out, sexy enough to make an experienced sex machine see stars, and vulnerable enough to cry in my arms. She is Venus reincarnated. I will give her anything…_anything_…

My blackberry buzzes and it's a text from Ana. Missing me too, huh Baby?

_****Am I still being watched?****_

What the hell? So much for discreet surveillance. I type back:

_****How did you know?****_

She responds:

_****Because I feel like someone is watching me.** **_

She's _just now_ feeling like someone is watching her? We've been watching her for over a week!

_****How long have you felt that way?****_

****About the last twenty minutes.** **

Shit. Something is wrong. "Taylor!" I call before responding:

_****Are you alone?****_

"Yes Sir?" Taylor comes into the study. As I am about to start talking, Ana responds:

_****No, I have five other people with me.****_

Okay, at least she's not by herself. There's a little strength in numbers but this is not sitting well with me. "Just a second, Taylor." I dial Ana's number.

"_Hi_" Her sweet voice brings my anger down just a notch.

"Where are you?" I ask. I can't let any harm come to her. I'll die if any harm comes to her.

"_What's going on, Christian?"_ Her voice is forceful. She's afraid, I can hear it.

"If you just started feeling like somebody's watching you, and you trust your instincts, then someone else _is_ watching you because I've had the same guy watching you for days." I had to come clean with her so that she would know that this is a serious matter. "Who's on Ana?" I ask Taylor. Before he gets the chance to answer, Ana says, _"Shit, what's going on, Christian? Am I in danger?"_ Oh, she's really getting upset now. I rise out of my chair. I need to get to her.

"Not from me, you're not…" I assure her, and then it dawns on me. "Where the fuck is David?" I yell at Taylor. He is in his earpiece trying to locate Ana and David as well as the details that should be following them.

"_You're asking me?"_ She yells. I hear some commotion going on so I don't know if she's talking to me or to one of the members of her party.

"David is in Pike Place Market, Sir." Taylor informs me.

"_I'll call you back, Baby."_ Ana says sweetly over the phone. Did she just call me Baby? Fuck, I think I'm lightheaded. Focus, Grey! Shit! That's right, I'm on a mission here.

"Ana, are you in the Marketplace?" I ask.

"_Christian, I'm fine, and I'll call you back."_ She says. What do you mean you're fine!? She must've spotted the fucker.

"Ana…?" I say a little demanding. I don't want to leave her at the mercy of this asshole.

"_Christian, I promise, I will call you back."_ She says softly. I have to trust her. I hate surrendering, but I don't want to chase her away.

"_Right_ back, Ana!" I concede reluctantly.

"_Right back."_ She says before she ends the call. I'm squeezing my blackberry like I'm hoping it will give blackberry juice.

"Sir?" Taylor pulls me out of my trance.

"Somebody's getting fired." I say calmly. Taylor's jaw tensed.

"Sir, we didn't know they were in the same place." I clear my desk in one quick swipe of my arm, sending my blackberry with it.

"I gave you _two instructions _this morning. What did I say?"

"I don't think…" He began.

"What the fuck did I say?" I growl. Taylor immediately straightened his back and looked at me impassively.

"Correspond with Welch, you want to know where David was 25/8." He responds stoically.

"And…?" I bark, ready to chew through his neck if he says the wrong thing.

"If he goes anywhere near Anastasia Steele, take his ass down." I threw my hands up in the air.

"That's what I said! So does someone want to tell me why Anastasia is talking to that mother fucker right now? Because I know she is!" No answer from Taylor. "_Somebody's_ getting fired. I just need _you_ to tell me who!" I fish through the mess on the floor and pull out my blackberry. "Let's go!"

* * *

I'm standing outside of the SUV watching Ana in this beautiful flowing pink dress and I just want to run in there and take her on the orange stand, but I stand my ground because there is crowd of people gathered around her and Forsythe and I want to see what's going on before I go charging in there to _save the day_. Ana is rubbing her hands together and talking to another guy in the market and someone is on the ground at her feet. Fuck! It's David! I am having flashbacks of Ana sitting on Luc's back and three burly guys trying to coax her off. I see someone walking over to me in a black suit—one of the guys from the detail, no doubt. I don't know them all personally.

"Who are you?" I say without turning my gaze from Ana, who is now starting to gather her things from the ground.

"Davenport, Sir. I'm assigned to Ms. Steele." That's when I look at him.

"How did this happen?" I sneer.

"I was never informed to engage Ms. Steele in any way, Sir. I was only informed moments ago that there was a possible threat in Mr. David and, as you can see, he was no threat, Sir." Davenport responded.

"Did he touch her?" I ask, looking back at Ana. Davenport clears his throat.

"Once, Sir." My head snaps back to Davenport. "He grabbed her arm and she grabbed his…jewels."

"She what?" I snickered a bit.

"His jewels, Sir. She grabbed his jewels. I don't know what she was saying to him, but he was just nodding the whole time."

"She grabbed his jewels." I repeated, trying hard not to laugh. "Congratulations, Davenport. You get to keep your job. The next time you see that asshole near Ms. Steele, break his fucking neck. Any questions?"

"None, Sir." Davenport answered.

"Bring her to me."

"Sir?" Davenport looks at me puzzled. No, you asshole, I'm not telling you to throw her over your shoulder and drag her to me like a caveman.

"Go over to her and point to me." I almost want to slap him. As he walks to the Marketplace, I take this moment to snicker to myself that my delicate little butterfly was holding this man by his balls! I'm wearing sunglasses so I know she can't see my eyes—and I have to say that I am glad. The moment she looked over at me, I felt like I would melt into the concrete. We stand there staring at each other for a moment until her friend asks why Ana is still standing there. I don't know who she is, but I like her already.

Ana is walking across the street towards me, her dress billowing beautifully in the wind, making it appear as though she were floating like the goddess that she is. "Hi." She says softly.

"Hi." I respond just as softly. "You said you would call me right back."

"This is my first opportunity." She says, waving her blackberry at me.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't sit still knowing that he was down here with you…not after this morning." She smiles beautifully at me.

"It's okay." She says sweetly. "I'm glad you're here."

"Are you okay?" I ask, touching her cheek gently. She leans into my hand. Oh, God, what she does to me.

"Yes," she breathes. Okay, she's going to have to stop doing that.

"Can I kiss you?" I say softly, gently pulling her closer to me.

"Do you really have to ask?" She answers, her eyes already closed and her lips parted. I put my mouth on hers and taste the sweet nectar from her lips and her tongue. She moans gently into my mouth as she puts one hand over mine covering her cheek and the other in my hair. It is taking everything—and I mean _everything_—not to scoop her up and take her in the back seat of the SUV. I hear someone's throat clearing and try to decide which of my staff will be getting fired for this interruption.

I reluctantly break the kiss with my beautiful butterfly to discover that it's not my staff disturbing us at all, but one, two, three, four, five people have followed Ana out of the Marketplace—one of them is Forsythe. Ana is clearly attempting to catch her breath before turning around to face her friends. The girls (and Forsythe) are giggling profusely. Ana is able to gather herself before she turns around.

"Christian Grey, this is Garrett Pope, Maxine Saunders, Phillip Guest, Valarie Marshall, and you already know Al."

"How does he already know Al?" Val snaps.

"I told you, Darling," Al said with a smile, "I was there this morning."

"Well, I called last night!" Val said, trying to one up Al.

"Oh, that was you!" I exclaim. Ana turns a beautiful shade of crimson.

"Ugh!" She grunts before burying her face in my shoulder.

"Come on out, Baby." I coax her, gently lifting her chin. She raises her head to look at me. "There she is." I say, kissing her gently on the lips, and she blushes again like a schoolgirl. I think it's the most adorable thing I have ever seen. "So, have you decided the plan for this evening?" I ask.

"Well, it's like I told you, I normally spend Saturday night with my friends." She says, gesturing toward the mini-mob.

"Oh, no." Al says stepping forward. "You already know I'm cooking dinner for my Chocolateness. Maxie and Phil are always all over each other. Gary and Val both have new boo-thangs I'm sure they are itching to get back to." She looks at Pope.

"Texting now." He says looking at his phone. She looks at Marshall, who pauses a moment.

"Oh, don't worry about me," Marshall says. "I'll have my legs up in the air before you do."

"Oh, I highly doubt that." I said in a deliberately sexy voice that clearly made all three women pant a bit—sorry, Guest.

"So it looks like you're free for the evening, Hon," Al stated, "after we have one last drink so…she'll call you in an hour, Handsome?" Oh, that's cute…the little gay guy is flirting with me. He hasn't seen my _gay blush _yet. I am ashamed to say that my _gay blush_ will make his dick get hard.

"In an hour, then." I say to Ana, before kissing her again deeply, leaving her wanting more.

"I'll call you as soon as I'm free." She said, her head down looking up at me through her lashes. Concentrate, Grey. You don't want to have a woody as she's walking away. She and her friends walk towards the parking area and she holds my hand until the very last minute. I watch her walk away then I turn my attention to David, who has apparently recovered from his attack and has been watching us the entire time. I knock on the window of the SUV and Taylor gets out. "Where's _his_ guy?" I ask without breaking gaze with David.

"Right behind him, Sir." Taylor responded.

"Bring me David." Davenport and Taylor walk over to David. Although I can't hear what's being said, I can see that he is declining the…invitation. As he turns to leave, the third security detail closes the triangle. Taylor then says something else to David and he is walking in my direction.

"Have to get your goons to do your dirty work?" He snaps. That was a juvenile shot.

"That's exactly right, David. Why should I dirty my hands with trash?" I say calmly. His jaw tenses.

"No, you just choose to dirty your dick with it, I see." He snaps.

"Oh, I know your type. You like to fight with words. And you have a lot of below-the-belt lines that you throw that would intimidate and antagonize the average man, but here's the thing." I take off my sunglasses. "I'm not the average man. I don't play those 'my dick is bigger than your dick' games because I don't need to. I don't say anything to anybody that doesn't need to be said, because my time is too damn valuable for that shit. So the mere fact that you are standing in my presence right now means that I probably have something very important that I want to say to you."

"Why the fuck would I want to hear anything you have to say? You're just the punk that's fucking my sloppy seconds!" He shot.

"I can understand why you can't let her go," I say calmly, ignoring his last statement and watching Ana and her friends walk away, now far off in the distance. "She's breathtaking. She's exquisite in every way. She's intelligent, independent, strong, and beautiful—and she's vulnerable, compassionate, and sexy. Any man in his right mind would fight to have her and keep her. So what the fuck was wrong with you that you had this beautiful prize of a woman and you let her get away? Better yet, you chased her away, and now you can't accept that she doesn't want you anymore."

"Man, I can have any woman I want!" He's losing his composure. _I got you now._

"Except Ana." I reply calmly. His fists are clenching and I know he wants to explode.

"I've already _had_ Ana." He said, with a smug smile.

"Which is why you want her now." I reply, wiping that smug look right off his face. "You ran around with whatever hoes you could get your hands on when you had _that_ at home. And when you finally realized that _quantity_ doesn't equal _quality_, you came back for the prime cut that you threw away only to find that someone else was sleeping in your bed." I pause to give that last statement a chance to soak in. "You know as well as I do how passionate she is. The sound of her voice makes you want to do wicked things to her body. And she is so responsive. She is an absolutely incredible lover."

"She's got you sprung, Man. You're talking all this big shit, and she's got you sprung!" David starts to laugh a bit. I laugh a little with him.

"That might be true. But you were sprung, too—or at least you're sprung now. The difference between me and you—I'm still springing." And that smug look is gone again. "And I plan on springing for a long time—against the wall, in chairs, in the bed, on tables, on the floor, in the car, on boats, planes, and hot-air balloons—wherever she plans on springing, I'm going to spring. So you say I'm sprung? You're probably right, because I'm craving her body right now. But that's a craving _I_ can fulfill later. You know that feeling. You know how it feels to want a woman so bad that your dick aches; to feel her wrap around you and watch her almost come just from sucking her breasts; to fuck her so hard and so long that your whole body aches and you _still_ want to fuck her some more. Yeah, you know that feeling…that's why you're chasing her. Your loss is my gain, Limp Dick. You want her to come back to you, and when she doesn't, you want to humiliate her and make her feel like shit."

"She _is_ shit." He's trying to egg me on again. Not going to work, Little Man.

"Well, you apparently don't know her then. But guess what? You won't have to worry about her anymore. Because I'm going to make sure she forgets all about you. I'm going to make sure that you can't reach her for the rest of the weekend and I'm going to love every inch of her body. I'm going to sex her in ways that are illegal in 28 states. I'm going to work that body so well that you are going to be the _farthest_ thing from her mind. I'm going to make her call out my name so loud and so many times that you are going to be able to hear her anywhere in King county! And when I'm done, I'm going to take care of her. I'm going to _treat_ her like the _lady_ that she is, and _let_ her be the _woman_ that she is. So you can rest assured that from this day forward, you will be the very last thing she ever thinks about because after today, you won't be able to get to her physically; and after Monday, you won't be able to get to her at all."

"I can get to her wherever she is. I don't know who the fuck you think you're talking to. She will always love me—I was her _first_. You'll never be able to get rid of me. I'm gonna always be on her mind no matter what you do. She's going to always be thinking about me!" This guy is really delusional. I don't know if he just can't let her go or he really thinks Ana wants him. Whichever it is, it's time to end this conversation.

"You think so, huh? Well, I must be mistaken. Your name must be Christian, too, because that's whose name she was calling all night. And I vaguely remember her yelling at you to get the fuck out of her apartment while she was in _my_ arms. And I wasn't the one just laying on the ground because she tried to rip my balls off. I was the one with my tongue down her throat five minutes ago. All that aside…" I stood up off the SUV and got right in Mr. David's face. That's when I realized I had to look down at him…he's shorter than I thought. "She will be getting a restraining order against you on Monday. So we won't have to worry about this anymore anyway. Now will we?"

"A restraining order don't mean shit to me, Man." He snapped. Now that doesn't make me happy, because that means this bastard is going to keep coming no matter what. I sigh heavily.

"That's too bad, Mr. David, because that means I have to resort to other measures. So let's try this." I square my shoulders and stand so close that my breath is hitting his eyeballs. Here comes the voice that makes grown men quake.

"Stay the fuck away from Anastasia. I have eyes everywhere—that's how I knew where you were today. If you call her, try to contact her, try to have someone else contact her, breathe in her direction, think about her, drive down a street in her neighborhood—Your. Ass. Is. Mine! I will fuck you up so bad, you won't be able to remember your damn name. And while you're considering that, consider this. I'm a very powerful man with unlimited resources, an active imagination, a very bad attitude, and a large security staff made up of ex-CIA, FBI, Special Forces, Navy Seals, and Green Berets. I _really_ don't think you want to get on my bad side!"

"Mr. Grey," he says, feigning sarcasm but his voice is shaking a bit, "Are you threatening me?" He can't be trying to intimidate me. He just can't be…! I lean down to him—he's only an inch or so shorter than me—I look from left, to right, and then back at him.

"I'm going to say this in a language you can recognize." I look him in his eyes, and I nod several times. He is really pissed now, but there's not a whole lot he can do or say. I put my sunglasses back on and get back into the Audi. "Oh yeah," I say before closing the door. "I watched Ana beat the shit of a 6th dan black belt Krav Maga martial arts master last week. It took three men to get her to release him. She could've killed him. So you better watch your step because she can probably fuck you up before I even get a chance to get my hands on you. And if she has a restraining order against you, anything she does to you is self defense. So you should probably take heed to that little piece of paper that 'don't mean shit to you.'" I close the door and Taylor drives off.

"Who is the guy on David?" I ask Taylor.

"Harris, Sir." Taylor responds.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't fire him." I snap.

"Let me talk to him, Sir. Find out what happened."

"You do that. I plan on spending all of this evening and as much of tomorrow as possible with Ana. By this time tomorrow, I want to know what the hell happened that Ana had to defend herself against that asshole. I'll make my decision about Harris' future then!"

"Yes Sir."

"I'm curious, Taylor." I ask as we approach Escala.

"Sir?"

"You were having a conversation with David before he came over to me. What was that all about?" Taylor cleared his throat.

"He declined the invitation to talk to you, Sir."

"I gathered that much, Taylor. What happened after he declined?" I closed the door to the SUV and we are walking to the elevator. Taylor pushed the button to call the elevator.

"I made him an offer her couldn't refuse." I laugh at _The Godfather_ reference.

"And that was…?" I press.

"I told him that he could walk or be carried. The choice was his." I'm laughing heartily as the elevator doors close.

* * *

_**A/N: **_

_**It is very important that you realize just how large Pike Place Market or the "Marketplace" really is. There are two main streets and five or seven side streets or smaller in the area that is considered "the Marketplace." Keep in mind that Christian got a HINT that Ana might be in danger because Edward was in the same place that she was. Within minutes, he had not only located her, but he was standing there looking at her-in the huge ass Marketplace. Keep in mind that he doesn't have any tracking devices on her yet. So as you can see he is already very protective of her. Pictures of Pike Place (as well as a map to the market) can be found on my pinterest page at pinterest dot com /ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Please review!**_


	18. Chapter 18: Secrets

_**In chapter 17, I named the detail that was tracking Edward "Kendall." I read another story where "Kendall" is one of the main characters. So to avoid confusion, I changed Edward's detail's name to "Harris." So when you see "Harris," that's who it refers to. **_

_**To Anon: It's normally very hard to forget your first. However, it's a whole lot easier to put him behind you when he turns out to be a lying, cheating, psychopathic, delusional asshole. ;-) **_

_**Shout out to Anailuj (I listened to "Lonely Boy"), Beachycolor, Bird (got in there in the last minute, lol), Carol, Christian618, Jaimini, my "short hair" guest (I love long chapters, too), Sophie (active as a nuns, huh?), and all of my other wonderful guests that I can't PM but took the time to review. I thank you very much!**_

_**Special shout out the thepumpkinqueen712 for having me cracking the fuck up in PM's.**_

_**There's a new story that you guys should check out. It's called Another Shade of Grey by Killashandra Falta. It's a FSOG/Crossfire crossover where Christian has a sister between him and Elliot who is just as powerful as he is and has to come to his rescue when Ana leaves after he beat her with the belt. I feel like the story is not getting enough publicity and so far, I like it a LOT. So go check it out. **_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 18—Secrets

_**STEELE**_

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Al says ceremoniously at my dining table holding a glass of cabernet, "We are here to bid a not-so-fond farewell to Ms. Anastasia Steele's self-imposed vow of celibacy!" I hide my face in my hands.

"I love you guys, but you are so full of shit!" I whine.

"Oh girl, please," Val says, "Edward really fucked you up for a while. I thought we'd never see an end to your four-year drought!" She clinks glasses with Al.

"That boyfriend of yours is really hot." Maxie adds. I note a glare from Phil. "I just said he's hot, I didn't say I wanted to jump his bones!" Maxie rolls her eyes.

"Yes, he is." I say, rather breathily, "but I wouldn't call him my boyfriend just yet."

"And why not?" Al asked. I sigh. Here comes the third degree.

"He says that he doesn't have girlfriends."

The room falls totally silent.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Gary exclaims.

"I'm not entirely sure, but I do plan to ask him. I guess before now he's never had a permanent, long-tern relationship. I asked what that meant for us, but we agreed to just see where this goes since neither one of us is trying to get to the altar or anything," I inform them.

"So…what? You're just…screwing?" Val asks.

"No," I say coyly, "we're _fucking_!" I exclaim shamelessly, and the table breaks out in laughter. "Insanely hot, juicy, delectable, incredible fucking, I say!"

"Well the way he's clawing at you, I'd say you guy are doing more than just fucking," Phil says. I don't dare believe that. I feel an amazing connection when he touches me. The electricity is insane, but it could just be the sexual energy.

"I don't know. I don't want to get my hopes up."

"Are you starting to feel something for him, Ana?" Val asks, cautiously. So do I be honest or resort back to the _Academy_?

"Maybe a little, yes," I begin, "but…I live in the real world, okay? I am not Cinderella and this is not the Prince's Ball. If being with Edward has taught me anything, it's that everything that glitters is _not_ gold. So if it goes anywhere, fine; and if it doesn't, that's okay, too. But if you don't mind, I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts, okay?" I go to the kitchen to refill my wine glass. Al looks knowingly at me. "He'll probably come over _here_ again, Al."

"I didn't say anything, Jewel. I know you're a smart girl."

"Okay, enough raggin' on my girl, now," Maxie said. "She's had a rough time of it and I for one am very happy to know that she is finally getting laid!"

"Here, here!" Gary raises his glass and the others join in.

"But I will say this, Hon." Maxie leaned on the breakfast bar. "You texted that man, and within three minutes he called you. Within ten minutes, he was at your location. I'd say that's more than just a fuck." She raises her eyebrows. "And speaking of fuck, Phil, let's go!"

"Right behind you, Babe!" Phil jumped out of his seat like a leprechaun. They said their goodbyes to us and went off to seek their passions.

"That's my cue, too. Bethany wants to try that new Mexican restaurant everybody's talking about but can't pronounce." He kisses me on the cheek. "Love ya, Babes."

"Me, too" Val says, "remember, I'm in a race to get my legs up in the air before you." We giggle and I close the door behind them. I turn to Al.

"It's just us now, Jewel." He walks over to me. "I haven't been around him enough yet, but I can tell that there is definitely something there." I sigh heavily.

"I haven't felt this way in such a long time." I wipe my hands over my face. "I don't know if it's the sexual attraction or infatuation…I mean we all know that I was _really_ into Edward. But with Christian, it's different. It's like we connect on some cosmic level—even when I hated the guy. I couldn't explain his magnetism...his pull. It's like I was _drawn_ to him. He was horrible; he was an asshole; he got on my last nerve...but I was still drawn to him. I thought it was just the physical attraction. I mean, let's face it, he's HOT. It was…just…" I'm battling for my words, "out of nowhere I would just start thinking about him. One minute I'd want to strangle him and the next minute I would…just want to be near him." I plopped down on the sofa. "And now I'm having all these warm and tingly feelings that I used to have when Edward and I were happy. I hear myself telling you to go for it with both guns and then tell myself 'Whoa, pump ya brakes there, Girlie!' How can I be such a fucking hypocrite?"

"My, how the tables have turned." Al sits next to me and puts his arm around me. "Why don't you call Mr. Tastee and see what the plans are so that I can take you to him if I need to?"

"I don't want to put you out, Al. I'm okay to drive."

"I don't mind, Babe. You've had a couple of glasses of wine and I would rather be safe than sorry." He squeezes my arm. "I can't lose my Jewel." He smiles. I kiss him on the cheek.

"I love you, Al." I say with a smile.

"I love you, more." He hugs me again. "Now go call Diamond Dick!"

"Al!" I swat him on the arm with a pillow. I walk over to my purse and pull out my phone.

"_Hi."_ He answers on the first ring. I have to stop myself from breaking into giggles.

"Hi."

"_I take it you're free now."_ Oh God, he is so sexy.

"I am." I say trying to control my anticipation.

"_Would you like to come to my place? Have you had dinner yet?" _He asks

"I would love to come to your place and no, I haven't eaten yet."

"_I know you were going to have drinks with your friends. Are you okay to drive?"_

"Well, we had drinks at my apartment so I am safe and sound, but I'm okay to get to your place."

"NO, SHE'S NOT!" Al calls from behind me. I throw him a dirty look.

"Al has offered to drop me wherever I need to go." I snap, mainly at Al.

"_We have kept Al from his companion long enough. I'll send Davenport to pick you up."_

"You mean you'll tell him to come from up the street and meet me at the door, right?" I ask knowingly. Christian laughs.

"_Pretty much."_ He concedes.

"Al and I will go downstairs and wait for Davenport."

"_And I will be here waiting for you."_ Fuck! Why did my knees just go weak?

"Okay," I squeak. "See you in a few." I end the call and take a deep breath. "Even his voice does things to me." Al comes around the sofa.

"I've got news for you, Cinderella. I would bet my inheritance that you've just found your Prince Charming."

"You don't have an inheritance, Al." I go to my bedroom and throw a few things into my overnight case, then I pick up my purse and my keys and we walk to the elevator after I lock up my apartment. The elevator ride was quiet as I contemplate my current situation. When we get to the ground floor, I see Davenport just outside the doors, double-parked and waiting outside of a black Audi S8 for me. Does this man buy anything besides Audis? Before we walk out of the door, I turn to Al.

"I haven't known this man five minutes. I'm not going to give him my heart that quickly." He kisses me on the cheek.

"I hate to tell you this, Jewel, but it may not be up to you." He winks at me and walks me out to Davenport before going to the parking garage to get his car.

* * *

_**GREY**_

My little Butterfly has told me that she hasn't had anything for dinner. Although I suck at cooking, my housekeeper Mrs. Jones always leaves me prepared for just such an emergency. Taylor and Mrs. Jones have been seeing each other since very shortly after they both came into my employ. I have dismissed Taylor for the evening so that they can spend some time together. To make sure that something is ready for Ana when she arrives, I place some mustard-dill tortellini salad skewers on a platter along with some melon, mozzarella, and prosciutto skewers since those are served cold. Knowing how she likes light finger foods, I put the Thai Chicken Satay in the oven to heat, and I heat the gourmet crab cakes in the microwave and serve them with bruschetta. Just as I am plating the last of the food, my little pink princess comes cascading through the great room. "It's good to see you, Ms. Steele." I greet as she makes her way to my kitchen.

"It's good to see you, too, Mr. Grey." She replies in a husky, sultry voice. I immediately have to adjust myself before I wrap her in my arms. She feels so good here…right where she belongs. I pull her back just enough to plant soft, sensual kisses on her lips. When I pull away, her eyes are still closed and she is lost in the moment. I brush my lips against hers gently to bring her back. "Come and eat, Baby." I whisper against her mouth.

"Okay." She whimpers compliantly. She has no idea how much this is turning me on. I walk her over to the breakfast bar. Let Operation Forget David begin. I pour us both a glass of Bollinger and proceed to feed her and myself various items from each platter. Each time my fingers touch her mouth, I can't help but imagine those soft lips wrapped around a different body part. It doesn't help much that she moans appreciatively at each morsel.

"I didn't know you could cook." She smiles.

"I can't," I confess. "My housekeeper, Mrs. Jones, does all of the cooking. These are things that she prepared in advance for the weekend." I can tell she feels a little uncomfortable.

"Do you normally have company for the weekend?" She asks tentatively.

"Yes, I do." I answer honestly. She drops her eyes. I lift her chin so that I can look at her. "But I haven't for a while." She looks at me briefly then drops her head again. I gently stroke her cheek and allow my hands to go into her hair. "You are so beautiful." She looks up at me, almost incredulously. "Talk to me." I say softly. She sighs heavily.

"I'm being silly, Christian. Please don't pay this any attention." She says.

"Please. I want to know what you're thinking," She folds her arms around herself.

"Before you, I haven't been with anybody else but Edward…and even that was nearly four years ago." Does she still love him? Does she want to go back to him? Was he right about being in her heart forever?

"Okay," I prompt her to continue.

"I don't know what to do…how to feel…" She's struggling with her words. I've never seen her do that before. Dr. Steele has _always _known exactly what she wanted to say in _my_ presence.

"Are you trying to tell me that you don't want this?" I ask. Please don't let that be true.

_"No!_" she exclaims. "That's not it at all!" Whew! Thank fuck for that. "I'm just…out of my element. I don't know what to do." She sighs heavily. She's looking everywhere but at me. I take her hands in mine.

"He really did a number on you, didn't he?" I ask. She sighed heavily again.

"You have no idea." She replied, her voice thick with tears.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I can't talk about this right now. I won't talk about this here. I won't taint this place with thoughts of that bastard. But what do I do next? How do I proceed? This strange, out-of-the-world beautiful man is still before me and I don't know what to do. I'm the doctor...and I don't know what to do. I have to tell him…

"I'm afraid." There, I said it. He gapes at me.

"Afraid of what?" He asks.

"Of getting hurt again," I choke. "I'd rather walk away than get hurt again." And there it is—all wrapped up in an ugly little package. The reason why I refused to get back into the dating scene for nearly four years. The reason why cabernet and television became my weekend companions instead of some handsome young man somewhere like the one sitting in front of me now. The reason why I sit here feeling a myriad of emotions for this man who has been nothing but tender, caring and passionate to me for the last 24 hours, terrified to tell him that I think I may be falling for him. It was just sex. It was only one night! How could this be happening? This _can't_ be happening. I'm a rational human being! But I can't explain why my heart speeds up when I see him, or when I _think_ I'm going to see him. How I can't remember anything before last night. I remember the days well enough, but not the nights. I only remember Christian. And it's not just the sex. I mean, granted, the sex was…wow! But when I saw him in the Marketplace, when he came back to my apartment while Edward was there, when I walked in here tonight—all I wanted was to be in his arms…

To feel his warmth and his heartbeat.  
To have him hold me.  
To feel him kiss me.  
Just to be near him.

And it scares me to death.

I am brought back to the here and now when Christian reaches over to wipe the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. I didn't even know that I was crying. Fuck, the weepy bitch is back. No room for her in this party! Get it together, Steele! I do my best to wrangle my emotions before I hear him say something that could cause me to turn to mush all back over again:

"I will never let anyone hurt you again."

What!? Am I hearing things? "Huh?" I say in utter disbelief. He stands up and comes closer to me. He puts his hands on either side of my face, looks me in the eye and says,

"I. Will never. Let anyone. Hurt. You. Again."

* * *

_**GREY**_

She's falling for me. I feel it. I know it. She all but _said_ it...and she's terrified. Shit, I'm terrified too. But we can be terrified together. We can muddle our way through this. But she has to know that I will protect her, that I will never let harm come to her—physically or emotionally. She has to know…

"I will never let anyone hurt you again."

"Huh?" She's like a deer in headlights. She has to hear me. She _has_ to hear what I am saying!

"I. Will never. Let anyone. Hurt. You. Again."

"W…wh…h…" Her face is marked with confusion. "What…what do you mean? What are you saying, Christian?"

"I'm saying that I want you, Anastasia." She has to know. She _must_ know what I'm feeling. The moment I discovered she was in the Marketplace at the same time as David, something…_grabbed_ me. Something pulled me like the clutches of humanity and wouldn't let me go. I felt like I was losing her, like that fucker would whisk her away and I'd never see her again, like this whole thing would be a wonderful dream that would torture me at night like the nightmares that have haunted me for years. My running to her side today was mostly for her protection, but mainly for my peace. I had to be near her. I had to feel her presence. I feel like some cruel twist of fate is going to come and snatch her away from me any second, and I can't let that happen. "From the moment I saw you, I wanted you, Anastasia. The moment you walked into that room at the community center, I was floored. I know I had a funny way of showing it…but I wanted you to be mine even then."

"But…the girlfriend thing…"

"I want you, Anastasia." I said, clasping her hands gently. "I want you to be mine."

* * *

_**STEELE**_

What does he mean he'll never let anyone hurt me again? Is he talking about what happened to me in high school? Is he talking about Cody…or Edward? What is he saying?

"W…wh…h…" I can barely get the words out. "What…what do you mean? What are you saying, Christian?"

"I'm saying that I want you, Anastasia." He said it without missing a beat, but his expression is tortured, like he's fighting some inner demons that I'm afraid will come out and gobble me up. We don't even _know_ each other...but I can't deny what I feel. I feel the need to be near this man. And now, he wants me? He wants me how? I need more… "From the moment I saw you, I wanted you, Anastasia. The moment you walked into that room at the community center, I was floored. I know I had a funny way of showing it…" No shit! I thought you fucking _hated_ me! "…but I wanted you to be mine even then."

"But…the girlfriend thing…" I sputter. How can he say that he wants me when he's never even had a girlfriend?

"I want you, Anastasia." He says, taking my hands in his. "I want you to be mine."

I feel the breath leave my body all at once. Mine. His. Holy. Cow. Batman. I'm actually feeling a little light-headed. Stop with the girly bullshit, Steele! Pay attention! This is a pivotal moment!

_You fuck this up and I'm leaving!  
_Ooooo! That's tempting all by itself…  
_You need me, Heifer! You know you do!  
_Shut the hell up! I need to think.  
_What is there to think about? Deliciously, gorgeous, hunky billionaire just said he wants you. Have you_ _been sniffing glue or something?  
_Oh, Bosco? (I call to my imaginary friend.)  
_Okay, okay, I'm shutting up!_

I sigh heavily. I don't know what to think. I want this so badly. I've wanted it for…I don't know how long. Since I first saw him? Since the wet dream? Since the kiss? I don't know! Before I know it he is crushing me is his arms.

"Please, Ana." Oh. My. God. He feels so good. "Please. Just give me a chance…" This is one of those deciding moments in life that can change the entire outcome of your future. He is holding me so close that I can't think. His hands on my back feel marvelous. His breath on my skin—outstanding. And he smells divine. But do I follow my heart (and my body) and jump, or do I do the sensible thing? Follow my mind and wait…or do I tell them both to fuck off and just _run_? If I open myself to him and he hurts me, I'm going to be crushed! And this is moving so damn fast!

_You said no more running.  
_I was talking about something else, and you know it.  
_Were you?  
_Bos…  
_Just hear me out! You've been fantasizing about this man for weeks. You've been feeling a pull to him_ _for_ _longer than just the one night you spent in bed with him. Yeah, you better find out some more about_ _him_ _before we both end up face down on the concrete! But don't turn your back on our first chance at_ _happiness since the double-dicker fiasco.  
_Oh great! Now you're calling him that too!  
_Hey, if the shoe fits…_

Oh, shit! This is going to hurt…I just know it is. I close my eyes and melt into Christian's body.

* * *

_**GREY**_

I can see a thousand thoughts running simultaneously across her face. Please, don't run. I pull her close to me. "Please, Ana." She has to feel what I'm feeling. I bury my nose in her hair. I feel comfort from her scent. She has to be mine. She has to… "Please. Just give me a chance." I hold her there for what feels like hours, rubbing her back and relishing the feeling of her in my arms. After a while, I feel her body relax, but I don't know if its defeat, comfort, or resignation. I prepare myself for the worst when she takes a deep breath and whispers,

"Okay."

Did she say _okay_? Was I hearing things?

"You will?" I ask incredulously, pulling her back so that I can see her face.

"Yes," she says timidly. Oh thank whoever up there is listening! I place my lips gently on hers and try to relay my gratitude-for lack of a better word. Somebody somewhere thinks I just _may_ have a right to try to be happy...and one of those people is right here in my arms.

"You won't regret it, Baby." I say when I pull away from the kiss.

"Well, we'll see...but I have conditions." She says. Oh shit, conditions. It doesn't matter. Right now, I'll do anything she asks.

"Okay." I say taking my seat again. "What are your conditions?"

"This covert surveillance…it's making me feel like a rat in a cage." I run my fingers through my hair.

"I have them there for your protection, Ana. David is becoming unstable."

"But that's not why they were there in the first place." She retorts. "You wanted to see what I was doing and where I was going, and you eventually used that information to get next to me…which in the end is kind of cute…but it doesn't dismiss the fact that you were being dishonest with me, Christian. I can't have that." She says sternly.

"You can't have the dishonesty or you can't have the surveillance?" I ask cautiously. She rolls her eyes. My hands tighten on hers a bit.

"What?" she asks, obviously noticing the change in my grip.

"Nothing. We'll discuss it later. Right now, I'm more concerned about your issues. Dishonesty, I know you won't tolerate, but the surveillance…"

"I can take care of myself." She says.

"Oh, I'm fully aware of that." She rolls her eyes again, and now I have to tell her. "Anastasia, don't roll your eyes at me." Her head pops back like a peacock.

"Excuse me?" Her pupils are a bit piercing.

"It's rude...and it has a similar effect as when you bite your lip…only quite different." I say running my hand through my hair.

"What do you mean?" She insists.

"We'll talk about it later." She snatches her hands from mine.

"Okay, perfect timing! That's the second time in as many minutes that you've said 'we'll talk about it later,' so we need to talk about it _now_. My next condition, I don't need skeletons coming out of random closets and knocking me upside my head, so you need to come clean with me." Oh shit, this is not how I planned this evening.

"You will run away screaming if I come clean with you." I say, defeated.

"I guarantee you that I will run away if you _don't_." She stands. "I have huge trust issues," Join the club! "You have to give me the good, the bad, and the ugly coming right out of the gate because I can't deal with shit falling on my head. If I know what's coming, what to expect, what history there is, I can be prepared. If I don't know what's coming, if I'm surprised, if shit pops up at me like a Jack-in-the-box, not only am I not prepared, but also, I'm _pissed_!"

"What about your secrets, Ana?" I say defensively. "Will you be as open with your skeletons?"

Her mouth flies open. "You've got my background check!" She snaps.

"You have mine, too!" I retort. She folds her arms.

"Well, let's see." Oh hell, she's in that stance. She's ready to do battle. "Besides the crazy teenage mob from Green Valley and the lying, cheating psycho ex-boyfriend which are both in my background check I'm sure, there's the cruel stepfather and the selfish bitch of a mother and, um-er-uh, I think we've covered it, Partner! Any questions?" She's glaring at me now causing me to sink back a bit in my stool. "So tell me, Mr. Grey, what doesn't your background check tell me?" She snaps. I run my hands through my hair and stand up from the stool. I take her hand and lead her through the great room, up the stairs, and to the place I once felt was my salvation and now feel will be my doom. If I tell her now, I could lose her; but if she finds out later, I'll _definitely_ lose her.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Ball's in your court, Grey. I realize that I have conveniently left out the cause of the angry Green Valley mob, but he has to give me something first. The scars on his chest, the way he reacted when I rolled my eyes, the constant surveillance…give me _something_ here, Grey. He stands from his stool and drops his head almost like a chastised toddler. He grabs my hand and starts to lead me upstairs. I hope he doesn't think we are about to fuck right in the middle of this very important conversation. We stop at a locked door at the top of the stairs. He unlocks the door and takes a deep breath.

"Before you see this, can I ask that you please keep an open mind? Don't judge me immediately on the first thing you see or feel. Okay?" His eyes are pleading as he looks at me. Okay, this is going to be disturbing. I pull out Dr. Anastasia Steele, PsyD. and put on my game face.

"Okay." I say. He opens the door and stands to the side. "The light switch is right next to the door." I walk into the room like a woman walking the "Green Mile." When I hit the switch, ambient lighting cascades off a room with deep red walls and dark wood furniture, most of which appear baroque in style. To my left is a beautiful four-poster bed. A cross with leather shackles on all four corners and a strange padded bench adorn the wall directly across from me. A deep brownish red Chesterfield sofa sits almost in the middle of the room. Many thoughts run through my mind as I take in the various instruments of torture that my eyes fall upon in this room—whips, canes, belts, floggers, cats and crops; and the restraint devices—metal cuffs, leather cuffs, chains hanging from carabiners on the ceiling. There's a museum chest or chest of drawers or tall boy to my immediate right with several drawers. I can only imagine what kinds of objects are housed in there. I stay calm but there's a battle going on inside of me.

_Run, Forrest, run!  
_Oh, no, but you said this was a chance of a lifetime.  
_I was wrong! He's a fucking psycho! Run, dammit!  
_I listened to you the first time, now I'm listening to me. Shut the hell up!  
_You don't have to tell me twice—I'm not sticking around for this shit, Exit, stage left!_

Now that I've gotten rid of that annoying bitch, the doctor in me takes in my surroundings very carefully. There are many, many reasons why someone partakes in this type of lifestyle. I want to know his. After several minutes of silence, I ask, "Dungeon?" He looks surprised for a moment, then answers, "Playroom."

"Are you the Dom or the sub?"

* * *

_**GREY**_

She hasn't run away screaming yet. That's a good sign…I think. The first time I have her in my apartment and I'm not fucking her or making her scream my name; I'm showing her my damn playroom and she's not even part of the lifestyle. What the fuck am I doing? What the hell is she doing to me?

She walks around the room looking at nearly every single item for quite some time, saying nothing. Her face isn't giving anything away. No horror, no fear, no delight, nothing. Her voice almost startled me when she asked, "Dungeon?"

God, no! Most people outside of the lifestyle immediately see a torture chamber when they see these things. That's why I was afraid to bring her in here in the first place. Here we go…

"Playroom." I reply. She nods.

"Are you the Dom or the sub?" She asks without making eye contact with me. Shit! She _is_ familiar with the lifestyle.

"I'm the Dom." She nods again.

"I can totally see you being that guy." She says stoically. I don't know if I like the sound of that… "That's why you reacted that way to my eye-rolling, right?"

"Yes." I say, coolly.

"Why do you do it?" She asks.

"I need control." I answer. It runs so much deeper than that, but I don't know how much she can take in one night.

"Why do you need _this_ kind of control?" She knows the right questions to ask, but I'm having a hard time trying to think of the right answers. "Don't sugarcoat it, Christian. Why do you need this type of control?"

She is so damn defiant. I am not used to women being defiant to me, especially in _this_ room.

"I needed to regain the control that was taken away from me as a child. When I became an adult, I needed to _retain_ that control. That's all I can give you right now." This is fucking hard to talk about. She's going to have to accept that for now.

"Fair enough…for now, but we will revisit that issue," She says. Shit, she sounds like Flynn. Fucking shrinks. How did I manage to fall for a fucking shrink? "When did you start?" She continues her interrogation.

"When I was 15." Her head jerked over to me. She's looking at me now. Shit! I should have had her sign an NDA. But what message would that have sent_? I want you to be mine. I want to protect you. By the way, would you please sign this non-disclosure agreement so that I can show you my torture chamber_?

"You were 15?" She said, incredulously. "How did _that_ happen?"

"I was the sub, then." I added. Her mouth fell open.

"Someone introduced you to BDSM at the age of 15 and you were the sub?" I nod. "Who in their right mind _does_ that? You were a child. I don't understand! This is a lifestyle for _consenting adults._ You were a child! Isn't that _abuse_? Doesn't that go against everything on which the lifestyle is based? Bondage and discipline, yes, but wanton abuse of a _child_?"

"I consented." I protest softly, lacking the conviction I once had when defending Elena's actions back then.

"You were _15_. You were a _child_. You couldn't _consent_ to anything!" She's getting upset.

"I was a teenager." I respond.

"You were a _minor_! And how old was…_she_?"

"Yes, it was a 'she.' She was old enough to be arrested if I had said anything." I walk further into the room. She backs away from me…but not in fear, it seems-more in disbelief. She turns away and looks around the room some more.

"She took advantage of you!" She snaps.

"I know." Ana's head did that little pop it does when she is utterly surprised. Had this been _any day _prior to yesterday, I would have argued her down about Elena and the nature of our relationship. I would have used every seemingly logical point of reference in my arsenal to show her that my _dear friend Mrs. Lincoln_ was doing everything to save me-to pull me back from the pits of hell. But the truth is that she pulled me from one purgatory and placed me into another, with no hope of purification.

"How did this _relationship_—for lack of a better word—begin? I mean, I'm 26 and I can't even begin to contemplate how I would approach a 15-year-old child." Her voice has softened. She shudders a bit and I can see that she contemplated the thought for a moment and it gave her a chill.

"I was 15, she was an older woman. I was horny, she was hot. I wanted to fuck, she wanted to fuck me. Not the prettiest story, but it's the truth." I say.

"So basically, she was a pedophile?" She asked. She figured out in a few minutes what I refused to see for 14 damn years.

"Yes. That's correct." I answer solemnly. I need to be near her now. I don't want to hash this shit out at this moment. I want to feel my Butterfly.

"Why did you continue? I know the sexual push can be powerful, but I don't know a child alive that would _willingly_ be bound and beaten." She wraps her arms around herself. I can see a bit of reminiscence in her eyes...and not in a good way.

"She used it as a tool." I began. "First it was light bondage and sex games, but she didn't fail to tell me that punishments would follow if I misbehaved."

"Misbehaved?" She asked. "Like rolling your eyes?" She added sarcastically

"Well, yes, but I wouldn't dare roll my eyes at her." I responded.

"Then what?"

"Drinking. Fighting in school. Bad grades..."

"Things your parents should have handled!" She retorted.

"My parents couldn't handle me. I was out of control!" I responded. She sighed heavily. "By the time I warranted a real punishment-more than little slaps and pain games that actually turned me on-I wanted it too badly. I was _way_ in and sometimes, I craved it. It was the only thing that seemed normal in my life at the time."

"And now?" She asks cautiously.

"I don't know, yet. I don't know where it fits. My life has sort of been turned upside down here." I confess. I see the slight beginning of a smile, but then it disappears.

"What was your first really punishment?" Oh, God. I knew this was coming.

"I had been fighting in school-I can't even remember why-but my mom told her..."

"Your _mom_!?" she says in utter disbelief.

"They were friends and my mom didn't know what was going on...still doesn't." I can only describe this look on her face as utter disgust. She is _horrified_. "Anyway, I came to her house that day-I had been doing yardwork for her as a cover for our..._relationship_...and she invited me in as usual. She took me to her playroom, chained me to the wall and gave me ten lashes with the whip." Ana's hand flew up to her mouth. "Some activities of punishment are for pain; some pain is for pleasure; that pain definitely was _not_...and I _never_ forgot it."

"I can imagine." She squeaks, just above a whisper. I walk a little closer to her.

"I behaved in school after that. Never gave my parents any problems in that area-even though I was still a hard kid to deal with... even harder to get close to." I'm going to have to get her out of this room. Standing here with her is making me think of all kinds of indecent things that I want to do to her. "I made sure to _rarely_ be punished, because the pleasure in the play was exquisite. She tested my limits, taught me control of my body. Yes, I was too young to be exposed to those things, but overall, I learned the necessary techniques-through pain and pleasure-to bring the body torturous ecstasy." I am itching to get my hands on her. I can't take much more of this conversation. Her breathing hitches...she can't take much more of it either.

"What made you change roles?" She continued, turning away from me. I take this opportunity to close the gap between us, walking over to her and standing right behind her without touching her.

"I saw the control it gave her over me." She gasped at my breath on her neck. I see goose bumps. Is she getting turned on? In here…? Oh, joy! "I wanted to experience that control."

"So how did you learn?" She asks softly.

"She taught me." I am outlining her body the way I did at the club that first night while I watched her dance-not touching her, but feeling her energy, and not doubt transmitting my own.

"So she subbed for you?" she said trying to control her breathing. She _is_ getting turned-and it's driving me wild!

"Yes." I respond, still mere breaths away from her.

"Do you expect me to sub for you?" She asked softly. I pause.

"Only if you want to." I answer. Her body is calling me, and my body wants to answer, but I have to control it. I won't touch her in this room unless I'm completely sure that's what she wants.

"Well, I won't be doing that…or that…or that…that looks like it could be fun though…but not that…" I didn't bother paying attention to what she was pointing to, because when and if the time came, I would ask before I did anything. I gently brush my lips over her bare shoulders. I can't take being this close to her and not touching her. She gasps at my touch and scurries over to the sofa sitting in the middle of the room. She slowly sits on the sofa looking at me with lustful eyes.

"Anastasia," I say trying to control my breathing. "This room…I can't be in here…with you…"

"Why not?" she says, parting her legs slightly so that her dress drapes between them. FUCK! My dick is doing a Merengue in my boxer briefs.

"Because," I say walking over to her, my erection nearly bursting out of my pants, "This room makes me want to do unspeakable things to your body."

"Unspeakable?" She squeaks as I kneel on the floor in front of her and she leans back on the sofa. I gently bite her nipple through her dress. "Ah!"

"Un_speak_able." I say as I reach under her dress and stroke her calves, slowly raising her dress as my hands travel up her legs to her thighs, her hips, exposing her pretty pink Victoria's Secret panties. Oh, how cute they are…but they're in my way. I rip the pretty little lace things off her, revealing my prize underneath.

"Why do I even bother wearing panties when I'm going to see you?" She pants.

"Good question," I ask as I pull her hips to me.

"Christian…wait…we have to talk some more." She says between heavy breaths.

"Oh, we will," I say as I bury my nose in her core. She smells divine. "But right now…" I spread her thighs and throw them over my shoulders. I allow my tongue the taste of heaven it's been craving since she floated into the great room. I explore every crevice of her sweet flower, tasting the juices that escape from her and then massaging her clit with relentless precision.

"Christian! Oh God!" she cries as she clutches my hair. she is grinding into me face and I am loving every second of it. I look up at her and I delight in her flavor and savor her juices. She's watching me feast on her most sensitive parts and the pleasure in her face is intoxicating-her eyes hooded and her mouth open, releasing gasps of pleasure with every stroke of my expert tongue. I suckle her clit gently resulting in a loud hiss of delectation. I feel her starting to throb against my lips, a small shiver in her thighs, and that slight sheen of sweat that comes with her arousal.

I pin her hips down to eliminate her gyrations, and moments later, she explodes in my mouth. "Christian!" She screams! "Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" I look up to see her in the throes of her orgasm, head thrown back, breathing heavily—she looks glorious! I wring every bit of pleasure out of her as she begs me to stop her torment. She was _so_ ready for me. I wonder if that was a result of seeing the playroom?

"Ah…Christian…please…stop…" She is writhing under my tongue and grabbing at my hands clasped onto her thighs. I know that her clit is tender and continued manipulation could become uncomfortable, so I stop my rhythm and blow gently, cooling the sensation to her nub. "Ah….aaahhh…." her breathing is slowing now. "Oh, Christian…" She purrs in satisfaction as her body relaxes onto the sofa. I kiss and nip the tender flesh inside her thighs. "Christian, please…" I know her body is all sensation. She arches her back trying to control her reaction.

"Stop doing that or I'm going to eat you again." I growl in her core.

"Ah…stop doing _that_!" She squeals as she attempts to scurry away from me. I move her legs from off my shoulders and lift her under her arms landing her on my erection waiting to burst out of my pants.

"Ugh!" I groan as she lands on my dick. Fuck, this is killing me! She looks at me with sensual eyes and bends down to kiss me, mixing the taste of her hot mouth with that of her sweet pussy. Holding my face in hers, she grinds gently on my cock. I'm going to come in my pants if she doesn't stop. "Shit! Stop."

"What?" she whispers as she wiggles provocatively on my restrained erection. "Fuck! Ana, please!" I stand and lift her with me. I have to fuck her now, but not here. I carry her out of the playroom and back downstairs to my bedroom. I've never allowed a woman in here, but since this is going to be a different kind of relationship, there's a first for everything. I lay my beautiful Butterfly on the bed and lean over her, gently kissing her neck, shoulders and chest just above her dress. Somehow, she manages to roll me on my back.

"Whoa!" I exclaim as I look up and see her chestnut waves cascading down into my face. She kisses me deeply. She is so full of passion—it's irresistible! Her lips move to my chin, my jaw, down my neck. When I feel her pulling my t-shirt out of my pants, I freeze. Her hands are on my bare stomach and I start to panic. "Ana, no…don't." I barely recognize my own voice. She stops and looks at me. Her expression changes drastically. I see…concern.

"What's wrong?" She says, softly.

"Please…don't touch my chest." I can't let her touch me there. No one has touched me there. Please don't make me explain now. Just don't touch it. She looked at me for a few more moments, then removed her hands from under my shirt. She reached down to my hand and said, "Okay."

_Okay_? No questions? No problems? No issues? Just _okay_? I let out a huge sigh. Thank God for that! The last thing I wanted was for Ana to feel rejected, and telling her not to touch me could have done just that. Instead, my little vixen brings my hand up to her lips and gently kisses each finger. Fuck! Now how does _that_ make me hornier? I lick my lips, the flavor of her juices are still lingering there. She takes my hand and slowly rubs it down her chest to her perfect breast, framed exquisitely in this pink dress.

"You can touch _my_ chest, though." She whispers as she pushes her breast into my hand.

"Christ, Ana!" I growl as I sit up and take both her breasts in my hands and her mouth with mine. David must be losing his fucking mind knowing that she's giving this to me. This woman is insanely hot and sensual, and you never would have known that she had this prowess hiding inside her just by looking at her! I feel her unbuttoning my fly. She puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back down on the bed, careful not to touch my chest. She's so compassionate and understanding as well as sultry and sexy. She shimmies down my body past my erection, rubbing it through my jeans.

"Ah!" God, she feels so good. She starts to peel my jeans and underwear down at the same time. I frantically kick of my sneakers so that she doesn't have to stop and take them off. She giggles at me a little and she pulls off my jeans, boxer briefs, and socks all at once and discards them on the floor. My erection is standing proudly at full mast, and I can tell by the hungry look in her eyes what's coming next. I guess I'll be getting a "taste" of her oral skills after all.

"I never said 'I'm sorry,'" she says as she begins to crawl up the bed, parting my legs.

"What?" I ask, almost in a daze, those gorgeous sapphire eyes looking up at me through those long lashes as she stalks me like a sexy ass panther.

"I never said 'I'm sorry,'" she said, softly, "for the horrible things I said to you on Monday." Carlisle's words choose this time to come back to me. _Tell the kid I said hello when she gives you that apology._ She settles between my legs and gently starts to stroke my cock. Holy shit!

"Ron says 'Hello.'" I spit, unable to control my thoughts.

"What?" She asks confused, with a little mirth in her voice.

"Ron told me to tell you 'hello' when you gave me that apology!" I spit again. Shit, her hand is so soft.

"Oh," she nods, "Okay." She runs her tongue skillfully over the head of my penis. I'm flexing my hands to try to control myself. "Tell him I said 'Hi,'" she said right before sucking just the head between her beautiful soft lips.

"Aahhaah! Yeah! Sure! Okay!" Whose voice was that?

She is teasing my dick with expert precision—sucking the head forcefully and then dropping down on the shaft, taking the head in her throat. Fuck! And shit, does she know how to read a man's body! Just as I feel like I'm about to come the first time, she stops her assault but wraps her lips around the sides of the shaft to keep slight stimulation going. I see a small amount of cum shoot from my dick, but then the feeling subsides.

"Shit, Ana!" I proclaim as she tortures me, grabbing the sheets so that I don't grab her head and distract her. She doesn't say anything besides the occasional hum to add vibration to her assault. "Ah…oh, fuck!" I feel my legs shake a second time and she lightens her assault again, this time gently licking just the head again and applying pressure to the base to fend off my pending explosion. Holy mother of God, this woman is going to kill me…

* * *

_**STEELE**_

As I feel him coming down from his second near-orgasm, I gently take his cock in my hand and stroke, with just enough pressure to keep the blood on the surface of the skin. I love doing this to him. I love the way his body responds. I can feel the change in his temperature and flex in his thighs. He wants to lose himself, but he's not ready to surrender that control to me…not just yet. I can wait, Mr. Grey. I've been waiting this long, I can wait a little longer.

As I continue to stroke him, I take his balls in my mouth one at a time, feasting on them like the delicacy that they are and adding an occasional hum of delight. Oh Christian, you taste _so_ good. I tighten my grip on the head as I continue to assault his balls. I can tell that he doesn't know what to do with his hands. I want to touch his chest so badly, to pinch his nipples and add to the sensation I know that he's feeling, but I remember the scars in the photos and I am assuming that he can't take that touch just yet. Maybe one day, Christian…but right now, I'll work with what I have.

When his balls start to stiffen, I know that he is moments away from ejaculation again, so I slow my assault. "Ana…oh, God!" I can hear the frustration in his voice. I take him in my mouth again, as far as I can then release. He moans loudly. I repeat the move, sucking deeply, then release. He's breathing heavily, like he can't get any air. His head thrusts back on the bed so that he's basically balancing on the top of it, holding on to the sheets for dear life. I take him in one last time, and release as I feel his body shaking ever so slightly. His jaw is tensing and he almost looks like he's in pain. I stop for a moment and allow him to catch his breath as I gently tongue his head. His breathing is erratic.

"Breathe, Baby." I coax, gently, only softly licking his rock hard member.

"Oh, God, Ana…" he chokes, "you're going to kill me!"

"Breathe for me," I coax, still stroking him softly. "In through the nose, out through the mouth…" He's mimicking my action of breathing while gently thrusting his hips against my hand. "Oh, Ana…" he says, relaxing his grip on the sheets. "I want you…now!" He sits up, leaning on his elbows.

"Ah, ah, ah," I scold, waving my index finger at him, "I'm not done apologizing yet."

"Fuck! I accept! I accept!" He says, licking his bottom lip as I tighten my grip just slightly.

"Lay down, Baby." I say, softly.

"Oh, Shit!" He says as he falls back on the bed. "Ana, please…!" And there it is. Surrender.

"Are you ready to come now?" I ask, softly.

"Huh?" He says, almost in surprise as he lifts his head to look at me. I reach down and push his feet up so that they are flat on the bed and his knees are bent. I push his legs open. "Oh, God!" He exclaims.

"I said. Are you ready. To come now?" He has this look in his eyes like he wants to say something, but all he says is, "Yes, Baby." I position myself on my knees for the final showdown.

"Grab my hair." His looked at me wide-eyed.

"Ana, no," he gasped. "I can't be responsib…I might hurt you!"

"I can take it." I say as I take his hands in mine and kiss his palms. Looking him in his eyes, I put his hands on my shoulders and dragged them and into my hair. Using my hands on his, I push myself down onto his awaiting erection. He gasped heavily. "Oh, fuck, Ana!" He cried. I let go of his hands and let him hold on while I rode his dick, fucking him deeply and wetly with my mouth.

"Ana…oh…Ana…!" His cries are almost pained as he tries to keep from thrusting himself into my mouth. Still won't surrender, huh? Okay. I take him deeply again and suck hard, not pulling my head back—just sucking on his member while my tongue caresses the head and shaft.

"Fuck! Oh, fuck!" He gasps, now thrusting his hips off the bed. There we go…almost there. As he thrusts into my mouth, I can see he's still afraid to grab my hair. So I grab his ass, since I have easy access to it. While he's thrusting into my mouth, his ass is never touching the bed.

"Shit! Shit! Ana…oh, fuck…" he's panting again. Come on, Grey. I squeeze his butt cheeks as he is stroking into my mouth. Fuck me, Grey. Come on, you can do it. And in my last ditch effort, I curl my fingers and dig my finely manicured nails into his cheeks.

"Oh, fuuuuck!" He cries, and his hands tighten in my hair. There it is! I've got you now…complete surrender! He is clawing and pulling on my hair almost to the point of pain and thrusting ferociously into my mouth. He tried to hold off his orgasm as long as he could, but I know that it won't be long now.

"Ah…ah…ah….ah….ah…" He is grunting shamelessly with every stroke, still balancing himself on his feet and his back because his ass hasn't touched the bed—and I'm fucking him right back, my mouth clamped tightly on his dick and his head hitting the back of my throat. I feel him pulsing in my mouth and I give him a long moan of appreciation.

"Oh, Ana, Baby!" He exclaims and he starts to explode in my mouth. His hands are grasping desperately at my hair and his hips hang in mid-air as he thrusts violently into my mouth. When he tries to still, I pull back and continue the thrusts with my head, milking every drop from him…and it's a LOT.

"Ana! God! Oh, God! Annnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" It sounds like he's weeping, but the continual stream down my throat says different. "Hah…hah…hah…Ana….please…aaaaaahhh." Are we done yet? Yes? No? Let's check. I run my tongue around the head and taste just a little more cum there. One more good strong suck…

"Aaaaaahhhhh…Ana! Ana, please…." He is now panting heavily. Well, I don't want to kill him so I guess I better stop. I release my lips gently and he drops his hips. I sit up and his hands drop from my hair. I sit on my feet and deeply rub his thighs and his hips, massaging away the stiffness there. His legs are shaking profusely and even though he has deliciously beautiful thigh muscles, I know he got a serious workout with his pelvis suspended in air. I didn't know a man's back could arch that way.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Fucking hell! She could suck a tennis ball through a water hose! My fucking legs won't stop shaking and my dick has been sucked into submission. Shit, I almost called her _Mistress_ when she asked if I was ready to come!

You're a fucking Dom, Man. Save some of your dignity!

Fuck dignity! That shit was good! She turned me into a little bitch and she knows it! I'm lying here trying to catch my breath and hoping to God she doesn't go anywhere near my dick right now. She rubbing my thighs, which is good because I feel like I just ran a damn marathon—and I am flexing the fuck out of my hand so I know she lost some hair!

Where the fuck did this woman come from? And where the hell has she been hiding all _my_ life?

"Ana…?" I'm still panting. "Baby…are you…okay?" She crawls up the bed to me and kisses me gently. I taste our juices mix in our mouths. So fucking hot!

"I'm fine, Christian." Oh, yes, you are!

"I mean…your hair." I'm still struggling just a bit with my breath. She smiles at me and lifts her beautiful mane over her head and bends down so that it cascades over my face. She gently sways her head from side to side so that her chestnut locks caress me. I breathe deeply to capture her exquisite scent.

"You tell me," she purrs. "Is my hair okay?"

"Oh, Ana," I say as I stroke her thighs and bare ass under her dress. "You are enchanting." I grasp her tightly around her waist and she gasps at the force. She moves her hair out of our faces.

"Christian." She whispers before I plant a deep, searing kiss on her lips.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**"Run, Forrest, run." -Robin Wright, Forrest Gump**_

_**"Green Mile"-I know must of you have seen the movie, but the Green Mile represents the long walk to the electric chair.**_

_**"Exit, stage left"-I know this is probably in a lot of places, but mine comes from **__Snagglepuss-_a Hanna-Barbera cartoon character

_**The Audi S8 and some of Christian's Playroom furniture can be seen at pinterest dot com /ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_


	19. Chapter 19: Understandings

_**When your characters inadvertently change roles, that's how you know you wrote that scene extremely well. Christian the submissive, you say? Well, read on. He's about to make a discovery that will absolutely change the course of his life. **_

_**To Morgan5909: Thanks for your review! I'm glad to have you reading my little story! ;-) I would put the Pinterest URL up here. Unfortunately, Fanfiction will delete the URL if I put it on here. So where you see the link, take out all spaces and put a you see the word "dot" and that should get you to the page. If not, PM me and we'll see what we can do. Kate will make an appearance or two, but note—I do not like Kate so she may not be in a pretty light (I haven't decided yet), and of course she won't be Ana's best friend. **_

_**Shout out to Anailuj (I loved your review—thank you!), Bird, Carol, ChoppingPeppers (I haven't decided if we're going to see Ana as a Domme yet; that's something to think about), Christian618, Jaimini, Maryszhita & Mzzchica (thank you both for joining me; glad to have you!), OMG (you hate blow jobs?) **_

_**To my Guest reviewers, you can type a name in at the top before you submit your review. Please try to do so if you like. I would love to give you mention so that you know how much I enjoy and appreciate your reviews!**_

_****__**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 19 - Understandings

_**GREY**_

My beautiful Butterfly has gone to get us some refreshments which allows for me to go to the bathroom and put some cool water on my flaccid, tingling, slightly tender dick. Come on, Buddy. You can't be out just yet. I've got plans for that gorgeous body that's in the kitchen right now. I get a small bit of relief from the cool water, but _Greystone_ has to rest for a moment before he's up for any more action. I put on a pair of pajama pants and go back to the bed as we have vowed to continue our talk when she returns.

My little Butterfly returns with the melon skewers and the Thai chicken on a tray with two glasses of iced mineral water and lime.

Did I mention that she was perfect?

She removes her shoes and climbs into bed with me setting the tray between us. She hands me one of the glasses of water while putting the other glass on the nightstand nearest to her and settles back on a propped up pillow. I take a drink before I start the conversation.

"I want you to keep the surveillance." I say. She sighs.

"Christian, really. I can take care of myself."

"And I completely believe that you can. But…" Now I have to come clean…again. "In the spirit of honesty, I have to tell you. I talked to David today after you left the market." Her eyes widened and she stopped chewing.

"You did?" She asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I wanted to see where his head was." She swallowed her food.

"Are you sure you just didn't want to cock strut?" I twist my face a little.

"I'll be honest and say that there may have been a little of that in my intention, but mostly I just wanted him to stay away from you and stop harassing you. Ana, he has no intention of doing that."

"Well, that's why I'm getting a restraining order." She states.

"And I still want you to do that. But David has no intention of honoring that restraining order." Her face turns pale and she sits up. "I don't know what happened between the time that you guys broke up and now, but he thinks that he will always be on your mind and that you are always going to be his. The way that he talks about you, you're cheating on _him_ right now. You're the lowdown dirty whore and nobody should want you—but the fact that somebody _does_ is driving him insane. He's not thinking straight. Some of the things that he said about you were so horrible that I had to literally shut down listening to him to keep from killing him right there and then; and I'm certain that this is not the same man that you had dinner with last night because the Ana I know wouldn't have sat through appetizers with this monster."

"He's hurt," she says softly. "He lashes out when he's hurt." Now I'm shocked.

"Are you defending him?" I ask bemused.

"No! Absolutely not!" She snapped. Thank God for that. "I'm just saying that I recognize this behavior."

"Well," I continue. "He's beyond hurt. He's enraged. His words aren't just unkind—they're vicious. And even though I am fully aware that you can take care of yourself and that you will have a restraining order in place, it would make me feel so much better if you let me have one of the guys keep an eye on you." She sighs heavily and I hope I'm about to win this one.

"_One_ of the guys…I don't want the whole damn Secret Service following me around Seattle!" She points her finger at me. Yes, Mistress! Damn!

"Agreed."

"And I get to know his damn name…and how to contact him." Fair enough.

"Okay."

"And don't keep things like this from me anymore, Grey. It's only going to piss me off when I find out…and I _will_ find out!" That's a hard one, but I believe her when she says she will find out. And she's calling me _Grey_ again. Ouch! She's serious.

"I'm a very private man, Ana. It's a hard habit to break…but I'll do my best. You have to be patient with me on that one." She smiled.

"As long as I know you're trying. Rome wasn't built in a day." Getting serious again, I say,

"Your guy has been Davenport so far. That's probably who we are going to keep." She nods. "I'll make sure you guys meet soon…formally, that is." She nods again. "I also have a guy on David…"

"Oh, seriously, Christian is that necessary?" She protests.

"I think so. And tomorrow, he's going to be groveling for his job because I want to know why David was able to get within 10 feet of you today!" She drops her head and puts her hand on her forehead. I move the tray from between us and take her in my arms.

"I know that you can take care of yourself," I say softly. "I've seen you do it. But would you rather have had to grab this jerk by the balls today or would you rather have just kept shopping for your rhododendrons?"

I could tell I had made my point since I recall several flowers being crushed in the confusion this afternoon. She snuggled into my chest. Strangely, I kind of liked it, but she must have realized what she did because she froze and looked up at me. "It's okay," I say, "It feels a little different this way."

"Will you tell me one day why it's a problem…touching your chest?" She asked

"It's very hard to talk about, Ana." I don't know how to begin to tell her what happened to me.

"I understand. So what's the problem with eye rolling? It's such a small thing, and most often it's just a reflex. Why is it an issue?" She quickly changes the subject.

"Because it is disrespectful and it makes me want to punish you." I say sternly.

"Punish me!?" She gasps. "You mean with those things you have in that room?"

"Maybe," I say, "Maybe just a good spanking until you little ass turns pink."

"You're insane," she laughs, "You're not going to hit me with those things."

"I have to ask you, then. Why were you so turned on in the playroom if those things bother you so? I know that you were. Don't bother trying to deny it." She _can't_ deny it. Her breathing changed and her skin gets a little sweaty when she's sexually aroused.

"In my profession, you have to be prepared for anything and one of the things my advisor told me was to study alternative lifestyles. So I decided to look into BDSM. I took a human sexuality class just so that I could be partially informed on the lifestyle. I'll admit that some of the stuff that I saw grossed me out, particularly blood play, needle torture, and fisting. But some of it really piqued my curiosity. After I finished the class, I did a little research of my own."

She did outside research on the lifestyle? Do tell, Ms. Steele. She sits up a little.

"There's a problem when you start to delve into the human brain. Often you find that civilized human beings are capable of extremely uncivilized things." She's squirming a bit and she seems uncomfortable. "I had seen some pretty horrendous things in my research—mostly on the internet. I went to this one site that was all about electrical play and I swear, I felt queasy for hours."

"Electrical play?" I say, aghast. I'll admit that I've heard of blood play and needle torture. Those are not my thing although I have done fisting, but electrical play? "What the hell is that?"

"Well," She begins nervously, "apparently some guys get off on strapping electrodes to their genitals. It's called Trancutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation or TENS. Some women do it, too." I must have been wearing a look of comic terror, because she just started laughing at me.

"Electrodes!? On my _dick_!?" Once she stopped laughing, she said, "Oh, that's not the worst of it. There's this thing called a 'sub zapper.' It's basically a cattle prod." You know, I always thought of myself as one sick fuck—not because of what I do, but _why_ I do what I do. It's kind of comforting to know that there are some sicker fucks out there than me.

"Okay." I have to get her back on track because this is some sick shit, even for me. "This tells me _how_ you know about the lifestyle, but it doesn't tell me why you were so aroused." She turns the cutest shade of pink. Oh Anastasia, I would love to see if your whole body blushes like that…with the right tools.

"I went to a fetish club one night with one of my classmates." She takes a deep breath and lets it out. "It was one of those things where you could watch but not participate. They had several different demonstrations going on that I could observe pretty impassively, but there was this one…" She blushes uncomfortably again. She _can't_ be embarrassed to tell me, not after she's seen my playroom. "…she was bound to a cross like the one that you have. She was very pretty. She was wearing nipple clamps—they looked pretty brutal. This guy was dressed all in black and he was whipping her with—I don't know if it was a cat or a flogger…" I'm impressed that she knows there's a difference. "He wasn't beating her; it was more like a gentle lashing, if I'm making any sense." I understand perfectly. "She was so petite and the way it wrapped around her body, I don't know." She dropped her head. She _is_ embarrassed recounting this. I lift her chin and make her look at me to finish the story. "It was more like a caress…and she _loved_ it! She was enjoying it so much, and except for the fact that those nipple clamps looked like they had teeth, it seemed like something that I may enjoy, too, with the right person. I said I might try it someday and when I saw your dungeon…" I glared at her. I don't have a fucking dungeon. "Sorry…your '_playroom_,' it just brought to mind some of the stuff that I studied and saw, and…don't get it twisted, Grey. You're never going to whip me, beat me, or cane me!" She cautions.

"But you're saying that you may be willing to play a little?" Oh God, please say yes!

"With specific attention to _several_ hard limits, yes." Did she just say hard limits? Hot-diggity-dog!

"Ana!" I say, "I'm impressed!"

"Why? Because I know the terminology?"

"Actually, yes."

"I'm not a sub, Christian." She warns.

"Oh, that, I know." I reply. The last thing you are, Ms. Steele, is submissive, but we'll just see how far we can test that theory.

"But I like as much adventure, excitement, and kinkiness as the next girl, so…in the near future, I'm willing to experiment." I pull her close to me and squeeze. I want to hug her _and_ I want to fuck her. How the hell did I get so damn lucky?

"Oh, Ana. You have no idea how happy you have just made me." I say as I reach down and gently squeeze her ass.

"Oh, I have an idea," she chuckles.

"I'm curious about something else, Ana." I turn to her a bit. "Now don't take this the wrong way, because I _really_ love it…but I get the idea from you and from David that he's the only lover you've ever had. But you're a real sex kitten. I mean you're a fucking natural—insatiable, talented...damn! How does that happen?" She smiles coyly but there is a little sadness behind it, too. I pull her closer as she tells her story.

"More outside research, so to speak. I wish I could say that was a happy circumstance." She sighs heavily. "The truth is that I threw myself into being sexy for Edward—how to please a man, how to fuck, how to talk, what to do, what to wear, the whole nine yards. But he was still insistent on seeing what Seattle had to offer, so my 'skills' lay dormant for a long time." She lay on my chest again, and I pulled her in, until I could feel my own heartbeat. "I was very lonely—not because men didn't want me, because they did—but because the man I _wanted_ didn't want me. That's a terrible feeling." She nuzzled into my side like she could disappear there. "Every man in the world can want you, but if you love somebody and they don't love you back, you just want to die." For the first time, I got a glimpse of how some of my subs must have felt—when they wanted more and I sent them away because I didn't. I still contend that it wasn't my fault because they knew the arrangement coming in. But this was different. This was a sensual, sexy, beautiful woman who had thought she had found her one and only, and he's out trolling the streets while she's at home perfecting her skills for _him_. And now, for some reason, God has chosen to drop her into my hands—a fucked up sadist who beats brunettes because of his _dead mommy issues_. I just hope He doesn't see fit to take her away from me. I put my hand under her chin and lift her face up so that I can look at her.

"Keep going," I say. I want her to get it all out and never think about this asshole again.

"I walked in on him and another woman at a restaurant. Al forced me to go. I knew what was going on but I felt like if I didn't see it, it wasn't happening. Isn't that the stupidest thing you've ever heard?" She laughs in a way that sounded like a sob. "Anyway, I put him out that night. And I secretly wished for months that he would come back to me." She quickly wiped away a tear. "After that, I gave up and closed myself off—no dates, no blind dates, no 'I've got this friend you would really like'—nothing! I concentrated on finishing my internship and getting my license, and when I did, it was the happiest day of my life—second to the day that I left Henderson for good. I was able to let go of old ghosts and move on for the most part, but I didn't realize that there was one ghost that I didn't let go of." She tried to disappear in my side again, but I wouldn't let her.

"Come on, Baby. Tell me all of it."

"There really isn't much more to tell besides that." She sighed.

"Why did you go to dinner with him last night?" I asked. If she doesn't love him anymore and she doesn't have any residual feelings for him, then why have a meal with him? She shook her head like she was trying to shake away a bad thought.

"That was more for him than it was for me." She said. It sounded like a confession. "Shortly after I felt I had gotten over him, he started contacting me again, asking me to take him back and if we could talk and clear the air. I constantly denied him but everything changed the weekend before the group sessions started. He showed up at one of my dinner parties uninvited. He waited until everybody left and he pushed himself on me. And I almost gave in…but all of those feelings of hurt and betrayal came back, and I knew I couldn't let him near my heart ever again." She tried to hide again but quickly realized that it was futile and readjusted herself. I moved the tray off the bed before she snuggled back into my chest. "He pestered me for years to talk to him, trying to get me back. I agreed to dinner in a moment of weakness. I was trying to get some sleep and he wouldn't let me get off the damn phone. But I thought it was for the best, because I thought if I talked to him civilly without all of the anger, he would understand that there just is no more chance for us. I was wrong."

"Is there no more chance for you two?" I ask cautiously. She looks up at me.

"Sure. A snowball's chance in hell." She shrugs.

"And you don't love him anymore?"

"About as much as you would love a boil in the crack of your ass." She responded. I laughed. I think that's a "no."

"Then that's enough for tonight." I say as I gently kiss her lips. They are so soft and I just want to bury myself in her kiss. This beautiful, sexy, bruised goddess lying here next to me—I want to make her whole, and I want her to make me whole, too. We feast on each other's lips and tongue for several minutes. This is something that I have never done—kiss a woman for longer than a few moments. But Ana, I could kiss her until my lips went numb. When we finally come up for air, Ana goes to take the dishes and the tray back to the kitchen. When she leaves the room, I go to the playroom, careful not to alert her in the kitchen. From there I retrieve a blindfold, citrus body oil, a fur glove, and the bullet vibrator and bring them back to the bedroom. I go into my closet and grab the first tie I see—navy blue, Ana's favorite color. I place all of the items in plain sight on the night table for when she returns.

"What's all this?" she says coyly as she walks back into the room.

"This is our first session of playtime. Would you like to play?" She looks at me tentatively. After a few moments of silence, I add "Do you trust me?" She swallows.

"Do you promise not to hurt me?" She says, her blue eyes questioning.

"Of course, Ana." I say, holding her face in my hands. "I'll never hurt you." She sighs.

"Then I'll trust you." She says softly. I kiss her gently and lead her to the bed.

"Lie down for me." She lies down, face up. "Put your hands together." As I bind her hands together with the blue tie, I see a small amount fear in her eyes. I sit her up and sit on the bed next to her. "Ana, I'm going to blindfold you. Do you trust me?" She nods, her eyes large and frightened. I put my hand on her cheek. "Do you want to stop?"

"No," she says, just above a whisper. She's afraid and I can tell. This is her first experience with any type of bondage and she doesn't know what to expect. I will make this a wonderful experience for her.

"If you want to stop at any time, you need a safe word. I need you to choose two words, Ana, words that you will remember. The first word will mean that you are getting close to your limit and the second word means that you want me to stop immediately. Choose your first safeword, Ana." I say in my Dom voice. She is breathing deeply so I know it's affecting her.

"Bells." She says, timidly.

"Bells." I repeat. She nods. "Choose your second safeword, Ana." She is staring at me. Her heart rate has risen and her eyes are ocean blue. Her chest is rising and falling rhythmically. She is ready and I won't touch her yet. I will only command her now. "Your second safeword, Ana." I repeat.

"Whistles." She gasps. Bells and whistles. I should have known.

"Whistles." I repeat. She nods. I pick up the blindfold. "Are you ready, Ana?"

"Yes." She breathes. I put the blindfold on her and her breathing immediately quickens. "Lie back." She slowly lies on her back. I go over to my iPod dock and put one song on repeat—Quincy Jones, Secret Garden. I go back over to Ana and gently stroke her calves. She flinches from the surprise. I untie the strings on her dress and then I straddle her. I put my face close to hers. I can feel her breath on my cheek and she can feel mine.

"I have three rules tonight, Ms. Steele. If you address me, address me as 'Sir.' Do you understand the first rule?"

"Yes Sir." Good girl.

"Second rule," I put her hands over her head. "Do not move your hands. Do you understand the second rule?"

"Yes Sir."

"Third rule…you cannot come until I give you permission. Do you understand the third rule?" She pauses for a moment. She knows this is payback for her blowjob. "Do you understand the third rule, Anastasia?"

"Yes Sir." She whimpers.

"Good." I sit up and peel her dress off of her—achingly slowly. I allow the elastic in the built-in bra to rub against her nipples as I pull it down from her breasts. Her lips are parted and she is panting heavily. Not knowing what is happening is both frightening for her as well as arousing. She whimpers a little in her breathing as I remove her dress completely. She is lying before me gloriously naked in my bed. I start with her feet, a delicious massage with the citrus oil. When I put pressure in her instep and graze the pad of her toe with my teeth, she nearly snatches her foot away from me. She didn't expect those points to be connected to her pleasure center. I move on to the fur glove—from one arm to the other and down the sides of her body. She anticipates that I will rub her breasts, so I bypass them and caress her from head to toe, avoiding her nipples and her pleasure center. I know her skin is tingling and I have to tell her to control her breathing so she doesn't hyperventilate. Yes, my little Butterfly, the shoe is on the other foot now.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

My body is on fire! He did something with my feet that went straight to my core. I've never felt that before and I was afraid I was going to kick him in the teeth!

He wants me to call him "Sir." I know that is some submission shit…but it is so fucking sexy!

And I can't come? Shit! How the hell am I going to stop myself from coming…especially if he does that thing with my feet again? When he stops touching me, it seems like ages before he touches me again even though I know it's only moments. Now he is touching me with something fuzzy. Furry? He is gently stroking it over every part of my body—all of my exposed skin. Why am I so damn sensitive? Shit! When he goes down the sides of my body, I feel like I'm going to combust! Good God, what is he doing to me? I push my breasts forward, but he ignores my silent request and continues to tease the rest of my body. Hell, not touching them is leaving me yearning and my breath is coming in short. Now he's at my hips…my thighs…the back of my knees…Que le ciel me vienne en aide!

"Slow down your breathing, Anastasia," he says, "like you told me…in through your nose, out through your mouth…" Yeah, I know this is payback for that orgasm denial blowjob, _Sir_. Fine. I'll take it like a big girl.

_Is this supposed to be punishment?  
_Something like that.  
_Oh….okay…._

Once my breathing has regulated, he brings the glove between my legs and strokes the tender meat of both of my thighs but does not touch my center. Oh, douce agonie!

"Ooh," I whine in frustration.

"Something the matter, Ms. Steele?" He taunts.

"No Sir." I whimper. There's nothing to hold on to above my head and I'm supposed to keep my hands up here. I find the rim of the mattress and hold on tight or this part of the deal will surely be broken. I smell citrus again and now he is fondling my nipples with oiled hands.

"Oooooohhh," all the anticipation has my nipples tingling to the slightest touch and he is pinching and rolling—fuck, can you come this way? If he doesn't stop, I'm going to find out. "Aaaaaaahhhh!"

"Quiet, Ms. Steele!" He orders. Are you kidding me? I can't move my hands, I can't come, and now I can't make any noise? He has some really high expectations! Nonetheless, I'm a good sport, so I'll do what he says, but I'm not going to make it easy for him, either.

My body writhes and I thrust my hips forward. I hear the sharp intake of air from Christian and, without my sight I'm not quite sure what is happening. I only know this movement has affected him in some way. That's right, Grey. If I have to suffer, you have to suffer a little, too.

He is still incessantly pinching my nipples. When his mouth replaces one of his hands, I am sure I'm about to come. The warmth of his lips and the massage of his talented tongue.

"Sir," I mewl, "I'm going to come."

"I know," He says against my breast. Bastard. You told me not to come.

"Sir…please…." My legs are open and I bite my lip to keep from crying out…and he stops, right at that critical moment. "Fuck!" I yell.

"Ms. Steele!" He scolds, "Language." I am so going to make him pay for this. He starts his stimulation of my tender nipples again. Oh shit! You didn't give the first one the chance to subside! Shit, shit, shit. I won't say anything this time. I won't, oh fuck, I won't…oh… "Non non non…pas encore."

"Français à nouveau, Mme Steele? Comment érotique." I didn't know I had verbalized that last statement until he responded in my "native tongue" nearly sending me over the fucking edge.

And he stops again.

I cry out in frustration. His hands are running down my body now, still oily…and I made the mistake of opening my legs earlier. He goes right for the money.

"Fuck, Ana, you are dripping wet!" He says as he sinks a finger into my sex. You don't say, you beautiful asshole? I arch my back to meet his hand. Fuck being quiet.

"Aaaaahhhhhh!" Oh, great day in the morning! He puts another finger in and massages my walls. "Oh my God!"

"Oh, Ana. You are so responsive. You're getting wetter and wetter." I am keening to keep from crying out. He takes his thumbs and massages my clitoris while his two fingers work the inside.

"Fuck!" I scream, and he stops again. I'm panting again.

_Fuck! He wins. He wins!  
_No! Not yet!  
_I'm going to make you start saying stupid shit and not even Bosco's going to be able to help you!  
_I said…no...oh fuck._  
_

While I'm arguing with The Bitch, I feel something vibrating against my stomach. What the hell is that? It moves down to my pelvic line. "Aaaahhh." It's shooting right to my center and he's not even there yet.

"Can you take it?" He says, his voice husky.

"I don't know, Sir," I gasp, clinging to the mattress for dear life.

"Why don't we see?" He slowly inches the small vibrator down to the lips of my vagina.

"Aahh!" I gasp. I feel the sweat now. My hair is sticking to my face and my skin is all clammy.

_Christian!  
_No!  
_Christian!  
_No!  
_Oh, Christian!_

He moves the vibrator lower and inside, directly on my clit. Shit, here it comes.

"Oh, fuck! Christian!" He pauses.

"What did you call me?" He says.

"Sir…Sir…bells…bells…!" I'm panting. I can't take anymore. If I don't come, I'm going to pass out.

"Are you ready to come now?" He taunts.

"Yes Sir…please." He removes my blindfold. The lights are so low…just low enough to see his face. I don't know when but he has taken off his clothes…and he's naked! He's finally naked! OhmercifulGodFatherinheavenM arySweetMotherofJesus and every other sacred exclamation there is! The sight alone is enough to make me come.

"Let go of the mattress."

"But Sir…"

"Let go!" He orders gently. I let go of the mattress. My hands hurt from how hard I was holding on to it. He straightens my left leg and holds it down with his right hand, then he wraps my right leg around his hip and bends his left leg up—like he's climbing stairs. It feels strange at first and I'm thinking how the hell is _this_ going to work? I soon found out that he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing.

He starts to stroke me with his erection, outside of my lips and then the head in the folds.

"Are you still wet for me Ana?" He says, his voice husky and cracking a bit from pleasure.

"Yes Sir," I whisper, my eye closed.

"Open your eyes," he commands. I open my eyes to see his hooded greys, filled with desire.

"Let's see." And with a pivot of his hips, he slams into me.

"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" I scream. In this position that he has me in, I feel everything! One leg is up allowing every stroke to slide against my clit. The other leg is down, so my vaginal walls are close allowing me to feel every thrust. Now he had begun a hard, punishing rhythm that is hitting my sweet spot deep inside. Also, his hands are holding both thighs into position, his fingers digging slightly into the meat and pulling or pushing me into him with every stroke. Finally, he has resumed that agonizingly delicious stimulation of my breasts again with his mouth and teeth.

There is nothing I can do but surrender to him. His fingers are clamped in a vice-like hold on my thighs. The grip is slightly painful, but the animalistic sensation it induces is pushing me closer and closer to my release. He is pounding relentlessly deliciously into my core and I am whimpering terribly because he has not told me that I can come yet. I hear him groan deeply, as he thrusts into me and gyrates his hips, mercilessly massaging my clit with his pelvis and my inner walls with his massive throbbing manhood. Oh God, I can't take this much longer. I feel tears burning my eyes because this orgasm is coming whether he says it can or not and I'm afraid he's going to stop again. Just as the sensation rises in my thighs, I let out a gasping sob and he knows it's there.

"Come for me, Baby." He growls in my ear. Oh, good Lord, I feel like I'm dying. My thighs start to tingle then burn and the sensation moves to my core. I arch my back for the first wave and open my mouth to cry out but nothing happens. My breath has left my body again. The sensation moves back down to my thighs down to my feet and back up to my core again. I'm panting and breathing through this one but still no voice. The ride is not over just yet and he knows it. "Give it to me, Baby." He groans as he licks my neck and tortures me with a new, deep rhythmic thrust to coax the remains of my orgasm from me. I can feel my walls still clenching and this orgasm is still going on. The final wave hits from tits to toes to twat and now I think I'm about to black out. Christian takes my tied hands and quickly throws them around his neck. He grabs a handful of hair and pulls and now comes the scream—loud, high, and in some language I'm not even sure of—English, French, Swahili, I don't know. But it causes him to thrust three more times then come loudly right behind me. "Oh, Ana! Fuck, you feel so good!"

* * *

_**GREY**_

With the intense, crazy, magnificent orgasms that this woman has given me in the last 36 hours, I had to make sure that she had at least one that was the same intensity as what she was doing to me. Judging from the sweat, the tears, and the wheezing, I'd say "Mission accomplished." I unhook her arms from around my neck and release the tie from her wrist. She whimpers and I know that she's in a bit of discomfort. We lie in this position for a few more moments to catch our breath. When I hear her breath regulating, I roll off of her and gently massage her hands, her wrists, her arms, and her shoulders. At first, she protests a bit—I think she broke a couple of nails on the mattress—but soon she relaxes into the massage.

"How is that, Ms. Steele?"

"Wonderful, Mr. Grey." She coos.

"Well, you're right. You're not a submissive, but you sure are fun to play with." I say softly. She attempts to smile but just weakly puts her arms around my neck instead. Oh, her body feels divine. I adore being in her arms. She feels heavenly—and I'm the lucky fuck who gets to hold her. She smells of delicious citrus mixtures…and of sex…and of Ana. She soothes me as I gaze into her beautiful blue eyes—all of my ghosts and nightmares disappear. I see a road untraveled, a road that I want to take hand in hand with my beautiful Butterfly. Just for a moment, I see the darkness and the evil that is my soul melt away to be replaced my light and happiness, kindness and serenity, beauty and love that is my Butterfly. What the hell do you know about love, Grey?

I didn't say love…

…did I?

Her fingers are running gently through my hair as I am lying half on my side and half on her, gazing at her beauty. I am drawn to her, hypnotized. I stroke her soft, supple skin and kiss her shoulders and my hands travel down her delicate sides to the small of her back.

And then I feel it.

She tries to jerk away but it's too late. "No…" she protests, but it's just a whisper.

"Ana," I say softly, "what is it?" She closes her eyes and covers her face with one of her hands.

"Don't ask about it. I can't…I…" Her voice is cracking.

"Ana? Baby? What is it?" She's crying now. I can't leave it like this. I can't. I have to know. I turn on the bedside light and turn back around to my little Butterfly. "Let me see it."

"NO!" she wails. Doesn't she understand that at some point, I'm going to see it? We're lovers, I'm going to see it. I sit up on the bed with Ana in my arms.

"Ana…please…." I say softly. I pull her hands down from her face and wipe her tears away with my thumbs. "Please, Baby…" I implore. She covers her face again and slowly turns around with her back to me. I look down to examine her back while she weeps. In the small of her back are grotesquely misshapen letters burned into her flesh…

_**W-H-O**_

I gasp when I see them and she only cries harder. I wrap her in my arms, her back to my front, and pull her to me with all the strength I can muster.

"Oh, Ana!" I whisper in her ear as she sobs, her body shaking frantically. "Sssshhhhh," I rock her and kiss her hair. These had to be the burns I saw in the pictures. They are horrible—and she was only 15 at the time. Then it dawned on me. She said it earlier, but it went right past me…_angry teenage mob_. A group of people did this to her…and they were fucking _teenagers_!

"Ssssshhhh," I stroke her hair gently while I continue to rock her, to offer her some comfort. "Please don't cry, Baby. You're safe now. No one can hurt you now." She cried and cried until it seemed she couldn't cry anymore. I didn't know a little body could hold so much water! When she was finally able to catch her breath, I leaned her back against my body to help her relax for a moment. She was sweating profusely, so I laid her down and went to the bathroom. I wet a washcloth with cold water and came back to the bed.

"This is going to be cool," I warn and she nodded. I gently wipe the sweat and tears from her forehead and her face. She calmed down immediately.

"Can you tell me how this happened?" I whispered. She whimpers like a small, wounded animal and starts to shake again. "Okay, okay, Baby. You don't have to talk about it right now." I say as I stroke her hair. The shaking is subsiding again. "But when you're ready…and able…I really want to know. Okay?" She nods silently.

She hasn't said a word since before she started crying. My poor Ana. My beautiful little Butterfly. I want to kill somebody right now. I really want to kill someone with my bare hands right now. But my beautiful Butterfly needs me. So I lie down and pull her to me. I nuzzle my nose in her hair. "Sleep, Baby." She sniffles hard and is asleep almost immediately. I lay there for what feels like hours, watching her sleep and feeling her breathe.

I close my eyes for what I thought was just a second and I when I open them, it's nearly dawn. I look over at my sleeping beauty and she is lying on her stomach, hugging her pillow. I gently move the covers down so as not to rouse her, and the horrible scarring is staring back at me. I bend down and place tender kisses on the marred flesh. "Who did this to you?" I whisper and I lay my head on her back just above the scarring. "What is this I'm feeling for you?" I ask aloud, quietly but to myself. "What are you doing to me, Ana?" I say as I gently stroke the letters emblazoned on her skin. I don't know what I'm feeling but I know that I've never felt it before. It's making me feel weak inside, like I may feel physical pain if she is not around me. I want to see someone pay dearly for the pain they caused her. I want someone to hang for this! I kiss her scars again. I want to touch them and kiss them and make them go away—all of the pain, and the fear she feels because of them, I want it all to just go away. "No one will ever hurt you again, Butterfly." I kiss them again and again as I gently stroke her skin. "Beautiful…" and again, "beautiful, beautiful girl…"

"They're brands." She says just above a whisper. She startled me a bit. I didn't know that she was awake. But I must have heard her wrong. Did she say _brands_?

"Ana…did I hear you say _brands_? Like cattle brands?" I ask incredulously.

"Exactly like cattle brands." She says softly. Now I am livid. It is taking every bit of control I have not to explode this very instant. I need to be strong for Ana, but right now, I want to wring somebody's fucking neck!

"Ana! They branded you!?" I whisper in horror.

"Yes…" She is about to break down again.

"Who?" I gasp. "Why?" I must know. I _need_ to know. I can tell she's not ready to tell me, but she chokes out the next sentence anyway.

"I had the audacity to allow myself to be raped by the most popular boy in school." What the fuck? "When I exposed him, he called me a liar and this happened to me." I'm counting again.

"Who did this?" I say through clenched teeth. "Did _he_ do this to you?"

"I'm not sure." She squeaks. How can you not be sure? I remember every single burn the crack whore's pimp did to me…every single one. How can you _not_ be sure?

"Ana, look at me." She won't turn to me. "Ana, please…look at me." She slowly rolls to face me. "How can you not be sure who did this to you?"

"Because it was dark," she choked, and she's sobbing again, "And I was scared…and they were…all…w…wearing masks!" She spit. That's why she couldn't get justice. There was no way for her to get justice because she couldn't identify the fuckers that did this to her.

"Do you remember where you were?" I ask, gently stroking her face.

"N…no! They at-tacked m…me from…behind…and put me…in the trunk of…a c…car!" Oh shit, I can't hear too fucking much more of this, but I need a few more answers.

"How many of them were there, Ana?" I say, trying to remain calm.

"I…don't know. A…a lot!" So a whole gang of teenagers attacked her because she supposedly lied on one of the popular kids. They could have killed her!

"Baby, how did you get away?" I am getting angrier and angrier by the second.

"I didn't," she says, softly. "Someone found them…someone…stopped them…before they…finished the brand." I have to admit, I'm partially curious about what _who_ means, but I dare not ask. As if she could read my mind, she answered, "It was supposed to be _whore_." Oh fucking hell! Son of a bitch shit eating fucking rat bastards from hell!

"Someone stopped them, but no one was arrested?" I'm turning a bit into the CEO with my questioning but I don't quite know it yet. Ana looks at me—fear developing in her eyes.

"I don't…know what happened…" She says still sniffling. "I was…un…unconscious."

"Who found you?" I ask.

"The cop…on the report." Well, that's someplace to start. Since these fuckers can't do their jobs, I'm going to see if I can help them out a bit.

"What was his name?" I am seething.

"W-what?" she stutters through her tears.

"What was his name? The fucker that raped you…what was his name?" My voice has more force than I want and she shies away from me a bit.

"N-n-no. No!" She curls up into a ball. I'm a bit stunned. I've never seen her like this. My heart immediately softens at the sight of my Butterfly cowering at the head of the bed.

"Ana! Ana, what is it? What's wrong?" I'm afraid to touch her for fear that she will bolt out of the bed and out of my life completely. "Baby, what is it? Please talk to me."

"Please, Christian…p-please…leave it a…alone…please…" How can I leave it alone? These bastards tortured her!

"Ana…"

"Please! P…please, Christian…" There's more to this story. I know there is. She's not telling me something and there is a lot more going on here. But right now, she needs for me to leave it alone. I don't know why she needs this, but she needs it right now so I will do what she asks…and I desperately need to hold her.

"Okay, Baby. I'll leave it alone." _For now._

"You…you will?" She looked up at me with red swollen eyes.

"Yes. Baby," I put my hand on her cheek and kiss her lips gently. "I will." She calms again and I lay her on her back and cradle her close in my arms as I kiss her hair. "It's still early. Do you want to rest some more?" She shakes her head. "Do you want to get up?" She looks up at me with beautiful ocean blue eyes and shakes her head again. On cue, my cock starts to twitch and I gather her in my arms, brushing my lips tenderly across hers. Her lips are so soft because she's been crying.

"Ana…" I whisper before kissing her passionately. Our tongues are dancing a feverish sexy tango and the rhythm is drawing me in…every fiber of my being. What is she doing to me? I yearn for her. I have to have her. I can't lose her and I can't let her hurt. My beautiful, beautiful Butterfly. She calls to my dark, twisted soul and it rises from its demonic worship in search of healing and light…_her_ light.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

We made love for hours—at least that's what it felt like. I don't know if Edward ever made love to me since most of our relationship was a lie. So I don't know what it feels like to make love. But if I had to imagine what it felt like, this would have been it! Christian caressed my entire body, kissed me from head to toe, cradled me gently in his arms while he slowly and deeply buried himself in me over and over again. We moved as if we were one person—like I didn't know where I ended or where he began. My favorite part is where he sat with his legs crossed on the bed and I straddled him, my legs crossed behind him. He rocked me gently while we sated each other, and he caressed my bare back—there, in the forbidden zone—kissing my neck, my chin, my cheek, my ears…and proclaiming my beauty the entire time. If you can have an orgasm in your soul, I had several soulgasms today. It was healing. It was heavenly. It was magical…and now, I _am_ Cinderella at the ball.

We lay facing each other after hours of being lost in each other, and Christian is napping. He looks glorious—his copper waves falling gently over his face; long, gorgeous eyelashes splayed over his cheeks, his delicious pouty lips just begging to be kissed. I giggle a little as I wonder what he's dreaming about—his face so full of contentment. My hand are gently clasped over my breasts as I allow my eyes to wander from his angelic face to his pecks—and the circular scars I see beneath a sexy dusting of reddish-brown hair there. I want to touch it, but he begged me not to—and I understand that feeling, so I won't. What was his _brand_, I thought to myself? A pen? Some type of cooking utensil…?

"Cigarettes." I nearly jumped out of my skin! I had no idea he was awake.

"I'm sorry…I…" I clasped my hands to my breasts. "I didn't touch them. I promise." I say like a scolded child.

"I know." He says softly. He takes one of my hands in his, turns it around, and lays it flat on his chest. I gasp. He was panic-stricken last night when he thought I would touch his chest. And now…

"Christian…?" I say softly.

"Your pain," He says, his voice strained. "Your pain is my pain, too." I think he's going to cry. I don't want him to cry, I don't think I could take it.

"Christian, please…" I try to move my hand but he pulls it back.

"I want to heal you, Ana." He says through deep breaths. "I want to take away your pain…and your fear." He's nearly gasping now. "But…"

"What? Christian, what is it?" I'm desperate to know what he was going to say. He looks at me with tortured, pained grey eyes.

"Who's going to heal me?" His eyes are glassy and I'm afraid a tear is going to drop any minute. He's searching my eyes for his answer. And here we are…two broken tortured beings looking for something or someone to heal what has been hurting all these years. I scramble to my knees as he props himself up on his elbow. I put my free hand on his cheek and he leans into it.

"I will," I whisper. "I will, if you let me." I hear him sigh heavily and I bend down to kiss his chest where he had been brutalized. The scars are very faint, but to Christian, they are brand new open wounds oozing with the puss of hatred and the infection of abuse. Don't worry, Baby. Dr. Steele is here now.

"All better," I say as I kiss one scar. "All better," I repeat as I move from scar to scar, gently kissing each as if to pull his pain into myself and negate my own. Christian lies back on the bed, taking me with him as I continue to kiss his scars over and over again. He tangles his fingers in my hair and his lips are parted. He is breathing heavily, almost as if he is in the throes of passion. I rest my hands gently on either side of my head and lie down softly on his chest, my eyes closed. I listen to his heartbeat as he begins to slow his breathing. "There's more." I hear through his chest. I lift my head to look at him.

"What?" I squeak, softly. More? There's more? Oh, God. Christian rolls over and returns to his spot next to me to reveal more circular bruising on his back.

"Christian…?" I ask the question with just his name, my voice cracking. I want to weep for him, but I can't. I'm too horrified.

"My birth mother…was a drug addict. She had sex with men to feed her habit…and her pimp's habit. I don't know if I came along before or during, but I know that I was in the way. I lived in squalor and filth—the son of a crack whore—that's what he called me…all the time. On days when he was particularly mad at her…or me…or the world…or no one in particular…he liked to put cigarettes out on my skin." I gasp as I listen to this horrific tale. I don't know whose story is worse—his or mine. I was a teenager but he was a baby. I was raped and then beaten near to death and branded with irons; he suffered famine, neglect, and abuse for God only knows how long and branded repeatedly with cigarettes. How do you compare horror stories and determine whose is worse?

"Who else has seen these?" I ask.

"Only a few people," he says, almost timidly, "but no one has ever touched them." Huh?

"Christian, are you telling me that you've never let anyone touch your back or your chest?" He sighed heavily.

"Not on purpose." He said softly. "Only my little sister, and even then, only with clothes on." I gasped.

"Not even your mother—your adopted mother?"

"Not even her."

"Not even your…Domme?" I asked carefully.

"_Especially_ not her." I knew there was more to that statement, but I didn't want to explore it right now.

"Oh, Christian," I said, gently touching his back and leaning in to place tender kisses on the scars there. I can't explain how it feels to know that no one has been allowed here before me.

No one before me.

That's why he's never had a girlfriend. They've all been subs! All subs before me—and he surely wouldn't let them touch him.

I straddle his back and he doesn't move. He lays with his eyes closed, his arms bent. He looks utterly content. I know what this means to him. I know just how big a deal this really is—and I want him to know that I know. I look over at the night table and see the citrus oil we used last night. I open it and squeeze just a little in my hands—enough just to cover and make it slippery. I start at his neck and rub gently down to his shoulders, not a kneading massage just a gentle rub. He gasps, then settles back down on the bed. I stroke my hand tenderly over his shoulders then carefully across the skin on his back. His breathing is rhythmic and occasionally, he moans like he's in ecstasy. As I read the contentment in his voice, I begin to hum a tune that seems appropriate for what we are both feeling right now. I don't think either of us will admit to love this soon, but the affection that we feel for each other is undeniable. So I think my song is appropriate.

"What's that song?" He asks softly after several moments of allowing me to caress him.

"It's called 'Love All The Hurt Away.'" I reply. He spins around artfully underneath me and captures me in his arms, surprising me a bit. I have my elbows on his shoulders. He holds me there for several moments, his face so close to mine that I can only see his eyes. I can't place the emotion there. I only know that it reached down in me and touched me so deep that I almost couldn't breathe.

"Christian…" is all I could whimper.

"Baby," he replied before he kissed me. Well, maybe kissed isn't the right word. He worshipped my lips—yeah, that's it. He worshipped my lips—for a _very_ long time! There was no sex at that time, just a feverish meeting of the mouths. We were all over each other. I was naked in his arms and I loved it! There was no more forbidden zone…for _either_ of us. As he rubbed my entire back, I wanted to meld into him—make him a part of me forever. I would never be alone again—and I was safe. I would keep him safe in my arms, and I would fix whatever was wrong in his broken soul. I touch him everywhere. I am uninhibited. This man is mine, and I am his. I feel like we were two teenagers necking in the backseat of the car, except we're naked…wrapped in 1200 thread count sheets…caressing each other's hurt souls and scarred bodies…and loving the pain way.

_I see myself in your face a reflection of pain  
__Somebody made you cry over and over again  
__Still you and I made it through all of this for a reason  
__Could it be that we created affair for all seasons  
_'_Cause you and I were meant to be lovers  
__The search is over for us, there's no other  
__We're finally at the rainbow's end  
__Baby, together we'll mend all the cracks in our heart  
__And just love all the hurt away.__  
_

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Love All The Hurt Away—Aretha Franklin and George Benson**_

_**Personal branding irons are on my Pinterest page - nothing grotesque! Just a personal branding iron so you can see what they look like. pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/ (put a you see the word "dot" and no spaces. That is the URL).  
**_

_**Please review!**_


	20. Chapter 20: Confrontations

_**There seemed to be a lot of tears for that chapter. I knew it was touching and sentimental, but you guys gave me the greatest compliment EVER! Thank you so much.**_

_**I wish I could tell you guys just how incredible your reviews are—not just that I get them, but what you guys say, it's extraordinary! That's why I take time to thank you in my author's note if I am not able to thank you personally by PM. I appreciate every review—every single one. Thank you.**_

_**To Anon: You have to wait to see if she is going to allow Christian to get justice for her, but the scars cannot be removed. There are a lot of treatments for scars that are **_**not**_** deep, but they involve skin grafting or cutting out the burn and closing it altogether—which would replace the burn scar with another scar and is usually quite painful. Deep burns are like Ana's brands are permanent and can never be removed completely if at all. **_

_**Thank you to my guest reviewers Anailuj, Beachycolor, Carol, ChoppingPeppers (yeah, tender dick, whoda thunk it!?), Dawn (I'm glad you decided to review), Jaimini, Kellie (a new name—thank you for joining me!), Morgan5909, NAEO99, Teresaromance & Tempress (two more new names—thank you for joining me!), Tj and all of my guest reviews that I am unable to respond to directly by PM.**_

_**AND I have acquired a Washington native! Welcome Michelle1m2005! I'm glad you have joined me!**_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 20—Confrontations

_**GREY **_

This woman has the ability to make me human. Oh, please God let it be so. After my butterfly serenaded me beautifully with a song that I swear I will never forget, I feasted for quite some time on her delectable lips and tongue, gobbling up as much of her as I possibly could without completely consuming her. I never thought I would ever be able to let anyone touch my scars. At first, it was just a gesture—something to show her that I completely understood the pain that she had endured and the terror that attaches to it for years and years. But when she touched me…something happened. I don't know what it was and it's hard to describe. It was so alien at first and then, it was like I hungered for it—like I would hurt me more if she stopped. And I have to say that the oil back massage was genius. My little Butterfly knew exactly what I needed. But her _song_! Her song injected life and light and healing into me and when she told me the name of it, I couldn't believe what I was hearing! I've never heard of the song before and I have a date with Google soon to find it, but I swear that is the same way that I felt about her—that I wanted to love her pain away. But am I capable of love? Am I worthy of _her_ love? Does she love me now? Can she possibly love me? After so little time together? At _all_?

These are all questions that will have to wait because I plan on spending as much time as possible with my beautiful butterfly and we have not eaten anything all day. So we both decided that we should get something to eat, for man cannot live by sex alone. Of course, Butterfly has no clothes here besides the few items in her overnight bag to wear back home. I'm hoping to convince her to stay another night, so we have to save those clothes. So when I asked her what she wanted to wear and she said, "One of your dress shirts that you've already worn," I was happy to oblige. How could I not want to see those mile long legs strutting around my apartment with that delectable little ass wiggling around in one of my shirts? Shit, I thought Greystone was out of commission, but he seems to be showing signs of life. Down, Boy…must get sustenance…

We snatched various leftovers out of the kitchen, took them to the great room and had a picnic on the floor. We had so much to talk about and I wanted to tell her everything. I told her how many subs I had and that they all fit the same description. I had 15 subs before her between 21 and several weeks ago and they all looked like her—petite brunette women with pale skin. That is my type. I didn't tell her _why_ that was my type yet. No matter how open-minded she is, some things simply must be spoon-fed.

We talked more about Elena and my introduction to the lifestyle and what it accomplished. She was completely appalled. I didn't use Elena's name but I did describe the introduction and process in great detail—how she slapped me for mouthing off at her and told me to come back the next day, at which time I found myself being slapped, on my knees, and fucked on a regular basis. I told her how long the relationship lasted and that Elena financed my business. I didn't tell her that Elena and I had been friends until a couple of days ago when I found out that the skank tried to fuck my 14-year-old brother.

"So where is this Pedo-Bitch She-Thing now? In jail, I hope!" She spit. I break into laughter. Elena has yet another unflattering nickname. Just as we were about to expound upon the subject, my wall phone rang in the kitchen. I know that's the doorman because he is the only one that calls that line.

"Mr. Grey, Mrs. Lincoln is down here and she is making a terrible scene—something about the access codes being changed without her knowledge. I tried to tell her that I cannot give her the codes without your permission no matter _how long I've known of her!"_ I know that last part was more for Elena than for me. "But she is quite insistent. Should I give her the codes, Sir?" And of course, Taylor isn't quite on duty yet. I hate to call him in for this—or out of his love nest on the other side of the penthouse, I should say—but I better tell him that there is about to be a situation.

"Do not give her the codes, Mark. I'll call you back in a moment." I hang up and call Gail and Taylor's quarters.

"Sir," Taylor answers.

"Mrs. Lincoln is on her way up." I say.

"Okay…" he says, expecting,

"Ana is still here." After a moment, realization dawns.

"Oh!" He responds.

"Dressed in one of my shirts."

"On my way, Sir." He hangs up. I'm not really comfortable with Taylor seeing Ana in only one of my shirts, but the thought of Elena seeing it kind of gives me a little tingle inside. I turn to Ana who is standing on the other side of the breakfast bar with her hands on her hips. She knows something is in the cooking. I go over to her and take her hands in mine.

"I want to be completely honest with you. I don't know where our relationship is going, but I sure as hell would like to find out. But I am a damaged man, Ana, and you will see more damage as time goes by. I won't hide anything from you unless I feel that it is best for your safety or your sanity." I sigh. "I need to know if you can deal with that."

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Whoa! Pump ya' brakes! I've only known this man for three weeks—intimately, only two days—and he's coming at me with this heavy speech about being damaged and my only seeing a portion of the damage? Even though I'm taught to be open-minded, this is a little bit scary.

"Christian, what are you trying to tell me?" I ask outright. He sighs again and sits on one of the stools at his breakfast bar, still holding my hands.

"I think I may be feeling something for you, Ana. I don't know what it is yet. But I'm afraid that if I tell you every twisted thing about me that you'll run. And one of those twisted things is downstairs with the doorman right now." Oh fuck! What the hell have I gotten myself into?

"Be more specific, please." I say flatly. He sighs heavily.

"There is so much that I have to tell you, and I know I may forget to tell you something. But I'm going to tell you everything. If I do forget to tell you something, it may pop up like that proverbial Jack-in-the-box that we spoke of last night and surprise you. I'm telling you this in advance because I don't want you to be _pissed_ at me. Now if I see it coming, I'm going to give you a crash course in 15 seconds so that you are never ambushed by something that is about to occur. Hopefully it won't come up with anything too detrimental, vital, or shocking. More skeletons are falling out of my closet that we haven't had a chance to talk about yet, so I'm about to give you one of those crash courses so that you are not befuddled by the conversation that's most likely about to occur. I'll apologize for it now and explain it later. But I know I'm going to forget something more than once and I don't want you to think I'm hiding anything from you. Do you understand?"

"I don't know, but keep talking." I respond.

"There's someone downstairs that we've been talking about quite a bit." I start to run through the conversations that we have been having trying to figure out who we spoke about that could be visiting him.

"Okay." Nothing is coming to mind yet.

"Elena Lincoln." Is this name supposed to mean something to me? I know it's serious because he won't make eye contact with me. "We were friends until just a few days ago."

"Friends?" I say suspiciously.

"Yes, friends. She used to supply me with submissives, and…she's the woman that introduced me to the lifestyle." I snatch my hands out of his reflexively. He looks like somebody just hit him. I am horrified. This woman abused him as a child and he's still friends with her?

"Why in the world would you remain _friends_ with this woman?" I gasp.

"I swear to you, I will explain everything. All you need to know right now is that I no longer consider her a friend…but she's not aware of that yet, which is why she is downstairs giving my doorman hell." I fold my arms across my chest. No doubt he wants to go handle the Pedo-Bitch She-Thing.

"So now, you want to go down there and talk to her, right?" I say, with just enough salt I my voice to let him know that I am not pleased with this development _AT ALL!_

"I can do that, or I can tell Marc to send her up." He responds.

"Or send her _away_!" I shoot. Stank-ass, slutty, nasty, filthy, slimy, Pedo-Bitch She-Thing demon from hell!

"I could do that too, but she'll only come back," he walks over to me and tentatively takes my hands again. "She will probably continue to show up no matter what I do, because I told her not to return to my apartment without an invitation, and here she is." He pulls me into his arms. "But I would _love_ to send her a message." He says in a low, sexy voice. And now I see his game. Part of me wants to pick something up and hurl it at his head for putting me in this situation. Another part of me wants to see exactly what a stank-ass, slutty, nasty, filthy, slimy, Pedo-Bitch She-Thing demon from hell really looks like. Finally, there's that last thing that's being fed by The Bitch poking me in my side saying,

_Get her! Get her! Get her! Come on! This will be fun! You know you want to do it! You know it! You,_ _standing in his apartment, in his shirt—she's going to have a heart attack._

Taylor shows up from…where? He's wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I shudder to think what we interrupted. He paused for a beat noting my attire then took special pains not to look at me at all. "Sir, Marc indicates that he needs to know what you would like to do. It's getting so that he may have to call the authorities soon." Christian looks at me. I look over to Taylor and say, "Have him send her up, but don't give her the codes." Taylor looks back at Christian who nods his affirmation.

"I can only promise to behave myself is she behaves _herself_." I state.

"She probably won't behave herself." He responds.

"Then don't expect me to do it either."

"Fair enough." He says, his hooded eyes looking at my slightly exposed breasts peeking out of his shirt. I feel heat almost immediately.

"Christian, you can't start anything with Pedo-Bitch She-Thing on her way up here." I say, a little breathy. He pulls me closer to him. I'm standing between his legs, my hands on his shoulders.

"I can start whatever I like…we just have to wait until later to finish." His deep sexy voice sends a spark of fire to my core that not even She-Thing's pending arrival couldn't extinguish. And then he kissed me—oh _fuck_, did he kiss me! His tongue is lapping into my mouth and his hands are grabbing onto my (his) shirt and my ass. He's got me damn near bent backwards over the breakfast bar and he is kissing me with the ferocity of a starving man eating a T-bone steak. My hands are tangled in his hair and I am holding on for dear life. Holy hell! I hear her before I see her, but there was still a delay in my reaction because I was buried in my man and he was buried in me…though not the way that I wanted him to be.

Did I just say _my man?_ Oh, shit…

"Christian, I really don't understand why…" She's barking and then she freezes in her tracks. Christian broke the kiss gently and looked up at She-Thing. It took me a few more moments to return from yet another kiss-induced haze…what this man does to me.

Elena Lincoln. Tall, very pretty, excellent figure—but I swear she looks like she just stepped out of Dominatrix-R-Us! She has flaxen platinum blonde hair cut in a perfect bob wearing very pale foundation make-up and fire-engine red lipstick. She is wearing this get-up that should not be seen before midnight, assuming it should be seen in public _at all_—much less on a Sunday afternoon! It's a two-piece set—halter top and pants—that looks like vinyl with a pair of black platform stiletto boots. She has a snarl on her face that could stop traffic and not in a good way.

_Momma always said don't make that face—it might get stuck that way!  
_I know, right?_  
_

"Nice boots." I say. It's the only kind thing I can think of at the moment. Christian turns his head away from She-Thing to hide his small snicker.

"Well, hello Christian." She growls. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was appalled.

"Elena." Christian says with no emotion at all.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" She has found her soft voice, it appears, and it makes my skin crawl. He looks at me and I nod.

"Elena this is Anastasia Steele."

"_Dr_. Anastasia Steele." I correct him.

"Ooo, _Dr_," She mocks. I laugh to myself. You have to kind of take in this scene here. I'm standing between this man's legs—and he likes to wrap them around me when we're in this position. I'm wearing his shirt and nothing else! He's wearing pajama pants. We're stuck in a lip lock that required for me to take a few moments to get my brain together before I could even acknowledge She-Thing's presence. This bitch has strolled into the apartment and right into Christian's kitchen looking like the blonde version of Elvira Mistress of the Dark—again, not in a good way—obviously ready for some action. So, like Christian said before—if their relationship is over, somebody _clearly_ forgot to tell her. What's more, she is most certainly feeling more than friendship, because there's no way in hell I'd turn up at Al's house dressed like this…unless we were going to a costume party; then I would _rock_ that shit!

_She looks like she plans on teaching somebody a lesson!  
_Indeed!_  
_

"Anastasia this is Elena Lincoln." Christian continues.

"Enchanted," She-Thing sneers.

"Charmed," I respond with just as much sincerity.

"So, Christian, You're letting them wear your shirts now?" She says with a smirk. Oh, she wants to play.

"Them?" I look at Christian.

"Subs, Dear." She says sarcastically.

"Oh, gee Christian, am I a sub?" I say in a sing-songy voice, running my fingers through the dusting of hair on his chest. I could hear She-Thing's breath catch from clean across the room. Yeah, Trick, I can touch his chest.

"No, but you're an awful lot of fun to play with," he says, seductively. I giggle like a school girl at our private joke and Christian laughs with me, kissing me playfully on the cheek. I am only too sure that She-Thing doesn't know what to make of any of this. Yeah, Bitch. He told me. I know all about you _and_ the subs…well, maybe not all, but enough for _this_ conversation.

"Well, I'm an old and _dear_ friend of Christian's." She purrs. Bitch, I am standing damn-near naked between his legs. Are you still trying to piss here? Seriously?

"Is that so, Christian?" I say, sweetly, batting my eyelashes at him.

"Well, it used to be until I recently heard some very disturbing news about her. Now I am being forced to reevaluate our relationship." Christian answered, coldly.

"Well, I…." She starts again. I hold my hand up to silence her. She looks a little shaken—her facial expression screams that she can't believe I just did that.

"Let me save you some time trying to explain the pecking order here to me—I'm a big girl. I'm a psychologist. I know all about BDSM, I know all about the lifestyle, I know all about the subs…and I know all about _you_." I say, my voice dripping with venom. "I don't really care what your past relationship was. He has made it very clear that whatever relationship you think you have is—at this very moment—irrelevant. On the other hand, our relationship…" I roll my shoulders and pop my neck, "is very relevant because I'm still feeling the effects of it right now." I smile. "So since I don't have anything that I need to hear from you or anything that I need to say to you, you don't need to address me at all. You can say what you need to say to Christian and leave me alone, or better yet, just go away, because right now, you're making a fool of yourself." I think she and Christian are both a little stunned.

"Well, then, maybe you need to _excuse_ us so that we can have a private conversation." She scoffed. I look at Christian.

"Christian, do you want me to leave? I will respect your privacy if you need it." I say sincerely.

"Yes, remember your place _Girl_!" She-Thing snapped. I was out of Christian's grasp in 1.2 seconds and in this bitch's face.

"Don't let the small frame fool you, Blondie. I will fuck you up." I said through clenched teeth, looking up at her. Christian grabs my wrists and quickly but gently snatched me back into his arms.

"Whoa! Don't light a fuse under that firecracker, Elena. You're not going to like the explosion." Christian warns. She-Thing can't believe her ears.

"Are you just going to let her speak to me that way?" She-Thing says aghast. Christian shrugs.

"She was invited. You weren't." He says, matter-of-factly.

"Oh and for the record," I add, "nobody _lets_ me do shit. I'm a grown ass woman and I do what the fuck I want." She looks at me, completely shocked. "I told your ass that I wasn't a sub. I guess you didn't hear me!" She-Thing and I are glaring at each other. She doesn't quite know what to say to me and I am waiting for whatever flies out of her Pedo-Bitch mouth. I already know that she and I are going to have a showdown. It's inevitable. I prefer it not be today, but if it is then so be it.

"Ana, Baby," Christian pulls my attention away from She-Thing and I can see her expression change when she hears the term of endearment, "I need you to go back to the bedroom for me. There are some things that I need to say to Elena and I don't want her to think that I'm saying them for your benefit." I look up into his slate grey eyes and somehow, I know he's telling me the truth.

"Okay, Baby," I say as I kiss him on the cheek. If you need to handle your business, then handle your business because if you don't, then I will! As I'm leaving, She-Thing goes to throw another verbal jab at me and all I hear is that beautiful baritone voice growl "Shut the fuck up, Elena!"

I go to Christian's bedroom and wait for the conversation to be over. I can't for the life of me understand why he would want to stay friends with a woman that molested him at the age of 15. I need to think about this like a doctor and not like a lover. I first need to know what drew him to BDSM. Was it the abuse he suffered? It was so long before 15. Part of me is surprised he even remembered that far—but traumatic experiences unfortunately never leave you. You either learn to deal with them or they consume you. So did they consume him? He seems fine to me…though there was that issue with touching his chest—the same issue I had with my back for the most part. Oh, God, we are so equally damaged. I need to hear him out. He's told me a lot, but there is still something that he is not telling me. I need him to tell me everything.

_But are you willing to tell him everything?  
_I don't know…  
_How can you expect him to tell you everything if you're not willing to tell him everything?  
_Because I'm afraid, I don't know.  
_Oh, so I guess you think this is just going to be a cakewalk for him right? Hey, Mr. Grey, spill all of your_ _guts to me while I keep my issues locked safely away from you in that pretty little box so the Boogie_ _Man_ _doesn't get me. Yeah, brilliant plan, _Dr_. Steele!_

I SO hate it when she's right, especially when she gets all huffy about it…Bitch!

I can hear the voices in the kitchen get a little louder. I hear She-Thing break into laughter and I can only imagine what's being said in there. I lay back on Christian's bed. A few moments later, I swear I hear him say something about She-Thing and his brother. Shit, this is worse than I thought. I continue to battle with my thoughts while Christian battles with the child molester.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Elena has been condescending to Ana ever since she walked in the door—but I expected as much. What I didn't expect was for Elena to come uninvited to my home in full-on Domme garb. What the hell is this? I know she didn't come over here expecting a _scene_. Is she out of her mind? And I almost feel sorry for her with the way that my sweet little Butterfly keeps getting these little jabs in on her. Every time she tries to figuratively swipe Ana's feet, my baby just skips over the swing and gives it right back to her in some cute little Butterfly way…that is, until the gloves came off.

Butterfly wiggled out of my arms and stood face to face with Elena, letting Elena know that Butterfly was not one to fuck with. I should say chin to face because, in those stilettos, Elena was a good foot taller than Butterfly, but she didn't back down. I couldn't help but think _who should I be saving right now?_ Butterfly is very tiny, but she hit the nail on the head when she told Elena not to let the small frame fool her. I figured I could save them both by grabbing the little wildcat and letting Elena know to tread lightly on that territory. Of course, Elena wouldn't listen to me. She has to prove that she has more control over me than _any_ woman. What she doesn't understand is that she no longer has any control over me _at all_. She used to, I'll admit, and it had been diminishing slowly as the years progressed. But it has completely dissipated since I now know that she tried to recruit my brother into the Legion of Subs. Now, even having her in my presence and especially in the presence of my Butterfly feels like an abomination. It's time to end this useless strutting that she's doing. I've had enough.

"Ana, Baby, I need you to go back to the bedroom for me. There are some things that I need to say to Elena and I don't want her to think that I'm saying them for your benefit." She looks in my eyes and I'm willing her _please Baby let me get rid of this vermin_.

"Okay, Baby," she say sweetly and kisses me on my cheek before she walks out of the kitchen. Elena goes to say something and I turn on her, cutting her off immediately.

"Shut the fuck up, Elena!" I snap. She glares at me. "Elena, I don't know what you're trying to do, but _that one_, you can't run over, so you might as well stop now because she's unlike anybody you've ever met in your life. I can guarantee you that!"

"What's gotten into you? What has she done to you?" She says softly, like I've been altered against my will by the Body Snatchers.

"I'm not going to even bother trying to figure out what you mean by that statement." I say. "I am testing the waters with Ana to see where this goes." Her eyes are large and her mouth is hanging open.

"Testing the waters!? Are you telling me that you are in a _relationship_ with this girl?"

"Yes, that's what I'm telling you." I say, flatly. She laughs heartily.

"Well, we'll just see how long _that_ lasts!" She says sarcastically. My blood is slowly starting to boil.

"You're damn right we're going to see how long it lasts, but you won't be around to see it!" I say through clenched teeth. Her laughter subsides.

"What do you mean, Christian? What are you saying?" She asks horrified.

"What I should have said to you years ago…_no_! _No_, I don't want a relationship with you. _No_, I don't want you around me. _No_, I don't want you touching me, calling me, or coming to my home!"

"She's turned you against me!" Elena said, tears brimming in her eyes.

"No, Elena. She hasn't even known of you for a full 24 hours yet. _You_ turned me against you! You turned me against you before our relationship even started by coming on to my brother when he was 14. You turned me against you by making me think you were doing this to help me, to save me. Granted, this little exercise did teach me control, but that's not why you did it. You did it for _yourself_. You saw a horny teenager that you wanted that was weak, that was headed down the wrong path. And not only were you able mold and shape me the way that you felt like I should come out, but you were also able to fulfill your lust for young boys. How many more were there, Elena? Would I have even been chosen if my brother had said 'yes?' Would I have even been a candidate in your little game? Oh, what am I thinking? Of course I would have. He was 18 when I turned 15. That put him right at the age to be bumped out and for me to take his place!" I am furious now. I can't believe how blind I was all these years, and it took my brother calling her a wacky nickname to bring it all out.

"Christian, I…I'm sorry." She squeaks.

"Sorry for what?" I roar. "Sorry for tricking me into believing you did this for me? Sorry for coming on to my brother? Sorry for lying about it all these years? Sorry for throwing a 14-year-old kid under the bus when it all came out? Or are you sorry for victimizing me when I had already been victimized? For making me trust you and believe you when you told me that this was the only way?"

"I taught you control, Christian!" She cried. "I gave you everything that you needed to control your destiny."

"You showed me _one_ option!" I yelled. "And that option was beneficial for _you_! You hid every other option from me! You told me love was for fools! I never had any friends and I don't have any now! You have friends, don't you, Elena?" She's weeping and won't answer. "Don't you?" I roar.

"Yes!" she cries.

"Then why couldn't I? Why couldn't I live like a normal teenager? Why could you live in the lifestyle and still have a normal life outside and I couldn't? Hell, you had a _husband_, but I couldn't even have a girlfriend. You threatened to beat the hell out of me if I even _looked_ at the girls at Harvard, and you were 3000 fucking miles away. Were you celibate while I was gone, Elena? I've always been monogamous with all of my subs; were you monogamous with me?" I'm damn near yelling at the top of my lungs.

"Christian, why are we talking about this right now?" She says through her tears.

"Because there won't be another opportunity. I never want to have this conversation again. I want to tell Ana everything about me. I want to wipe this slate completely clean, and I can't do it with you and this crap hanging over my head!"

"You mean, she doesn't know?" I almost saw a small flicker of hope in Elena's eye. Oh, no, Bitch. Don't get ahead of yourself.

"She doesn't know everything, but she knows about _you_!" I spit. I watch her little balloon deflate just as soon as it had risen, but I'm not done with her yet. "You always stayed close, to make sure that you had that reign on me. You planted yourself in my mind so that you could have control when you weren't there. You always picked my girls—somebody that was always close to you, as long as they didn't get _too_ close to me in the process. You always made sure another girl was ready when the first one wanted 'more.' It was like you knew…"

Then it hit me.

These were _her_ girls. Of course, she knew! She knew the moment that these girls would want more. She's the one who convinced me to get rid of them when they _asked_ for more. She completely convinced me that I could have _nothing_ outside of a Dom/sub relationship…ever! "Fuck!" I said out loud. It should have occurred to me with Naomi. She wanted more from the very beginning, and when I got rid of her, Elena wasn't prepared. She couldn't move fast enough to get me another sub. I was wondering why she showed up over here that night…she was desperate! But she wasn't desperate to fuck me…or even desperate to sub for me. She was desperate to maintain control! "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I could have gone my whole life without the realization that I just made.

I've been a sub for 14 years.

"Christian?" She comes over to me. "Christian, what is it?" She touches my arm. I snatch my arm away from her touch.

"Do you still fuck little boys, Elena?" I say flatly. She looks at me like I just slapped her. Don't tempt me.

"Why would you say something like that to me, Christian?" She acts appalled. I lose it again.

"Do you forget who you're talking to?" I'm yelling. I have grabbed her arms and I'm shaking her fiercely. "Do you forget that you fucked me for three years before I was legal? I was there, Elena—I'm not some kid saying that you came on to him 17 years ago; I was _there_!"

"Christian!" She's wailing now. "Christian, you're hurting me!"

"You knew what I had gone through! You knew what my life was like! You knew about the nightmares! You knew about the haphephobia! About my inability to forge relationships, my self-hatred, my drinking—you knew about it all, and you used it against me!" I yell.

"No, I didn't! I swear I didn't! I gave you what you needed! Christian, please!" She cried.

"CHRISTIAN, STOP!"

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I've gotten kind of comfy here in Christian's bed and almost dozed off until I swear I could hear weeping. I raise my head and listen carefully. Raised voices…my Baby…why is he yelling? And yes, I do hear weeping. I get up and walk out of the room, still wearing only Christian's shirt. I meet Taylor in the hallway who only briefly eyes my attire and then turns a pretty shade of crimson.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Steele. I heard yelling…and crying…" I look down at Christian's shirt and wave it off.

"Don't worry about it Taylor. I heard it, too." As we come around the corner, Christian and She-Thing are in a heated discussion in the kitchen.

"You always stayed close…" He is yelling! I don't think I've ever heard him yell like that. "You always picked my girls—somebody that was always close to you, as long as they didn't get _too_ close to me in the process. You always made sure another girl was ready when the first one wanted 'more.' It was like you knew…" A look of realization came over his face. I wanted to go to him, but Taylor caught my arm. When I looked back at him, he shook his head and put his index finger over his lip to shush me. I stayed where I was and watched the massacre unfolding before me.

"Fuck!" He exclaimed. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck !" I looked up at Taylor. This can't be good. She-Thing said something to him, then Christian very calmly asked,

"Do you still fuck little boys, Elena?" What!? I gasp at his words, but they don't realize I'm standing there yet. Yikes! How many boys has she molested?

"Why would you say something like that to me, Christian?" She asked him, and the next thing I know, he's off again.

"Do you forget who you're talking to?" He yelled at her and he's shaking her by her arms like a ragdoll. "Do you forget that you fucked me for three years before I was legal? I was there, Elena—I'm not some kid saying that you came on to him 17 years ago; I was _there_!" Oh the shit is hitting the fan.

"Taylor, do something!" I urge. He lets me go and tries to get Christian's attention.

"Sir," he says, gently at Christian's side.

"Christian! Christian, you're hurting me!" Oh good grief! That's a little theatrical, but he really shouldn't be shaking this woman.

"You knew what I had gone through!" He continues to yell at her and shake her. Taylor is not working nearly hard enough to make him stop. "You knew what my life was like! You knew about the nightmares!"

Nightmares? Christian had nightmares, too?

"You knew about the haphephobia!" Oh good God! I knew there was a problem with touching his chest, but I didn't know it was that serious.

"About my inability to forge relationships, my self-hatred, my drinking…" Holy cow, Batman. He was a really fucked-up kid.

"…you knew about it all, and you used it against me!" I really fucking hate her now.

"No, I didn't! I swear I didn't! I gave you what you needed! Christian, please!" She cried. He can shake her fucking head off like a bobble-head for all I care…but for himself, he really needs to stop.

"CHRISTIAN STOP!" I yell as loud as I can. He freezes with She-Thing in his hands, cringing while he's sneering at her. I walk over and stand next to Taylor. "Baby," I say gently, "let her go." She's looking from me to him, and she's truly terrified. You should be, Bitch. I wouldn't care if he shook your fucking guts out, squeezed you until he popped your ass like a grape; but he needs to leave this situation with no regrets, so I'm going to make sure he lets your skankalicious ass go. "Baby, please," I coo.

"Christian…" she whimpers. I turn my head to her and snap. "Shut. Up!" Be quiet, Bitch. Your voice is going to set him off again. He's still sneering at her like he could kill her. I have to pull him out of this or he just might. "Don't look at him." I say to She-Thing.

"What the hell do you…" Christian's nostrils flare at the sound of her voice and I start talking again.

"Shut! The fuck! Up! And don't look at him! If you want! Him to let! You go!" I spit through clenched teeth. She looks at me wide-eyed and I guess I became her point of focus. "Don't fucking look at me either!" I snap before I know it. She immediately drops her head. I turn back to Christian. I have to bring him out of this. He sees her as one of the people that victimized him—no longer as someone that used to be a friend and mentor. He could easily unleash every bit of the anguish and pain that he's been carrying upon her right now and not feel a thing until she was a bloody pile of flesh on the floor before him. I can't touch him; he might go completely off.

He's so damn tall but I have to get close to his ear. He's breathing heavily and I know he's slipping fast. I climb up onto the breakfast bar. I know Taylor may have gotten an eyeful of "Ana-ass" but right now, I'm concerned about my man. I lean in to him. "Come back to me, Baby." I say softly. "Come on back, Baby." I start to sing _Love All The Hurt Away _in his ear.

_Baby, you are the thing that I hoped and I prayed for  
__You gave your love and I'm happy like never before_

I see the veins in his neck slow their pulsing and his breathing starts to slow as well.

_You be the strength and I'll be your shoulder to lean on  
__Building a world and fill our whole place with our love song__  
_

His shoulders relax, and he's releasing his grip on She-Thing's arms. She's got red handprints in her arms and I know they're going to bruise. He's starting to count and I keep singing.

'_Cause you and I were meant to be lovers  
__The search is over for us, there's no other  
__We're finally at the rainbow's end  
__Baby, together we'll mend all the cracks in our heart  
__And just love all the hurt away.__  
_

Elena slowly takes a few steps back and she watches me with utter disdain as I sing in his ear and he starts counting. Bitch, stop looking at me before I say _sic 'em_ and make him shake your ass again! Christian looks over his shoulder at me kneeling on the breakfast bar. The look on his face makes me stop singing—there is absolutely nothing there. He has put on his mask and you can't see anything. He picks me up under my arms like I'm a rag doll and sets me gently on my feet.

"The only reason why I felt like this was what I needed is because you never gave me another option." He says impassively to She-Thing. "Ana has. Ana is giving me a chance at a different type of life and damn it, I'm going to take it." He walks pass me towards his study and then turns back around. "I don't know how many other little boys you've fucked before or after me, but it's disgusting. You disgust me Elena, and I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment." He disappears down the hall. Taylor looks over at me and I nod to him. "Make sure he's okay," I say softly. Taylor nods and follows him down the hall. I turn my focus back to She-Thing.

"I think you should leave now." I say, sternly.

"You can't make me leave. You have no right!" She snaps indignantly.

"My man told you to leave, and now I am telling you to get the hell out of his apartment." She just cackles at me. This woman has a death wish. "Are you deaf, stupid, or both?" I continue. She stops laughing, but she continues to smirk at me. "I just had to _sing_ in that man's ear to keep him for popping your ass like a damn grape! And you have the nerve to still stand here like you own the place?"

"I have more right to be here then you!" She snapped. "Christian and I have been friends for 14 years."

"Oh, no," I corrected her, "You may have been friends—if that's what you call it—for 11 years, but you _molested_ him for three. So you can wrap it up in a bow and put whatever pretty little label on it that you like. What it comes down to is that you couldn't handle a real man so instead you fucked a young teenage boy, you nasty ass pedophile criminal bitch. Now get your ass out of the apartment, or I will forcibly remove you!" I snap. She looks down at me laughing.

"You and what army?" She scoffs, folding her arms.

"No army, just me." I retort. She throws her hands, laughing again and sits in one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

"I'm not going anywhere until Christian and I talk this out! I don't know what you've said to him or what you've done to him, but you're not getting rid of me that easily!" Oh well, I tried to warn her.

"Well, I tried. I'm not talking to you anymore." I state.

"That's fine, because I have nothing to say to you!" She spits.

"Good. We agree!" I anchor myself on the breakfast bar, hook my foot under the leg of the barstool and pull straight up, effectively pulling the stool right out from under her. The vinyl-clad Pedo-Bitch falls hard on her ass, her stiletto feet flailing in the air before she even knows what happened. I sit the barstool behind me and wait for her to get up. She's like a turtle on its back because her heels are too high to facilitate effectively standing up.

"How dare you put your hands on me!" She yelps.

"I haven't put my hands on you yet—just the chair. Get up!" I taunt, in position for whatever the pedo-stank-hoe might throw at me. I didn't know just how right I was. She stumbles to her feet a little wobbly—not sure why—swiftly picks up a nectarine out of the fruit bowl on the counter and throws it at me! I move just in time to catch it in my hand before it hit me!

"Oh, no, the fuck…" I launched it back at her before I even finished my sentence and the nectarine hit her square in the middle of the forehead. I didn't think I hit her that hard but she jerked back like she was just hit with a Mike Tyson punch. I figured some of that plastic surgery may be cracking. "You want to throw something else?" I ask still in position waiting for her to move. She's pissed now.

"I will beat your little ass, you disrespectful bitch!" She screams. I turn around and pull up Christian's shirt, showing her my bare ass.

"Here it is!" I said, waving it at her. It just pissed her off even worse.

"Eeeeeeeooooooowwwwww!" She growled before charging towards me. I just stepped out of her way, gave her a little push and watched her keep going. She stumbled miserably and fell flat on her face.

"Ouch, that had to hurt." I said, leaning against the breakfast bar. She's moaning in a little more agony this time. When she turns around to face me, still on the floor, her face is bleeding all over the tile. Thank God it's not carpeted. "Eeeewww, Christian is not going to like that." I say. "So are you ready to go or do you want to keep this up?" She's crying a bit now. I figured I might have destroyed some very expensive dental work. She scrambled to her feet as best as she could. She's out of breath and she hasn't really done anything yet—minus a little bit of amateur acrobatics. She picks up a coat and a purse that I didn't know she had brought with her from off of the sofa in the great room.

"You haven't seen the last of me, you little bitch!" She snaps.

"Yeah, whatever. Say it while you're walking out, you lower than life, stank trashy ass child fucker!" What can you say after that? She opened the door and left.

I take a deep breath and let it out. That is not my idea of a leisurely afternoon, damn it! I'm just about to go check on Christian when he and Taylor come out of another room near his study snickering at each other. I'm out here trying to get rid of the pedo-bitch and they're in there having playtime. What the fuck? Christian must have seen the look on my face and let the cat out of the bag that most rooms except for the bedrooms and bathrooms in his penthouse are under 24-hour video surveillance. So basically they've been sitting in this office watching the girlfight and oh my God, I showed Elena my ass. My eyes get wide and I look from Taylor to Christian and back to Taylor.

"Don't worry," Christian began, "Taylor looked away when you bared your ass." I. Am. Mortified! I could seriously crawl under a rock and die right now. I guess I can't say anything to Christian about talking to Edward now, because _this_ was one for the books.

"I tried to tell her to leave. She wouldn't listen!" I whined.

"So you thought you'd help her out a bit." Christian said, still snickering. Taylor is trying to hide his mirth.

"You're supposed to be a professional!" I pointed at Taylor.

"Yes Ma'am!" He snickered.

"Oh, to hell with both of you!" I threw my hands up and proceeded to storm past the laughing men.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"Sir, Ms. Steele asked me to make sure you're okay." Taylor interrupts my thought process walking into the room. I swear, I wanted to kill that bitch. I really wanted to kill her. Thank fuck Ana was here! I don't know what came over me. I couldn't take anymore of her lies! She is such a fraud! My whole fucking life is a fraud! I separated myself from everything and everybody, including my family. All I had was work and subs…

And Elena.

Business comes naturally to me. I will always be Christian Grey, Billionaire CEO. But what about Christian Grey the man? What happened to him? What have I got to show for myself? What will I have to show for myself when I'm gone but a pile of money and a bunch of ex-subs? If I died tomorrow, who besides my family would show up at my funeral?

Fucking Elena Lincoln.

And several other businessmen who would love to dance on my grave.

Am I okay? "Fuck, no, I'm not okay! I want to hurt somebody, and I want to hurt them badly!" I put my hands on the back of a chair that's only vaguely familiar to me. "If would have hurt her, Taylor. If Ana wasn't here, I would have fucked her up."

"I know, Sir." Taylor said, flatly.

"Why didn't you stop me?" I snap.

"I tried, Sir." He began. "But I've seen that look before, in combat situations. If I had touched you, you would have snapped her arm. I tried to talk to you, but you didn't hear me. You only responded to Ms. Steele…and even then, not immediately." Yes. She was singing that song…that song I heard her humming this morning…the healing song. She brought me back; she brought me back from hell. She's the one—the one to save me.

The only thing that can make this right at this point is Ana. I am now a little more aware of my surroundings. "This is not my study."

"No Sir, it's my office." Taylor says.

"Where's An…?" I'm broken from my thought when I see the great room on one of the monitors and Elena towering over Ana, still clad in just my shirt. "Hit the sound to the great room," I say to Taylor. He gives us sound just in time for us to see Ana snatch the barstool from under Elena, who subsequently slams smack on her ass on the hard marble floor! Taylor and I both have to cover our mouths to keep from howling. Elena recovers and throws something across the room at Ana. My Butterfly spit some expletives and hurls it right back at her. SPLAT! Spot on—right in the face. "Give up, Elena, give up!" I say between bursts of laughter.

"Should I go help her, Sir?" Taylor asks, a bit confused.

"Which one?" I'm still laughing. Taylor just shrugs and looks at the screen. I turn around just in time to see my Butterfly's sweet bare ass waving Full Monty at Elena.

"Did she just…?" I gasp.

"Yes, Sir. She did!" Taylor says, quite loudly. I snap my head over at him and he is looking conspicuously way off to the left somewhere. I turn back to the screen and Elena looks as if she's about to charge Ana.

"Okay! Okay! You've gotta look, you're gonna miss it!" I say to Taylor. He scurries over to his desk to see the screen. I've seen what this woman can do. I know Elena is in over her head. I just want to know what's going to happen next. Hell, I couldn't kill her; Butterfly might as well have some fun. Sure enough, Elena gets a running start—which looks pretty damn funny in those stilettos, by the way—and launches herself at Butterfly, who delicately steps to the side, pushes Elena as she's going by and let's inertia do the rest. When that woman goes sprawling across the floor, Taylor and I are clutching each other, burying our faces in each others' shoulders in an attempt to keep the laughter from escaping the office. Butterfly just stands there. She's saying something to Elena, but I can't hear her because I'm laughing too hard. Taylor and I manage to compose ourselves as we watch Elena and Ana have one last exchange of words before Elena finally decides that now would probably be a good time to leave. When we leave the office, we have to work hard to contain our laughter. Except for a slight case of JBF hair, Ana is calm, cool, and collected like nothing at all just happened, but she is a tad bit confused by our laughter.

"Um, Baby?" I say, my voice full of mirth. "There are 360-cameras and mics all over this apartment." Her face registered confusion, then anger, then acknowledgement, then shame in the span of about five seconds. It was so cute. "Don't worry. Taylor looked away when you bared your ass." My poor Butterfly turned fifty shades of pink at that moment.

"I tried to tell her to leave. She wouldn't listen!" She explained.

"So you thought you'd help her out a bit." I tried to hide my amusement, but it was no good. Taylor was just as unsuccessful.

"You're supposed to be a professional!" She snapped at Taylor.

"Yes Ma'am!" He giggled—still no luck.

"Oh, to hell with both of you!" Now she's pouting. I catch her around her waist just as she was trying to walk pass me.

"Hold on, hold on." I try to soothe her aching ego. "We're not laughing _at_ you, Baby. We're laughing _with_ you." She folds her arms.

"That's interesting, Mr. Grey, because I'm not laughing!" She spit.

"I don't know why not!" I laugh. "I thought I was going to die when she fell on her ass!" Taylor has lost his composure. A slightly comical look of realization came over her face at that moment.

"Did you see her face when I hit her with the nectarine?" She said, just above a whisper like it was a secret. Taylor and I erupt into sputtering laughter.

"Is th..that what…that was?" I can hardly speak.

"Hey, she threw it at me first." She defended. "I told her to leave, she wouldn't. _'Christian and I are going to talk this out. We've been friends for years.'_" She said in a perfect Elena impression. "She sat down, I didn't invite her to take a seat, so I took it back!"

"I'll say!" Taylor is snickering again.

"When she scampered her ass of the floor, she offered me some0 fruit and I returned the gesture." I'm going to die if she doesn't stop with this description. "When she came charging at me, I stepped out of the way and she took a 10 point fall." Taylor and I are coughing now.

"Stop! Please stop!" I beg through my tears of laughter. "I can't take anymore." When I'm able to compose myself a bit, I say, "I only have one question. Why did you show her your ass?"

"Oh, that," she says kind of matter-of-factly. "She told me she would kick my little ass, so I showed it to her and said 'here it is!'" And the laughter begins again.

"Hey!" She says, looking a bit shocked and nervous. "That's not going to end up on YouTube or anything is it?" I am losing air. She must stop now. Towards the kitchen we hear someone clear their throat. We are all a bit sobered by a not-so-happy Mrs. Jones standing there looking at us all like errant children. She looks from Ana—taking in her attire very carefully—then to Taylor, then to me, then back at Taylor.

"Jason?" She says, expecting. I'm sure she has no idea what to make of this situation. Her boyfriend and her boss standing in the great room, laughing hysterically with a half-naked girl. Ana's expression doesn't seem too pleased either, so I guess I had better throw some water on these two fireballs.

"Who's Jason?" Ana asks before I can begin introductions. I point to Taylor.

"That would be me, Ma'am." Taylor says solemnly.

"Oh!" She says pointing at him. "I thought your name was Taylor."

"That's my last name." He replies, still looking at Gail. Okay, okay…

"Mrs. Jones, this is Anastasia Steele…_Dr_. Anastasia Steele." I say, before she has a chance to glare at me.

"Dr. Steele." Mrs. Jones greets politely.

"How do you do?" Ana responds.

"Baby, this is Gail Jones, my housekeeper…and Taylor's girlfriend." A myriad of emotions come over her face, ending with her cringing behind me trying to pull her (my) shirt down over her knees and saying, "Oh shoot me, shoot me now!" I pull her back out into the open and she is covering her face. Poor little Butterfly. The whole house—and Elena—has seen you pretty much skivvieless! Take a bow…on second thought, don't!

"I'm going to let you explain this to Gail…" I say to Taylor, who looks at me horrified.

"Christian…" Ana's trying to scold me, I can hear it in her voice. I put my hands on her shoulders.

"…while I take my girl to go find some bottoms." I finish, pushing Ana towards the bedroom. She lets me lead her at first. Then she does some kind of NBA fake-out move out of my hands and dashes over to Mrs. Jones. No wonder Luc was calling her "Tiger." She has reflexes like a damn cat!

"Mrs. Jones, I am so sorry," she begins to a bewildered Gail. "Christian and I were enjoying our afternoon when She-Th…er, Elena Lincoln showed up unannounced and things just got…out of hand."

"I'll say they did." Taylor interjected. Mrs. Jones glared at him. He shrugged and pointed at the blood on the floor. "Mrs. Lincoln's." He explained to Gail. Ana looks like she has a three-second seizure.

"Holy cow! She's married?" Ana exclaimed.

"Divorced." I elaborate.

"Lucky guy! Dodged a bullet!" Ana shot. Mrs. Jones smirks a bit.

"I like her already." Gail says. Ana sighs heavily and turns her attention back to Gail.

"Mrs. Jones, I assure you it is not my practice to prance around…" she looks down at her lack of clothing, "…half naked in front of any man but my own. These were extreme circumstances, and I promise you that I will be more careful in the future. Please accept my apology." She is very sweet. I personally wouldn't give a shit what my staff thought about the women who come to my apartment and neither would any of my previous subs. But Ana is different.

She is not most women.

She is certainly not a sub.

She is my Butterfly, and she cares that Gail doesn't get the wrong idea about her. I walk over to her and put my arms around her waist.

"Mrs. Jones, Ana and I are seeing each other. She's going to be around a lot more often and not just weekends…I hope." That last part was for Ana. She looks back at me with those beautiful blue eyes.

"Not just weekends." She says sweetly, smiling delicately at me. When we look back at Mrs. Jones, her face is beaming at us. I have no idea why, but I think we've saved Taylor from the third degree and a very rough evening.

"Well, the threat has been abated, thanks to the wildcat here, so why don't you and Taylor go back and enjoy the rest of your afternoon?"

"Thank you, Sir." Taylor says.

"I should clean this up first," Mrs. Jones says, referring to Elena's blood offering. Ana darts out of my grasp again.

"Please, Mrs. Jones. I'll do it. It's…kind of my fault anyway." Ana protests. Mrs. Jones smiles at her.

"You will do no such thing. This is what I get paid for and I will take care of it. You and Mr. Grey go enjoy your afternoon. This will only take me a moment." Ana is still hesitant.

"If you're sure…" she says, not moving to leave.

"Of course, I'm sure, Dr. Steele." She smiles.

"Ana, please." Mrs. Jones looks at me, then back at my Butterfly. "_Everybody_ calls me Ana. Even my _patients_ call me Ana…except for Taylor who insists on calling me 'ma'am' which makes me feel 90-years-old, and this one," she says, pointing at me, "who insists on calling me Ms. Steele and I know why he does that...I'm babbling. Long story short, please call me Ana." Mrs. Jones is snickering now.

"Ana it is." She says with a laugh.

"Come on, _Ana_." I say taking her hand, stressing her name. "Let's leave Mrs. Jones to it now." I drag her back to my bedroom.

_**A/N:**_

_**Christian makes a reference to Body Snatchers when he and Elena were talking. In a 1964 film (remake in 1978) called **_**Invasion of the Body Snatchers**_**, aliens landed in California and proceeded to take over the town by "snatching" earthlings in their sleep and replacing with clones grown from pods who are devoid of emotion and nothing like the people they are replacing except for physical appearance. So Christian likens Elena's questioning and confused gaze at his obvious change in attitude towards her to Christian being taken and replaced by one of the Pod People.**_

_**Better than trying to explain the phrase Full Monty, it's better to just lead you here:  
en dot wikipedia dot org/wiki/Full_monty_(phrase)**_

_**Elena's outfit is on my Pinterest page if you need a visual! pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Please review!**_


	21. Chapter 21: More Confrontations

_**Okay, highlights of Chapter 20—Elena getting hit in the head with a piece of fruit, Christian shaking the shit out of Elena, Ana bearing her ass to Elena (literally), and Christian and Taylor clutching each other trying not to laugh too loud (believe it or not, that was my favorite part). Pretty good chapter, huh?**_

_**I'm sorry I'm late in posting, but it has been one hell of a fucking day!**_

_**To all of the newest readers, I post on Wednesdays and Saturdays, American time (usually by 3pm but could be later if my work day is particularly busy). Thank you all for joining me. I'm so glad you are here.**_

_**To Fifty Brillants: No, Dear. You made MY day with your review! I'm so glad you like the story. Thanks for joining me and for reviewing.**_

_**To Januarys Delight: Welcome to the jungle, lol. Thank you so much for joining me and thank you for that wonderful review!**_

_**To leantired: I always love having new readers! Thank you for joining me, and thank you for the review! I'm glad you are enjoying it!**_

_**To Tempress: I might have to examine that angle you mentioned…it has serious potential.**_

_**As always, thanks to all of my guest reviews (it's hard to call you guests—so many of you have been with me since Chapter 1) including Anailuj, Beth, Carol (No wet hardware, lol), Jaimini, Laney, Leah (whenever you can, Honey; always glad to see you!), Morgan5909, Naeo99, Teresaromance (thank you so much for that very high compliment!), TJ, and all of my other guest reviewers that I can't thank personally by PM. Please forgive me if I have missed anyone!**_

_**I hope you guys know that you really keep me going, and I really appreciate your support!**_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 21—More Confrontations

**GREY**

"Leave him alone."

I managed to convince my Butterfly to stay with me one more night. Since she didn't have any patients on her Monday rotation yet, it was an easy thing to do. We had literally been fucking nearly non-stop since Friday, and damn it, Greystone needed a break! So I was only too happy when Ana suggested that we cuddle near the fire and talk about some more of our "skeletons," so to speak. Now I am kind of wishing we hadn't done that.

"Stop. Get away from him."

Did I mention that my Butterfly talks in her sleep? I noticed it the first night that we slept together, when she was mumbling something about Margaret Thatcher and somebody named Stoley. I attributed it to nighttime babbling, but now, I am hearing something far more disturbing.

"No. Leave him alone, he just a boy…"

It's bad enough that I have to fight with the nightmares of my childhood. Now I've put the burden on my Butterfly. She has her own demons to fight, and now she's fighting mine, too. I feel like pure shit. I go to rouse her when I hear something that makes me stop dead still.

"Get your claws off of him, you bitch! I love him!"

Did I just hear her right? Did she just say she loves me? Is it _me_ that she's talking about? Can it be? So soon? This is insane! We've known each other for three seconds, she _can't_ love me! I shake my head. I'm not going to say anything about it if she doesn't. But I do want to wake her out of whatever nightmare she's having. I gently stroke her arm.

"Baby?"

"Leave him alone…" I stroke her arm again.

"Ana, Baby, wake up." She whimpers a bit, then rolls over to face me. Throwing her arm around my waist, she snuggles into my chest and falls into a contented sleep.

I've never had anyone hold me like this before—except for Mia when she gives me a hug. I can feel the rise and fall of her chest against mine, the warmth of her breath. It feels…strange, but…good, like she needs to be here…like I need her here. I wrap my arms around her and cradle her close to me. Whatever nightmare that she felt has left her body and she relaxes against me in rhythmic breathing.

"Oh, Ana." I say softly as I rub her back. "I want you with me always. I need you." I kiss her forehead and lay down on my pillow, thinking about my life before her—or my lack of life, I should say. I was a shell of a man—all alone with no idea that I was walking a lonely path to nowhere. How does that quote go? _A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner…secret and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. _Grace used to love to read the classics to us. She never understood why my face grew so stony when she got to this part of _A Christmas Carol_. I recognized myself immediately in Dickens' description of Ebenezer Scrooge with no hope of the redemption afforded him by the three specters that visited him. I felt no fear for the fate that awaited Mr. Scrooge at the end of his life—hell was too kind for me. I was the worthless son of a crack whore—no one could love me. Despite the kindness and affection shown to me by Grace and Carrick, by idiotic Lelliot and darling Mia, I was valueless—an unnecessary waste of flesh and bone….

…until now.

Now I feel like tomorrow could have some meaning, like there may be a purpose for me after all. I feel as if this beautiful Butterfly in my arms—this bruised and damaged Angel with a heart of gold and a soul of sunshine—could very well be the key to my Dickens transformation. She could be my past, present, and future all rolled into one. She has taken every horror story I've given her over the past few days in perfect stride—including coming face to face with Elena and teaching her a lesson I am sure she will never forget.

A lesser woman would have run away screaming…but not Ana, not my Butterfly.

I pull her closer to me and I swear I can hear her purring. She is deliciously adorable. You're falling hard Grey. You're falling hard and fast.

Yeah, I know.

* * *

I turned off the alarm and rose out of bed trying not to wake Ana. From what I could tell before I drifted off for a couple of hours myself, she seems to have slept pretty soundly after that one minor disturbance in the middle of the night. I'll be sure to ask her about it when she wakes.

I take a quick shower and grab my blue pinstriped Anderson Sheppard and my burgundy tie before quietly escaping to my study. I'm at a crossroads. I told Ana that I would let go of the Green Valley incident, but with everything I have in me, I want to find out who did this to her. Welch's carelessness tipped her off before. No doubt that snooping around would tip her off again. She had some very unkind things to say about her mother and stepfather. They don't even speak now. The story she told me about how they forced her to return to Green Valley after all she had been through has left a sour taste in my mouth. I would not lose any sleep if I never met either of them, and from what Ana says, that's not very likely anyway.

I could look at the police report and talk to the reporting officer. I'm sure that he is the one who told her that someone was looking into the case in the first place. I'm also sure that face-to-face powers of persuasion can most likely be effective in preventing him from letting the cat out of the bag this time. I need to give this some thought. I can't just jump the gun and go charging into this without a plan. I don't want to lose her—I _can't_ lose her—but this can't be another instance of the pimp who scarred me for life disappearing into the backdrop like nothing ever happened.

I open my email to see if anything needs my immediate attention since I don't plan on going in until after Butterfly leaves. Lots of reminders for meetings this week, and of course I have that fucking group thing tonight—terribly dull without Anastasia but a necessary evil nonetheless. Dinner with the family on Saturday to discuss the _Helping Hands_ fundraiser—can't I just write a check? Good grief. Three emails from Elena since yesterday. Do I want to even bother? I still have the investment in her salons, so there will be some kind of contact with her. But I can assure that any contact between us takes place with a second party always present…during business hours…at Grey House. We are certainly no longer friends and I definitely do not need to be alone in a room with that woman because I may just kill her. I open each of the emails and read the various lies about this all being a misunderstanding and how we really need to discuss this so that our friendship does not suffer further damage and Ana obviously poisoning my mind against her and all the little Elena-isms that she once used to keep me in check that no longer have an effect on me. Sorry, Oh Creepy One, it's not going to work this time.

I think better of responding to any of her emails because the last thing that I want to do is encourage her. I do notice that there is an email from Welch concerning Mr. David. It's his preliminary background check. Edward Robert David is 27 years old, soon to be 28. He owns a web design business here in Seattle, one which did very well last year by the way. Mr. David has more than a few pennies to rub together, I see. Not as many as me, of course, but he's pretty set. That could add to the fucker's cockiness. He's from Cedar Rapids, Iowa—talk about Nowheresville! He graduated from University of Washington a year before Ana, which is where he met her. What in the hell made him come to Washington? It's not like we're world renowned for IT development here. He started his education at University of Iowa, but withdrew in the middle of the first semester and transferred to U-Dub in the spring. Parents are Evelyn and James David, still alive. They own a specialty sporting goods business in Cedar Rapids that does very well. Two brothers, Marcus and James Jr., both older than he. Nothing stands out too much except...what brought him to Washington from Cedar Rapids?

I hear her before I see her—thick heels clicking along marble tile. I look up just in time to see Butterfly leaning against the door frame. Oh, fuck. My breath catches in my chest when I take in her full attire. Very short black denim shorts and a tank top, covered by another one of my shirts—worn and not laundered, no doubt—tied around her petite waist and a pair of black strappy sandals with thick heels. Her hair is cascading over her shoulders in beautiful chestnut waves and she is looking completely and utterly fuckable right now!

"Good morning," I say, turning my chair to face this delectable morsel standing before me. She saunters into my study with this sensual look on her face and I know my dick is getting hard. Down, Greystone.

"Good morning, Mr. Grey." Oh, fuck. "Working hard?" She bends down and puts her hands on my armrests, her breasts at perfect eye level.

"Hardly working," I say as I grasp her around the waist and snatch her into the chair with me. This woman could ask me for anything right now…_anything_…and I would move heaven and hell to get it for her.

The Taj Mahal? Sure!  
The Mona Lisa? No problem!  
The Hope Diamond? Coming right up!

She adjusts herself on my lap, straddling me, her legs under my armrests on either side. With one hand on her back and one hand grasping the hair at the nape of her neck, I kiss her feverishly, devouring her lips and tongue and savoring the taste and warmth of her mouth. Sweet Anastasia, I could just eat you up!

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Oh good God, this man can kiss! He's got me locked down on top of him in his office chair and he is consuming me like I am his last meal! Oh, the ecstasy! He always awakens the sleeper when he touches me, and I feel the flood between my legs as I entangle my hands in his soft copper locks. He's kissing me so deep and so passionately that I swear I feel like I'm about to pass out. He breaks contact with my lips only to devour my chin, my cheek, my neck… "Oh, Christian…" I breathe heavily as I hold my head back to allow him access and to drag in precious air. He releases a guttural moan and I completely surrender. I am the marionette and he holds the strings.

"Baby," he says as he greedily licks the skin on my chest and right at my cleavage.

"Please, oh God, please." I grab his face on both sides and pull his head back to rest my forehead on his. "Christian, you are insatiable." I say between breaths, my eyes closed trying to regain my composure. I open my eyes to see his staring back at me with a little mirth.

"Baby, you haven't seen the half of it, yet." He laughs fiendishly before placing another gentle kiss on my lips. "We better get something to eat." He says as he slaps my behind to get me to stand. I jump at the smack.

"Mr. Grey!" I say, feigning disapproval as I stand and rub the spot where he struck me. "You're not supposed to treat a lady thus!"

"There's a whole lot more I want to do to this lady." He growls sensually as he walks towards me. I back up with each of his steps until I meet the wall. He puts his hand on the wall next to my head, grabs my chin to tilt my head up and…there's that damn kiss again. Holy fuck! My knees start to buckle and he takes his free hand and closes the door to his study, then wraps it around my waist. The hand that was holding my chin is now roaming over my breast, my ass, and now undoing my shorts.

"Christian," I say against his lips. "We don't have time…"

"There's always time for an orgasm, Baby." He purrs in his sexy baritone voice. His knee separates my legs and his hand slips down into my shorts and underwear.

"Aaahh!" I moan as his fingers make contact with the magic spot.

"Quiet!" He scolds as he separates my folds. "You don't want Mrs. Jones to hear you, now, do you?" He says teasingly as his teeth graze over my chin and my neck. "Fuck, Ana, you are so damn wet." He exclaims as his fingers slide inside. I whimper as quietly as I can.

"Oh!" I squeak as he fucks me with his fingers and massages my clit with his palms. "Christian…"

"Oh, Baby, you are so sexy." He moans. I open my eyes and he is watching me as I fall apart. My lips are parted as I try to breathe. I feel a slight quivering. "That's it, Baby." He says as he continues a delicious rhythm with his fingers and palm.

"Christian," I breathe, "I'm going to come."

"I know," he says as our eyes lock on each other, sensual grey to salacious blue—and the rhythm continues.

"Christian," I whimper, "I can't keep quiet!"

"You better try," he says mercilessly, and the rhythm continues. If I hold back, it's going to be explosive and draining. I relax into it, both arms down at my sides as he strokes unyieldingly and masterfully at my core, pulling up every so often to spread my juices on my clitoris. I almost tip over the edge the next time he anoints my clit with my wetness, but once he shifted his hand deeper inside and his thumb replaces his palm, it only takes a few more strokes and the expert ministrations of his thumb before I detonate wetly all over his hand.

"Christia…." He covers my mouth with his before the scream of passion is complete. I moan and whimper endlessly into his mouth as his tongue feeds my passion, and his thumb and fingers wring it out of me. He pulls his hand from my shorts and licks his fingers greedily as he looks hungrily into my eyes.

"Mighty fine, Ms. Steele," he says, his voice husky. He zips my shorts and buttons them, and kisses me again. I can taste my juices on his tongue. When he pulls back, he put his fingertips delicately on his nose and inhaled deeply, moaning his approval. "Smells like heaven," he says, smiling mischievously at me and I catch my breath, coming down from my orgasm. "I will tell Mrs. Jones you will be ready to eat in a few minutes." He says, kissing my nose and stepping away from me. He smiles as he leaves the study and I am standing there trying to get my bearings about me.

That bastard. Get me all weak in the knees then go strolling out here like Mr. CEO while I have to compose myself before I can face Gail. That is so dirty.

_You realize you are silently scolding this man because he just made you come.  
_But…  
_Eh! Think about that for a second.  
_Hmmm…  
_Yeah!  
_He's still a bastard.  
_Whatever you say._

I take a few deep breaths and straighten my clothes before I leave the study. I approach the breakfast bar where Christian is seated eating an omelet with an English muffin and orange juice. I put my hands on his shoulders and he turns to look at me.

"Feeling better?" He says with a naughty smile on his face.

"Much," I say as I plant a sweet kiss on his cheek and sit on the stool next to him.

"What would you like, Ana?" Mrs. Jones asks. I'm so glad she remembers to use my nickname.

"I don't usually eat much for breakfast, Mrs. Jones. Usually a bagel or a piece of fruit is fine." Christian glares at me and I glare right back. "What?" I ask.

"Anastasia, you have to eat more than that for breakfast." He scolds.

"I'm doing fine so far." I say, gesturing to my lovely girlish figure. "Or have we forgotten my victory over She-Thing yesterday?" Mrs. Jones unsuccessfully hides a loud whimpering laugh in her throat as she turns away from us. I chuckle lightly then look over at a not-so-happy Christian.

"Christian, I've never eaten large breakfasts…well, only on occasion. But most days, it's toast and a cup of coffee or a bagel with cream cheese or some fruit." He sighs heavily.

"Will you eat breakfast today…for me?" I sigh.

"Fine, but only because I don't have to see patients today. Heavy meals right before I have to listen to someone's life story is a definite no-no!" I say shaking my finger.

"Yes, Ma'am!" He says, with a mock salute.

"Egh! Stop it!" I whine. "I get enough of that from Taylor!"

"What can I get for you, Ana?" Mrs. Jones asks again.

"Do you have anything already prepared?" I don't want to inconvenience her.

"Bacon," she answers.

"Would you add some eggs and toast to that for me…and a glass of orange juice? And I'd _love_ some of that coffee!" I ask.

"No problem." She says with a smile.

"Thank you." I return her smile. "Speaking of Taylor, when do I get to meet the guy that you have spying on me…formally, that is?"

"You can meet him after breakfast." Christian answers. "What's on your agenda for today?"

"Well, I have to meet Al at my apartment later. He's going to be bringing over my copy of the restraining order. Then he and the sheriffs are going to serve Edward with his."

"Why doesn't Forsythe just serve it? Isn't he an attorney?"

"Call him Al or Allen. You sound so strange calling him 'Forsythe' all the time. Nobody in the _world_ calls him Forsythe. I have to adjust my brain just to figure out who you're talking about when you say that!" I scold.

"Fine. Why doesn't _Allen_ just serve him?" Even that's sounds weird coming out of his mouth.

"Because Edward wouldn't take it from Al. He knows Al and he doesn't respect him because of Al's sexual orientation. So to avoid a fight or any contesting of the service, we opted for sheriff service instead."

"He still leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth," Christian says taking a forkful of his omelet.

"Well, we won't have to worry about him after today." I say.

"I've got a feeling you're wrong, Butterfly." Butterfly? Huh? "I've seen his type and they don't let go easily. He's nursing a wound, a bad one. And it's being made worse by the fact that you don't want him, somebody else wants you, and you basically embarrass him every time you meet." Well, he hit all of those nails on the head.

"He can make it so much easier for himself if he just leaves me the hell alone. I don't get it, Christian. He had me. I loved him, but I wasn't enough. So I left him alone. I left him to do what he wanted to do…roam the streets of Seattle. Why the hell is he back?" Mrs. Jones set my breakfast in front of me.

"I can't tell you what made him decide to come back now, but I don't trust the bastard." Christian took a swig of his coffee. "So tell me, why does Al call you 'Jewel?'" I told him the diamond/coal story.

"Now you tell me," I begin, "Why did you just call me Butterfly?" He froze as he was drinking his orange juice. Did I say something wrong?

* * *

_**GREY**_

Did I call her that out loud? So far it had been my special _subconscious_ name for her…did I let it slip?

"Um…" Do I tell her why I _really_ call her Butterfly? There are so many reasons, but one in particular. I don't think now is the right time to tell her that one, so I wait. "There are a lot of reasons. But the most prevalent is because you're beautiful and delicate—when you're not beating the hell out of someone." She laughs at that one. "And have you ever had a butterfly cross your path and it not make you stop, look, and adore its beauty? Has seeing a butterfly ever made you unhappy?" She walks over and puts her arms around my neck.

"And what happens when I do something to upset you or piss you off?" She says. If you knew the other reason why I call you Butterfly, you would know that none of those things matter.

"You will still be my Butterfly." I say as I kiss her gently on the lips. "Finish your breakfast." She smiles and quickly finishes her breakfast.

"Okay, now I'm ready to meet Davenport." She says as she bounces out of her seat. I like this Ana. She seems carefree and young and fun. I want her to teach me to be those things. I want to experienced the things that I have missed out on being Elena's prisoner all of these years. I'm going to let her take me wherever she wants, travel all of the journeys that her little heart desires.

I want to feel for her what she feels for me.

"Ana," I ask cautiously. "Can I talk to you for a moment before you meet Davenport?" Mrs. Jones discreetly makes her way out of the room to give us some privacy.

"Sure." She says sitting back in the seat. How do you ask someone if they meant it when they said they loved you in their sleep?

"Did you know that you talk in your sleep?" Her face fell. The carefree Ana that bounced out of the chair a moment go has been replaced by the solemn and serious Dr. Steele.

"What did I say?" She asked, flatly. Let's slow-walk into this, shall we?

"You were talking about Margaret Thatcher and Stoley?" I said. She lets go of a breath that she was holding.

"Oh, that." She says "It's actually _Flashdance_ Thatcher and Stoley. They were actually two group participants that I had—both on completely different ends of the spectrum." She rolls her eyes at the memory. I'll let that one slide.

"Flashdance Thatcher?" I ask incredulously. She sighs.

"It's a long story." She says throwing her hands in the air. "But why was that such a cause for concern for you?" She looks at me questioning.

"Because it lets me know just how deep in your thoughts you are when you are talking." I say as I take her hands in mine. "Did you have any dreams last night?" I ask. She thinks for a moment.

"None that I can remember. I mean I always wake with pictures in my head of what I must have dreamt about. I'm sure if I think about it long enough, it may to come to me." She says casually.

"Do you remember any pictures?" She looks at me strangely, but then she starts to try to remember.

"Um, I remember blue sky and I was running somewhere…playing I think…are you sure I talked about Thatcher and Stoley last night?" She asked. I think she's catching on that her dream and late night ramblings had nothing to do with her prior group participants.

"Just humor me for a few minutes and tell me what you can remember." I say softly, still holding her hands, stroking them gently with my thumb. I can see she's a little hesitant, but she continues.

"Um, I don't know Christian, I…uh…I remember a thunderstorm. I think it was raining on a playground or something." She shakes her head, "I really can't remember anything else."

"Are you sure, Ana?" I ask. She's becoming impatient.

"What did I say, Christian?" She asks. I don't want to tell her any of it. I don't want to stir up a bad dream if she can't remember it. I drop my head in defeat. Hurting her in any way is something my soul can't tolerate, even something as small as this. "Christian?" She says putting one of her hands on my cheek. "Baby, did I say something horrible?" She asks with concern. I look into her questioning blue eyes and shake my head. "No," I reply, "You said something beautiful," I say before I can catch myself. She said she loved me. At least I think it was me. I hope it was me as much as I hope it wasn't me because I don't want to be the cause of her having nightmares. "You were protecting someone." I add.

"Protecting someone?" She asks puzzled. "Protecting who?" When all I could give her was an uncertain glare, she drops my hands and begins to pace.

"There was a thunderstorm…and I _was_ trying to cover someone up. I was trying to…keep them from getting wet, I think." She's twisting her hands, trying to think. "These two people showed up. I couldn't see their faces. They were coming for the child." The color is leaving her face as she recounts the dream. "As they approached us, all of a sudden, my arms and legs were broken. They weren't before…and then they were. I couldn't move…I couldn't help him. All I could do was sit there and watch." Her hand goes to her forehead like she s trying to rub away a headache. I know that this is her tell that she is unhappy or stressed, so I stand but she doesn't notice. She rubs and rubs and rubs, looking for the answers to the last part of this dream. "They took him. They took the little boy. He was so afraid. One was a woman…I know that…the other one, a man I guess." She's pacing again. "I kept telling them to leave him alone…but I couldn't do anything…I couldn't move…" She's starting to get very agitated.

"Ana…?" I say walking over to her.

"They each…they each took an arm…and they were pulling. Not fighting over him, just pulling. And I told her to stop—but she wouldn't. They kept…pulling…until they were ripping the little boy in half." Both of her hands are on her face now, wiping as if to scrub away the memory. "I told them to stop…I told them to leave him alone. He was so small…and they were…he was…he was…." She gasped loudly and her hand flew to her mouth. She spun around to look at me where I stood a few feet away from her. Her eyes are full of tears that are going to fall any second. She points at me and just before breaking into sobs, she cried, "He was _you_! Christian, it was _you_!"

In two long strides I am in front of her scooping her up in my arms. Are you happy now, Asshole? You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you, Grey? I carry her over to the couch and sit her on my lap. "Ssshhh. Baby, don't cry." I soothe. "Please don't cry, Baby." I can't stand that I pushed her to this…but I had to know. I had to know that it was me that she was talking about. I remembered that she calmed down and went to sleep after that.

"Ana, can you remember what happened next?" I brush her hair from her face. She sniffled heavily.

"They left you…they l…left you there…torn in h…half…and the…woman said she w…would be back and…I told her t…to leave you alone." She took a deep breath and continued, her tearstained face looking very confused. "The next thing I know, it's not raining anymore…and we are in each other's arms…you torn in half and me with broken arms and legs." She said she loved me…in her sleep, she said it. I heard her! I put my hands on either side of her face.

"Ana. Baby, please, don't make my nightmares your own. I have to fight these demons. And I have you here to keep me strong, but you have your own cross to bear."

"But I…" She wanted to say something, but she shook her head. "Okay."

"You promise not to carry my pain around with you?" I'm almost pleading.

"I'll try, I promise." She gently strokes my face. Her hand feels like silk against my skin.

"That's all I can ask," I say as I pull her into an embrace. "Are you okay now? I'm sorry I put you through that."

"I'm fine," She smiles and she stands from my lap. "I really need to get going, Christian. I have to meet Al about the restraining order." She squeezes my hand and goes to the bedroom to retrieve her things.

"Taylor," I call to my head of personal security who is never too far away.

"Sir." Taylor emerges from his office.

"I'll be ready to go in about fifteen minutes. Call Davenport to my study…What is his first name?"

"Charles, Sir." I nod and send him off.

A few minutes later, Davenport arrives in my study. "Mr. Grey." He greets as he enters the office.

"Davenport, have a seat." He sits in one of the leather chairs across from me. I'm assigning you as personal security for Ms. Steele. Right now, she thinks you are still just surveillance, but she is very personable and she wants to meet you formally."

"Yes, Sir." I lean in.

"Take good care of her. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

Moments later, I introduce my Butterfly to Mr. Charles Davenport. Afterwards, we say our goodbyes and I send her with Davenport on their way. It's going to be a long day!

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"I need to make a stop at the Apple store. Is that okay, Charles?" I ask Davenport as he is driving me home.

"No problem, Ma'am." Egh! Another _Ma'am_. I'm going to have to break this now!

"Charles, can you please call me _Ana_?" I ask. He frowns a bit in the rearview mirror.

"Taylor was specific that I should refer to you as _Ma'am_." He retorts.

"Well, Taylor's not here." I say back. He nods.

"Chuck." He says.

"Chuck?" Is he trying to call me _Chuck_?

"Nobody calls me Charles. It's either Davenport or Chuck." I smile.

"Chuck it is, then." I add. "So as not to cause any problems with your bosses and my boyfriend, when we're in company, it's Ma'am or Ms. Steele and Davenport. When we're alone, it's Chuck and Ana. Deal?"

"Deal," he says smiling warmly. "Mr. Grey said you were personable." Personable? That's actually pretty sweet of him to say.

"So you've been briefed on me?" I ask, amused.

"Just a little." He responds. Christian is serious about this "surveillance." I guess I'll cooperate for now if it will make him feel better.

I've decided that since I must change my phone number, I think it's time to rid myself of my old blackberry, too. I thought about getting the cool updated version that Christian has but decided against it for the iPhone. I really want to see what all the fuss is about. If I doesn't serve my purposes, I'll go back to the blackberry. The rep helps me get my contacts, calendar, email and service transferred to the iPhone and even gives me a few cool ringtones. Not that I couldn't do all of this myself, but hey, let him earn his wage, right? I send my new phone number to all of my contacts—Edward excluded—and set about playing with my new phone on the ride back to the apartment. The moment we enter the parking structure, I notice something deadly wrong.

"Chuck, stop!" I yell, jumping out of the car before it even comes to a complete stop. "What the hell…?"

"Ana!" Chuck is running behind me and we both stop in our tracks, gaping at my car. What once was my windshield is now shattered glass covering my front seat, dashboard, hood, and the ground surrounding my car. "What in the hell is this?" I scream.

"Tsk! Tsk! Tsk!" I hear from behind me. I turn around to see Edward come from behind a pillar in black jeans and a black t-shirt. It only took a moment to understand that he was at the bottom of this. "It looks like someone had an accident." He mocks.

"_You_ did this?" I hiss. He just smiles. Of course, he's not going to admit it, but this Black Ops outfit that he's wearing is completely giving him away. I feel my adrenaline rising again, but fuck if there's going to be tears this time. I am feeling anger—pure, bona-fide, genuine, 100%, undiluted, unadulterated, unmitigated _anger_! Davenport snatches Edward's arm as he gets closer to me. I don't think I have ever been this angry in my _life_…not even when I discovered that Christian was doing a background check on me. My breathing is getting heavier and I swear I am seeing red.

"Ana?" Chuck's voice is calling to me in the midst of the anger haze. I am trying with all my might to wrangle in these feelings, and it is taking every coping mechanism I have ever known—counting backwards, mantras, controlled breathing, pacing—nothing seems to be working. This is going to stop. And this is going to stop _today_!

I raise my head to see a worried Chuck and a somewhat stunned Edward. There is another "Tree in Black" holding Edward's arm. This must be Edward's tail. What are they paying you for, Dude?

"How did he get to my car?" I ask Edward's guy. He's taken aback that I'm addressing him.

"Ma'am?" He says confused.

"Do you know who I am?" I snap. He looks at Chuck and back at me.

"Yes, Ma'am." He says bemused.

"Then can you tell me how he got to my car?" I ask again, not nearly as kindly as the first time.

"I don't know, Ma'am." He says a little affronted. My eyes go narrow at this asshole and he visibly shivers a bit.

"Let him go." I growl. Davenport and Incompetent Guy look at each other.

"But Ma'am…" Incompetent Guy begins.

"I said let him go!" I yell. They still don't move. "He's in the damn parking structure! He vandalized my fucking car. What are you holding him for now?" They throw another look at each other and let him go. Edward shrugs his shoulders arrogantly like he had anything at all to do with his release. Davenport stands behind me near the front of my car while Incompetent Guy stands a few feet behind Edward. I hold my head down in a final attempt to gain control of my anger.

"What the hell are you doing?" I said, slowly raising my eyes to Edward. "What. Are. You. Doing? What do you hope to accomplish? What is supposed to be the purpose of this campaign? What is your intended end result? Please tell me because I am confused and I would really like to know! You can't _possibly_ want me back at this point because the terrible insults, the stalking, and this childish behavior only assures that I never want to see you again!"

"Fuck, no, I don't want your used and reused ass now. What the fuck would I want with you now?" He shot.

Ignoring the insult in the response and concentrating only the important bits, I respond, "Great! Fine! We are in agreement! You don't want me and I don't want you. So why the fuck won't you just go away? Why are you still hanging around? Game! Point! Match! Why the hell are you still here!?" His voice gets cool and his eyes narrow.

"Because I know you can't stand it. I know that every time you see me, I make you sick. He says he'll make you forget about me. Well, how's that working out for you? Good or bad, I remind you of what once was. That's reason enough for me to never go away. Everywhere you look, I'm going to be there somewhere. You can change your number; you can fucking leave the state if you want, but I'll follow you. I'll find you no matter where you go or who you're with. And since your pretty boy billionaire boyfriend can't get his 'hands dirty' with me, well then he doesn't cause me much concern." What? Christian can't get his hands dirty? But Christian said he would never let anyone hurt me. What is Edward getting at?

I must have let the seeds of doubt show on my face because Edward is smirking at me now. That's what he wanted. Whatever his twisted reasoning, he just wants to torture me. I see now. He's really _not_ going to go away. I'm utterly confused as to why he is completely obsessed with my unhappiness. So I ask…

"Why? Why are you doing this? How does this serve you? What do you get from this?"

"Satisfaction," he answers flatly. What the hell…?

"For what!?"

"Nobody says 'no' to me…whore!" He says coolly.

Fuck! Are you kidding me? Is that what this is? All of this is simply because his can't take rejection!? Not because he lost the 'love of his life,' not because he was publicly humiliated—twice—not because he's pining away for me, and not because Christian threatened him…but because he can't take rejection. And the fact that he used that word snapped me out of every bit of anger and every bit of hurt that I was feeling. My thoughts became cold and calculated just like his. My change of expression must have said something to him because he clearly looked like he shuddered for a moment. I tilted my head and glared at him a bit.

"Gentlemen, was I mistaken in what I just heard, or did Mr. David just verbalize that he intends to harass me incessantly indefinitely even if I cross state lines? Did I hear that correctly?" I say, coldly. Edward is glaring back at me, waiting for my next move.

"Yes, Ma'am," They agree.

"That's all I need to hear." I turn my back on this bastard and walk to my car. After battling with the Pedo-Bitch yesterday, I can pump his ass full of lead right now without even thinking. I open my car door and reach into the glove box.

"Ma'am I don't think you should touch anything until we've called the police." Chuck begins.

"It's my car, my fingerprints are everywhere." I say, my voice venomous. Chuck takes two steps back and my tone of voice. His eyes flare when he sees me pull My Boo out of the glove box. "What is his name?" I say without rising out of my car yet.

"I'm sorry?" Chuck asks.

"Mr. Incompetent Guy over there, what is his name?" Wanting to laugh at the address, but clearly seing how serious the situation has gotten, Chuck remains solemn.

"Robert Harris, Ma'am." He responds.

"Tell him to stand down." I almost growl, and Chuck nods. He makes some signal to his colleague who takes a couple of steps back. I look over my left shoulder and Edward is still standing there, smirking at me. That's right, Bitch. Stay right there. In my right hand is my Glock G19C. In my left hand is the magazine that I keep next to the gun until it is necessary to lock and load.

It's necessary.

I turn around and face Edward who has that same smug ass look on his face. I am fire-breathing mad. He needs to see this. He needs to know that this I not a fucking toy, and I know exactly what I'm doing. I am done with his bullshit. As I am walking towards him, I let him watch as I pop the magazine into the Glock, slam it in hard with the ball of my hand, and release the slide lock. The whole process takes about five seconds. So I've stopped walking about ten feet away from him and he has turned about four different shades of white. Once he passed ecru, I say "Listen carefully, you low down dirty sneaky slimey low life son of a bitch. If you ever come near me again, I'm gonna pop a cap in ya'ass. Do you understand me?"

Complete and total shock and horror registered on this man's face. "What the fuck?" Is all he could say.

"That's a yes or no question, Fucker! If you ever come near me, my home, my car, my street, my job, my friends, or anything pertaining to me, I will drop you where you stand. If I see you out of the corner of my eye anywhere in the vicinity of me or anything important to me, I will go Saigon on your ass and empty the clip. Do I make myself clear?" I say through clenched teeth. He's still standing there a little stunned. My Boo is still at my side. "I'm not going to nod this time, Edward, because I want to make sure that you understand what I'm saying." I say, my voice still cold and venomous.

"Ana, this is not you. You would not do this." Edward says, his voice softer and lacking the malice he showed moments before. I pull the slide back on My Boo and load a round into the chamber. I raise it up, take stance and aim it right between his eyes. Edward took a step back and slightly raised his hands.

"I've changed!" I snapped.

"Ms. Steele," Chuck says from behind me. "Please, put the gun away."

"Davenport I've held a CCW for five years I know what I'm doing stay the fuck away from me." I say all in one breath.

"Ana," Chuck continued, hoping the familiarity would go a little further, no doubt, "I don't want to have to disarm you."

"You wouldn't do that, Chuck, because you would risk the firearm discharging, especially since my finger is on the trigger and there's a round in the chamber." I'm still glaring at Edward, who appears to be getting more and more nervous as the moments go by.

"Ana, please. I'm going to be forced to restrain you."Chuck tried a last ditch effort.

"You do that, Chuck. But before you do, ask your boss what happened to the last man that tried to restrain me." Still cool…still glaring at Edward.

"Ms. Steele…" Harris began.

"YOU," I cut him off sharply, "have nothing to say to me." I'm pointing my finger at Harris, but my glare and my Glock are still trained on Edward. "If you were doing _your_ job, I wouldn't be talking to this fucker right now!" I can see just over Edward's shoulder, and Al's Jag is coming into the parking structure. I stand right where I am. This mother fucker has not said that he will leave me the fuck alone. Al stops right behind Edward and jumps out of the car. "Jewel?" He says, his voice shaking a bit. "What's going on, Hon?"

"I have two witnesses that this asshole is never. Going. To stop. Harassing me. He said it out of his own mouth. So he can either leave me alone or I will drop him on sight. And I want him to know that I am serious." I'm still glaring at him. His fear is full blown now. He is sweating and everything.

"Anastasia, I will leave you alone." Edward says. Somehow, I don't believe him, so I still haven't lowered my weapon or moved my gaze.

"Ana, he's says he'll leave you alone." Chuck said, calmly.

"I don't believe him!" I said, sharply before Chuck finished his sentence.

"Jewel, I need you to put that firearm away. King County Sheriffs will be here any minute to serve him his papers."

"How did you know he was here?" I flash a look at Al, but only for a split second.

"I didn't. They were coming to give you your copy, first. And when I tell you they are right behind me I mean…" I see the sheriff's car at the gate. "..._Right_ behind me," he finished, looking at the gate. I lower my weapon.

"Go let them in." I say to Al. I turn around and put My Boo back in the glove box after locking the slide as Al opened the gate for the sheriffs. "I mean it, David." I'm still glaring at him as he puts his hands down. "All bets are off. Stay. The fuck. Away from me." He looks like he wants to say something but he thinks better of it. The sheriffs drive into the parking structure and pull right next to Al's car. Edward and I are still glaring at each other. Two officers get out of the car—a tall Caucasian gentleman and a shorter African American woman. She looks from me to Edward and back to me and says, "It looks like the party already started."

"She pulled a gun on me." Edward says calmly. They both look at me.

"Is that true, Ma'am?" I take a deep breath.

"Yes, Officer, it is." I begin. "I have a concealed weapon in my glove compartment and a license to carry in my purse." I say calmly. The officers look at each other.

"May we see your license, Ma'am?" The lady officer asked.

"Yes you may, Officer…" I wait for her name.

"Lewis, Ma'am.

"Officer Lewis. How would you like to proceed?" The officers looked at each other again. Yes, I know the protocol. If I make any sudden moves, it's shoot first, ask questions later.

"Would you mind if we search your purse, Ma'am?" Officer Lewis asks.

"Not at all. My identification and my CCW are in my wallet." I hand my purse over to Lewis.

"Do you mind if Officer Richards searches your car, Ma'am?" Lewis asks. I hesitate.

"I don't know. It's up to you. My car has been vandalized and I haven't made a police report yet."

"We can handle that for you, Ma'am." Richards says. Curb-side service. Now that's what I'm talking about. Edward is standing there looking at me like the cat who caught the canary like he's about to catch me in something.

"Be my guest, Officer Richards. In the glove compartment, you will find a loaded Glock G19C with a round in the chamber." I fold my arms still glaring at Edward. Lewis rummages through my purse while Richards searches my car. Just as Richards announces that he has the firearm, Lewis calls out my name.

"Anastasia Rose Steele?" She says.

"Yes, Officer." I answer.

"She's licensed, Frank." She calls out to her partner. I look over my shoulder as he puts My Boo back in the glove box and begins to survey the damage to my car. Edward's canary look fell. Yeah, wipe that smug look off of your face, Asshole. I'm licensed.

"Can you tell us what's going on here, Ma'am?" Lewis asks as she returns my purse.

"Well, this is Charles Davenport and that's Robert Harris. They are both members of a personal protection detail assigned to me by Christian Grey."

"Christian Grey?" Lewis asks. "Why would Christian Grey assign you a protection detail?"

"We're dating." I respond.

"Whore." Edward mumbles so that only I can hear him. I ignore him. He doesn't exist anymore.

"You've met my attorney Allen Forsythe, and you are more than likely here to serve a protection order against this asshole!" I said pointing to Edward. Lewis makes a funny face and continues to write.

"And who is this…gentleman?" She asks. No one responded. Then I spoke.

"Oh you mean him?" I said pointing to Edward. "That's Edward David. You said 'gentleman.' You confused me for a second." A couple of the guys cleared their throats to mask their snickers.

"And what's his relationship to you?" Lewis continued.

"A terrible mistake." I say through clenched teeth. "My ex-boyfriend."

"How long have you been separated?"

"Four years." She did a double take.

"Has he been harassing you all of this time?" She asked incredulously. I had to think about it.

"It depends on how you define 'harass.' About two years ago or so, he started asking if we could get back together. Calling constantly, showing up unannounced at my home. This went on for quite some time. It didn't become vicious until a couple of days ago when he discovered that there was no way in hell that we were ever getting back together."

"Because she's fucking around on me." This time Officer Lewis heard him. My hand flew up to my mouth. Christian said it! Christian said that he felt like I was cheating on him. I couldn't believe that Edward was that delusional, but now it just came out of his mouth!

"I thought you said you guys haven't been dating for four years." Lewis said, confused.

"My point exactly!" I yelled, throwing my hands up in the air. "He wanted to go be Don Juan of Seattle. I let him go! Now he's crawling back to me. What happened? Did you run out of women?" Just as it came out of my mouth, I gasped. Oh. My. God. Is it possible that this man has covered so much territory in the greater Seattle area that he now has a bad reputation? Could that be it?

"That's it, isn't it?" Everybody is looking at me waiting for me to let them in on the discovery. "Have you covered _that_ much ground, Edward? Is that even _possible_?" I ask incredulously. His silence answered my question. "Why me?" I snap. "I'm not the only one who said 'no,' why me?" Still no answer. Oh God, I thought, he really is an asshole. "I don't know what I ever thought I saw in you, but I'm so glad it's over." I look at him and shake my head, then I walk over to Al. "Don't you guys have something for him?" Richards went back to the car.

"I have one more question, Ms. Steele." Lewis asks. "Do you have any other firearms in your possession?"

"Not on me, no, but I keep two others." I answer. Edward's head snapped over to me when I said this.

"What are they, Ma'am and where do you keep them?" She asked. Richards walked back over to us with papers in his hand.

"I keep a Beretta Px4 Storm Type F Sub-Compact in the apartment and I normally carry a .44 Magnum 629 S&W Special in my purse, but it's in the apartment right now as well." Richards is impressed.

"Are you proficient with those weapons, Ma'am?" He asked.

"Yes, I am. My father is an ex-Marine sharpshooter." I say proudly.

"Semper Fi, do or die." Richards says.

"Oorah!" I add, without missing a beat.

"And _you_ need a protection order against _him_?" I raise my hands in a demonstration manner.

"Look around. Where are we?" I say gesturing around the structure.

"At your apartment, Ma'am." Richards responds.

"And who's here?" I say now gesturing at Edward. "Am I at his apartment? Am I stalking him? Am I busting the windows out of his car?" Richards nodded.

"Yes Ma'am, I understand. It's just painfully obvious that you can take care of yourself." He says with mirth. I chuckle with him.

"Oh, I can. In self-defense situations, shoot to kill…but who in their right mind really _wants_ to kill?" I ask. "That's an experience I could really live without." I look past his shoulders at a bemused and somewhat forlorn-looking Edward David, who looks back at me, almost begging. Yeah, he's bipolar…or something… "Although in this case, I'd be willing to make an exception." I turn back around to Al and away from Edward, determined to fight the adrenaline tears this time, but still feeling quite emotional over this whole fiasco. "Please make him go away," I say, waving my hand dismissively. I see Al nod before he puts his arms around me and protectively pulls me to his chest. The next voice I hear is Officer Richards.

"Edward Robert David, in accordance with The Revised Code of Washington chapter 26.50, you are hereby served with a temporary domestic violence protection order concerning Anastasia Rose Steele, also known as the plaintiff. As the defendant in this case, you are ordered to immediately refrain from contact with the plaintiff. This means that you may not knowingly come within or _remain_ within 1000 feet of the plaintiff, her place of residence, her place of work, or any location that she is occupying at that time. You may not contact the plaintiff personally, through electronic means, in writing, or by proxy. You may not harass, follow, or cyberstalk the plaintiff. You may not monitor the actions, locations, or communications of the plaintiff. You shall be notified by the King County Superior Court of the court date for a permanent domestic violence protection order via summons or publication if you are unservable. If you fail to appear, a default judgment will be issued in favor of the plaintiff. Violation of this order will result in your arrest without a warrant and is a gross misdemeanor punishable by up to one year in prison and $5000 in fines as well as contempt of court punishable with sanction and fines at the discretion of the court. If you have any questions about this order, please contact your attorney or the King County Superior Court." I can hear him fold the papers and I assume that he hands them to Edward. I breath a huge sigh of relief that causes Al to squeeze tighter. "Consider yourself served. Please remove yourself from the premises immediately." Richards concludes. After several moments of silence, Al says, "He's gone, Jewel."

* * *

_**A/N: **_

_**I don't think I have anything up there that needs notation, but...was anyone able to interpret Ana's dream? **_

_**You can find Ana and Christian's outfits as well as Ana's guns on my Pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Please review!**_


	22. Chapter 22: Wonder Woman

_**Guess what guys? Chapter 21 marked my 1000**__**th**__** review! That review was from luvmesomeranger. So thank you and all of the 999 others that helped me reach my first milestone. Now on to 2000, lol!**_

_**This chapter has some valuable information in it that will come up in future chapters, so pay attention. Not a lot of lemons and Ana Ass-kicking (except verbally) but still a lot of information. This is about as close as I will get to a "filler chapter."**_

_**Now to address the guest reviewer that feels that enjoying an orgasm has made "a perfectly strong" Ana weak and pathetic. I have 8 words for you—ROLLING ON THE FLOOR LAUGHING MY ASS OFF! I'm sorry—is there something wrong with your pussy that you don't enjoy a good orgasm!? You aint getting fucked right if you don't see a problem with that statement. So if it's not the orgasm—which she no doubt enjoyed—you mentioned what she was eating. She compromised with Christian that she would eat this breakfast that day because she didn't have patients to see but that she would not eat that kind of breakfast everyday… HORROR OF HORRORS! SHE COMPROMISED WITH HER BOYFRIEND ON BREAKFAST! HOW **_**DARE**_** HER! CALL THE TROOPS—WE CAN'T HAVE THAT! PRETTY SOON THERE WILL BE WOMEN COMPROMISING ALL OVER THE WORLD! Get a grip! It's a meal! Get over it. And you had the nerve to call Ana weak when you just read that she stood in a parking garage pointing a GLOCK in her assailant's face telling him that she would—and I quote—"drop you where you stand" if she saw him again. She subsequently told two men—6' 2" or taller—to stand down and told one that if he touched her, she was going to take him down, too! If you call that weak and pathetic, I'll take weak and pathetic any day, thank you!**_

_**Oh, and by the way, if you saw any "weakness" or breaking down of defenses, could it by any chance have been that they shared painful pasts with each other and he treated her with kindness and affection when he saw her brands instead of being grossed out and shying away from her? No, it couldn't have been that, right? It had to be the orgasm, right? Or could it be that you just can't tolerate tender moments between a man and woman—or the effect that a man can have on a woman by treating her like a lady? If you can't take ALL the facts, weigh them in, and come out with an intelligent review, please go somewhere else and read someone else's story and just leave mine alone...I won't be hurt, I promise. **_

_**I have had people not agree with me. I have had people disagree with Ana's use of violence. I have had people disagree with her potty-mouth when it comes out. That's fine. I can take that you don't agree with my story, as long as your comments are not insulting and ignorant. So please take your broken pussy and broken brain elsewhere—Buh-bye! Moving on…**_

_**Since I was so long-winded in trying to correct a nameless, faceless idiot, I will collectively say thank you to all of my guest reviewers that had something CONSTRUCTIVE to say and to my regulars…hell, thanks to all of you. A specific thank you to the idiot referenced above that let me get some of my frustrations out—you're dismissed. ;-) **_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 22—Wonder Woman

_**STEELE**_

The adrenaline tears are fighting the good fight. My body is shaking almost violently, and my chest is heaving with unshed tears. Al is rubbing my back, trying to comfort me.

"You got to let it out, Jewel." He coaxes.

"NO!" I snap, pressing my face into his chest. "I _won't_ cry another tear over that asshole, I _WON'T_!"

"Okay. Okay." He soothes.

"Um, Ms. Steele…" Officer Richards interjects. "Ma'am, I need to give you your copy of the protection order." I lift my head to look at Al, who rubs my arms and smiles at me. I take a deep breath and turn around to Richards. I'm only half paying attention to him because I am wondering why I haven't heard a peep from Christian yet. Al read my face and asked, "What's wrong, Jewel?" I shook my head.

"I'm just wondering why Christian hasn't shown up yet."

"We haven't notified him, Ma'am." Chuck answers my question. I'm a little horrified.

"You _what_" I ask stunned.

"We haven't notified him…yet," Chuck says clearing his throat.

"And when did you plan on notifying him?" I ask.

"Once the situation had been rectified, Ma'am." Harris pipes in. I glare at him. Is this guy for real?

"Hold that thought." I turn back to Richards. "Is there anything else I need to do?"

"Well, we've served Mr. David and you have your copy. So that's it for that situation."

"What about my car?"

"Well, we have your report and we are going to take it to the station. At this point, you would just want to get your windshield fixed." I know this is not priority for him, so I will just check with building security to see if they can tell me who vandalized my car—as if I didn't already know."

"Thank you for your time and assistance, Officers. I really appreciate it." I say.

"No problem, Ma'am. Have a better day." Lewis says before they get back into the car and leave. I turn my attention back to Davenport.

"Chuck, I haven't known Christian Grey for very long, but I've known him long enough to know that he is very intense and he doesn't like mistakes. Now, somebody fucked up here. I don't know who, but somebody fucked up—I know that much. You've been following me since before Christian and I were dating. Did you know that?"

"No Ma'am." Chuck respond, a frown forming on his face.

"Yeah. We kissed in his office…and that's _it_. I ran out…and he's had you tracking me ever since. Do you get the idea that he might be a bit intense?" Chuck adjusts his tie.

"A bit," he says nervously.

"Here's one more." I walk over to Chuck standing by my car. "I texted Christian that day at the Marketplace. I told him that I felt uncomfortable…like someone other than you was watching me. Moments after I texted him, he called me. While I was still on the phone with him, he pinpointed Edward's location and subsequently discovered that we were at the same place. You remember the altercation between me and Edward, correct?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Did you see the whole thing?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He answered, snickering a bit—obviously recalling Edward in the nut grip.

"Do you remember approximately how long it lasted?"

"Thankfully for Mr. David, only a couple of minutes."

"Exactly. That's how long it took for Christian to hang up the phone from me, get intel on my location, and get out there in enough time to stand casually against the car and send you over to get me. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He nodded, questioning.

"Now…one last scenario for you. You just brought me back to my apartment. My car has been vandalized, the man that isn't supposed to get within 1000 feet of me was standing here in my parking structure, telling me to my face that he was never, _ever_ going to go away simply because he cannot handle the fact that I rejected him. I had to pull my _Glock_ on him so that he would know that I am serious and he had better leave me alone! The Sheriffs were here…I could have been arrested! My attorney was here. Hell, even you were here. But Christian Grey wasn't here. Doesn't know anything about it. Edward David could be lying dead on the ground right now—because Daddy always taught me don't ever pull your gun unless you plan to use it. I could be posting _bail_ right now. But nobody has called Christian Grey. The Sherriff was here—and Christian Grey doesn't know yet." Chuck is now losing the color in his face. I think the realization has finally hit him. "Yeah! You get it now!" I say. _Idiots_! These are the people Christian sent to protect me? I really like Chuck, but he's a little slow on the pickup right now. I reach in the glove box and pull out my Glock. I double-check the safety then put it in my purse.

"Do you think someone is in the apartment, Ma'am?" Harris asks. I don't even want to hear _his_ voice right now.

"No, why do you ask?" I say in the friendliest tone I can muster at this moment.

"Because you've put a loaded firearm in your purse, Ma'am." He says in a snarky tone. I cannot believe this idiot. I need him away from me _now_.

"Number one, would you rather I leave the loaded firearm in the unsecured car?" I bark. He blushes a bit at the realization. "Number two, aren't you David's detail? Why are you still here?" Harris now goes from red to white, realizing that he has effectively "lost" the person he was tailing. I shook my head. "Mr. Davenport," I am so flustered with this pair right now, I think I should stick to last names. "I think you had better call Mr. Grey or Mr. Taylor or whomever you need to check in with and tell them what happened here. Al and I are going upstairs, and I am going to pour myself an obscenely large glass of wine—after which I am going to call Christian Grey. I am certain that if hears about today's events from me instead of some member of his security staff, someone is going to be unemployed tomorrow." I push the button to call the elevator. In a last ditch attempt to be useful, Harris asks, "Do you want us to come up and secure the apartment, Ma'am?" Is he fucking serious?

"I have a loaded firearm in my purse, remember? I'll secure my own god damn apartment!" I spit before stepping onto the elevator and pushing the button to my floor. Al is quiet the entire ride up. I don't think he knows how to approach me right now. I step off the elevator and dig for my keys. Al finds his first and proceeds to unlock the door. As he starts to open it, Harris' words come back to my mind. I kick the door open and pull out My Boo.

"I have a loaded Glock with a full magazine! Come out now because if I see you later, we'll be calling the morgue!" I yell into my apartment.

Nothing.

"I'd say it's secure." I say to Al as I put my gun back in my purse and go to the kitchen for a glass of Cabernet. Al is still stunned standing at the door. I pull out my large bowl wine glass and fill it to the rim. I don't want to get falling down drunk but hell if I'm going to be ladylike after the day I've had—and it hasn't even hit 2pm yet! Al finally makes his way into the apartment and just looks at me.

"Jewel, what the hell just happened?" He asks reaching for the wine bottle. I take a long swallow of wine and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Al just sits in the seat at the breakfast bar staring at me. I grab a glass and hand it to him. "Did you see my car?"

"I didn't get a chance!" He replies.

"Windshield…gone!" I said swiping my hands wide on the last word like an umpire. Al gasps.

"Double-dicker?" He asked.

"He's taking credit for it." I reply before taking another large gulp of wine and finally beginning to feel the calming effects.

"The two secret agents?" He asks.

"Members of Christian's security. Chuck is mine. Harris was supposed to make sure Edward didn't get near me. He failed miserably."

"When did you start packing again?" He asked cautiously. Damn. I thought I told him.

"Last week when Christian ordered a background check on me. He stirred…" I still find it hard to talk about. "He stirred the Green Valley pot and…I got scared."

"Jewel!" Al came around the bar and embraced me. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry Al," I said returning his embrace. "I was so confused…I thought I _did_ tell you. You know I never keep anything from you." I say contritely. He rubs my back.

"It's okay, Hon. I know you didn't do it on purpose, so I'll let you get away with it this time." He says, smiling before he kissed me on the forehead. He went back over to his seat. "So now he knows all about it?"

"Well, not _all_ about it, but a lot." I answer. I don't know why I poured this big ass glass of wine. Even with the big gulps, I didn't drink half. "He wanted Cody's name and I wouldn't give it to him."

"Why not?"

"Because he'd go looking for him. I could see it in his eyes. All of Green Valley would burn to the ground at the hands of Christian Grey!"

"Would that be such a bad thing, Jewel?" I look at him wide-eyed.

"I just don't think I want him stirring that hornet's nest." I say holding my head down.

"Don't you want justice for what happened to you? Or closure?" He asked.

"I _had_ closure. I was fine until…"

"Until someone dug it up again," Al interrupted. "The minute someone opened the file on Green Valley and Cody, you exercised your 2nd Amendment rights! That's not closure. That's denial." He stated. "C'mon, Ana. You're the psychologist here. I don't have to tell you this." He's right and I know it.

"I'll think about it…maybe. I just…I don't want to deal with it right now." I say waving my hands and walking around the breakfast bar. I can hear voices outside of my door.

"Well, all I can say is…" I shush Al so that I can hear what's going on outside of my door. I look through the peephole and see Chuck and Harris standing outside of my door like the Nutcracker soldiers. I gesture for Al to come over so that we can eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Hey, I don't know what to tell you. I was on her the whole time." That's Chuck.

"_On her_, huh? Is that why she calls you _Chuck_? You've gotten awful cozy for one day." Snide ass bastard.

"Look, I'm only doing my job. You're the one that let the perp get onto her property, accost her, and vandalize her car. How did you let that happen?"

"I don't know, Man. He was there one minute and he was gone the next."

"Well, what happened Saturday?" Chuck asked. "The same thing?"

"Look, _Chuck_," Harris is getting agitated, "I'm already going to hear it from Grey. I don't need to hear it from you, too."

"Oh yes you do," Chuck says, trying to control his tone, "because I got pulled into the office today, and my job is to protect her, and _you_ are making my job harder by not doing yours!" He spit. "Whatever other things you have on your 'busy schedule,' first and foremost our instructions are to keep that bastard away from Ms. Steele. Why the fuck couldn't you do that today?" That's a good question. Where was Harris when Chuck was restraining Edward? I'm Chuck's charge. Edward was Harris' charge. Why did he show up later? What if I had been alone? What if I had caught a taxi home?

"Man, fuck you!" Harris said loudly.

"Keep your fucking voice down!" Chuck chided quietly. "You let David walk right out of the parking structure. Why the hell would you do that?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Harris defends. "Walk out right behind him so that he could know I was following him?"

"You're trained in this shit, Rob. You're supposed to know how to handle this. You're making us all look bad!"

"You're just pissed because your chance got blocked today." Harris shoots.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Chuck snaps.

"You pulled the cushy job. You get to follow that little bit of hotness around all day—you even got her calling you _Chuck_. Did I interrupt your plans today because I lost sight of David?" He says snidely.

"You are so full of it, Harris. You messed up and now you're trying to make me look bad. That's okay though. The only thing I'm worried about is that I didn't contact Mr. Grey as this was going on."

"What the hell are we supposed to do? Call him every time the bitch breaks a nail?" That's it. I've heard all I'm going to hear from this fucker. I snatch the door open and turn to Harris.

"What time did you lose sight of David?" I shoot at him.

"Excuse me?" He snaps.

"What. Time. Did you. Lose sight. Of David?" I say slowly so the preschooler can hear me. He glares at me like I have no right to ask him any questions. So I move over in front of him for the showdown that he wants. I'm sick of people mistaking my stature for weakness. "Listen to me you piece of shit useless bad excuse for a rent-a-cop, because to me that's all you are right now. Because of you, my car has been vandalized and I could have killed somebody today. Now what time did your incompetent ass lose sight of David, you worthless sack of goo?" I spit up at him. I'm glaring at him so hard that if looks could kill, he'd be dead.

"Ana, was that necessary?" Al stated.

"He called me a _bitch_!" I spit the last word out as I glanced at Al and turned my attention back to Harris. We stared for several moments until he realized that I wasn't going to back down. Then he finally answered, "About 11:00am."

"About 11:00," I repeat. I turn to Chuck. "We left Christian's at about noon, right?" Chuck nodded. "We stopped at the Apple store to replace my phone and that put us here at about one?"

"One oh six." Chuck corrected.

"So between 11:00 and 1:00, this asshole vandalized my car." I turned back to Harris. "Don't feel bad. You're not the only incompetent idiot in the world. This place has guard-watched CCTV and my car was still vandalized." I turn to Al. "Lock up for me. I need to go downstairs and curse out some more guards. You're with me, _Chuck_." I stress his nickname for Harris' benefit. Upon seeing his smirk, I felt that there was one more thing that he needed to hear. I get in his face again.

"I realize that you don't know me very well but let me make something very clear. I am a _doctor_—educated and interned for several years and practicing. So I'm not one of these little skanks and tramps that you may be accustomed to dealing with and I'm not some little gold digger out for Christian Grey's money because, as you can see, I have my own. Don't let the cute little denim shorts fool you! If you have no idea how to deal with an independent, strong, educated, and sophisticated woman then you need to get out of my sight right now. You need to get away from me and go back to whatever floosies and bimbos you are accustomed to because I. Am not. Them! And if you ever call me a bitch again, you will sorely regret it!" I pause to catch my breath and make sure it sinks in. I can't even begin to decipher what emotion was written on his face. "Now you can stand here if you want to, or you can go in search of Mr. David or Mr. Grey. Hell, you can go jump off a bridge into Lake Union for all I care. But don't you ever in your life _disrespect_ me again!" I look at him through narrowed eyes. "Here's hoping we never meet again." I say as I turn on my heels and walk to the elevator. As Al is locking my door, I hear Chuck say, "Bad move, Man. The boss is in love with her." That statement is going to come back on me later. Right now, I'm focused on the guard's desk. Al and Chuck join me shortly after the elevator comes.

When we get to the first floor, I walk straight past the guard post and knock on the security door. "Um. Ma'am?" The guard starts to protest but Chuck who is clearly half a foot taller than this guy stands between him and me while I knock repeatedly on the door. A gentleman in a suit walks out—not the blazers like the rest of the guards. He must be in charge.

"Are you the supervisor?" I ask. I can see the monitors over his shoulder and two guards looking at me through the door.

"Yes, I am. How can I assist you?" He asks.

"My name is Dr. Anastasia Steele. I am the resident in 1909. This is my personal security Charles Davenport and my attorney Allen Forsythe." They all nod at each other. "I would like to know which of your guards were on duty between 11:00am and 1:00pm today."

"May I ask why?" He says, snottily. Okay, have it your way.

"Because my attorney here would like to depose them for the lawsuit." Al immediately straightens behind me to get into character.

"_Lawsuit_?" He says, his voice clearly changing tone at the sound of the word. "What lawsuit, Ma'am?" Now I'm _Ma'am._

"The one that I'll be filing for monetary damages and for the trauma I experienced on the premises today." He looks back at the two guards sitting in the office who shrugged at him. That lets me know that this was the crew on staff when this happened. "Where can I see the surveillance of the parking structure between those hours?"

"You would need a subpoena, Ma'am." Oh, okay. Have it your way.

"Mr. Forsythe, please make a note that once we get the reports from the sheriff's office that we need to go by KC Superior court and file the documents for the lawsuit against Vansteen Security as well as these three gentlemen—jointly and severally—so that we can get that subpoena that we need." I state walking away from the door.

"Yes Ma'am." Al says quite officially as he turns to follow me.

"Um…Ms. Steele?" The supervisor calls after me. "If it will assist you in any way, I will be happy to show you the recordings." Now he's back-peddling. I know he's not supposed to do this, but he is shaking in his pants at the thought of being personally sued. I am invited back into the office where I am placed in front of one of the blank monitors. One of the guard cues up the parking structure at 11:00am. He's standing very close to me like he's hoping to climb into my lap. I throw a glare at him that lets him know that he should probably keep his distance and he puts a _little_ space between us.

"Can you please highlight the camera that watches space #29E?" With a little adjusting my car shows up on the screen. "That's my car. Is there any way to fast forward the recording without missing anything?" He fast forwards through the recording until we see someone dressed in black approach my car. "STOP!" We watch at regular speed as Edward viciously destroys my windshield with what looks like a tire iron or a crowbar. He then kicks it a couple of times and walks away. "Can you roll back to the beginning of the incident, please?" They roll back to the beginning and the time stamp reads 11:49am. "Do you see that? 11:49am. Who was on duty then?" The supervisor looks over at the two guards who clearly look at each other for answers. "Please fast forward to 1:06pm." They fast forward the tape to 1:06pm and watch the entire horror story unfold again from my discovery of my car to pulling my gun on Edward to the sheriff's arrival...in glorious Technicolor.

"This appears to be a state of the art system to me. So I would really like to know how your camera system caught approximately 90 minutes worth of activity between the vandalizing of my car and the events that followed, but it appeared to get past your staff!" I ask incredulously. "Doesn't my outrageous mortgage and very expensive fees going into paying your salary?"

"Yes, Ma'am it does," the supervisor says.

"And how pleased would you think your company would be knowing that this happened on your watch in this building?" I question.

"Not pleased at all Ma'am." He responds.

"I trust that my attorney and the sheriff's department will get a copy of this tape considering that I currently have a restraining order in place against the person who vandalized my car."

"Yes, Ma'am. Absolutely. And we will be more than happy to cover the damage to your car."

"Thank you, that's very kind of you." That's the least they can do under the circumstances.

"No problem at all, Ms…Who are _you_?" He says to someone over my shoulder.

"Christian Grey." The beautiful baritone voice says from my far left. I snap my head to see my gorgeous boyfriend standing just inside the security room door, larger than life. "I'm actually your boss…well, your boss's boss's boss." He says flatly.

"Do you mean that you own this building?" Robinson says sarcastically, knowing that the units are independently owned.

"No," Christian says, clearly irritated. "I own Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc, which in turn owns Vansteen Security."

* * *

_**GREY**_

Leaving Ana this morning was a bit depressing. I had become accustomed to her closeness and now I have to face the big bad world of mergers and acquisitions—which really isn't all that big and bad, but everything pales in comparison to my beautiful Butterfly. Welch is sitting in front of me and we are trying to concoct a plan to get more information on this Green Valley incident without alerting Ana.

"She's not very close with her parents at all. They probably don't even know how to reach her. I could try that route." I say to Welch.

"How cooperative will they be? For that matter, how _truthful_ will they be? My sources are usually impeccable so I know that the info I give you is verified. With this pair…" he trails off and rolls his eyes.

"It's all in how you handle it, Welch." I say folding my hands on my desk. He shakes his head.

"I trust 'purchased' intel even less, Sir, particularly the word of mouth kind." He cautions.

"Well, we don't have a lot of options here. We have to start somewhere." I say looking at Ana's background check again to try to get some information on her parents. Not too much at all since the check was not focused on them.

"How soon can you get me current information on her them?" I ask my head of security.

"Let me see what I can get this afternoon—definitely by the morning at the latest." He responds.

"See what you can get me on this relative that she used when she went to Chaparral. That might prove to be helpful, too."

"Yes, Sir." Welch say as he taps something into his phone.

"So, what do we have on Mr. David?" I ask.

"Didn't you get my email, Sir?" He says. I turn to my computer and scroll through my emails. There it is as big as day.

"How did I miss that?" I ask myself aloud. And then I remember. The beautiful and sexy Anastasia Steele distracted me this morning resulting in a slight lapse of concentration, so…

"Sir?" Welch's voice brings me back to the here and now. I clear my throat and take a second look at David's background check.

"Do we know why he transfers from U of I to come to U-Dub? We both know from experience that sudden changes like that often have a reason."

"Keep reading, Sir." I note that there are more pages than I originally thought. Damn Anastasia and her thighs! Get it together, Grey. I scroll through more pages of college years and college transcripts, starting his own business, on and on. The last pages truly caught my attention. Fucking hell.

"Why is this at end?" I gasp in horror. Welch just shrugs.

"It's the last piece of information that I gathered." He answered. Does Ana know about this?

"Was this public information? Most often it is." I ask.

"Not in this case, Sir, or any case like this honestly. It was as hard to acquire as the information on Anastasia Lambert…only made easier because Edward David is a real person."

"Are we sure that he met her in college? She wasn't profiled or anything?" I ask.

"All evidence points to a chance meeting, but anything is possible." I've got to tell Ana as soon as possible. Now she'll really understand the importance of close protection over surveillance.

"What about other girlfriends? Any intel on that? Before or after college?" As Welch is about to answer my question, there is a knock at my office door, then Taylor comes in.

"Sir, I apologize for the interruption, but there's been a development at Ms. Steele's apartment." I stand up.

"A development?" I repeat his terminology.

"Yes, Sir. Ms. Steele's car has been vandalized and there was an altercation with Edward David." My heart clenches when he says this.

"Was she hurt? Is she okay?" I ask anxiously.

"Ms. Steele is fine, Sir. David didn't touch her, but I think we should go over there right away." Taylor is concerned. I can see why. Butterfly is very easy to like…and love.

There's that word again, Grey.

Not right now. I've got to get to Ana…and in light of this new information on David…

"I am fucking going to kill this fucker as soon as I get my fucking hands on him!" I slam my fists on the desk. "Welch, see if you can find anything on ex-girlfriends, ex-lovers, one night stands—this is probably some sort of pattern. I know sick when I see it. Taylor, let's go." I snatch my jacket from my chair and we are out the door.

I arrive at Ana's apartment and immediately examine the damage to her car. This is pure rage. If David did this, he is already pretty far over the edge. There is not one shard of her windshield left. Nothing but a big gaping hole. I need to find Anastasia _now_. I push the button to go to her floor and I find Harris standing at her door. "Is she in there?" I hiss.

"No, Sir." He responds flatly.

"Where is she?" I bark.

"Downstairs at the security desk." I do a double-take at the soon-to-be-unemployed idiot standing in front of me.

"Why is she downstairs and you're up here?" I ask curiously. He adjusts his tie.

"In Ms. Steele's current demeanor, I thought it best that I stay here and wait, Sir." He says. I look over at Taylor.

"Where did you find this guy?" I say to Taylor, who adjusts his tie uncomfortably and throws a chastising look at his colleague. I shake my head and walk to the elevator. "Come with me." I hear Taylor tell quietly Harris, "He's talking to you. He doesn't have to tell _me_ to follow him!" Mother of fuck. As soon as I get to the bottom of what's going on, this guy is history!

I get to the main floor and I know something is going on because the guard at the desk is concentrating on something going on behind him. He turns his attention to me as I approach.

"How can I help you, Sir?" He greets as I approach the desk, I look behind him into the security office where I see Butterfly sitting with her back to me—really giving someone a mouthful of hell! Forsythe and Davenport are in the office with her. Eyeing the security standing next to me, little guard boy says "You're with her aren't you?" I simply turn my glare to him, which causes him to shake his head and usher me into the office with his hand without leaving his seat.

"This appears to be a state of the art system to me. So I would really like to know how your camera system caught approximately 90 minutes worth of activity between the vandalizing of my car and the events that followed, but it appeared to get past your staff!" I hear my Butterfly say as I approach the office door. Oh, you have really pissed her off now. "Doesn't my outrageous mortgage and very expensive fees going into paying your salary?" She spits.

"Yes, Ma'am it does," the supervisor responds nervously.

"And how pleased would you think your company would be knowing that this happened on your watch in this building?" Not very pleased at all, Butterfly, I can tell you that now.

"Not pleased at all Ma'am." He responds. Accurate answer.

"I trust that my attorney and the sheriff's department will get a copy of this tape considering that I currently have a restraining order in place against the person who vandalized my car." Well that's good to hear. David's restraining order is in place meaning he has actually been served…not that it will do much good.

"Yes, Ma'am. Absolutely. And we will be more than happy to cover the damage to your car." He's groveling now, as well he should be.

"Thank you, that's very kind of you." Butterfly says, her voice a little softer.

"No problem at all, Ms…." He finally gets a glance at me "Who are you?" He asks, abruptly cutting off his conversation with Butterfly.

"Christian Grey." I say calmly. All three heads on Team Butterfly turn to look at me. Even fire-breathing mad, she is fucking breathtaking. Focus, Grey. "I'm actually your boss…well, your boss's boss's boss." I add.

"Do you mean that you own this building?" Snide ass fucker. Time to put him in his place.

"No, I own Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc, which in turn owns Vansteen Security." Quickly chastened, the guy straightens up.

"Oh. Okay. Well, um…we're very sorry about this, Mr. Grey…" He stutters.

"Oh, I'm sure you are, Mr. …" I wait for an answer.

"Robinson. Fred Robinson." He extends his hand to me, and I just look at him. Why the hell would I want to shake your hand right now, you moron? He soon drops his hand.

"And these two gentlemen?" I point at the two Keystone cops in the room, one of whom rolls his chair a little closer to Ana, almost possessively. Before Robinson or I could say anything, Butterfly rolls her head around to Keystone Cop #2 and says, "You might want to back up. _That's_ my boyfriend." He looks nervously from Ana, then to me, then back to Ana, then stands up and moves back against the way. That's right, Asshole. Raise your ass up away from my girl. I turn back to Robinson. "Their names?" Keystone Cop #2 is sweating profusely under his uniform. The last thing he wants right now is for me to know his name.

"This is Harland Jones and that," he says pointing to Casanova back there, "is Stanley Duncan."

"Mr. Jones, Mr. Duncan, Mr. Robinson, would one of you like to tell me how this incident managed to slip by you?" I ask.

"Ugh! I can't go through this again." Butterfly says, standing from her seat.

"Oh, you've already heard it?" I ask.

"No," she says, clearly flustered. "I haven't heard it. That's the problem. Nobody seems to think I _need_ to know. In fact, I'm still waiting to hear it from him!" Everyone follows her glare and finger to none other than a very pale Harris.

"Harris?" I ask bemused. Why would he know why in-house security screwed up?

"Yes! Apparently this group," she gestures to the Vansteen guards, "are not the _only_ ones who let Edward 'slip by' today!" She snaps.

"Baby, what are you talking about?" I am so lost right now. She looks around the room to each member of my security, then she does that seizure thing that she does that I would find funny any other time but now. Her eyes landed on me.

"Fuck me! They still haven't told you?" She says aghast. I have a feeling that I am not going to like this.

"I'm afraid not." I respond. She puts her hand or her forehead. This is going to be really bad. Now she's laughing. It starts out as a chuckle and moves quickly into near-hysteria. I may just need a drink for this!

"Oh boy," she says through her laughter while wiping her eyes. "This day just keeps getting better and better." She folds her arms and leans against the counter.

"Sir…" Davenport starts and I put my hand up to silence him.

"I want to hear from her." I say, flatly.

"Well," she begins, pushing off of the counter, "I'm going to give you the short version and then I'm going to let them," she gestures to my security team, "and them," she gestures to the Vansteen Security team, "fill in the blanks." She tells the story almost without taking a breath:

"Edward wrecked my car when Harris was supposed to be watching him. Davenport protected me and restrained him while Harris came up shortly behind. I could have been arrested—they'll tell you why. Al and the sheriffs show up, serve Edward with his papers. Harris is still standing there. Hell, Harris is still standing _here_—where's Edward? We don't know. Why? Because while Davenport was doing his job keeping an eye on me, Harris was busy letting Edward give him the slip, making derogatory statements about Davenport's and my relationship—or lack thereof, I should say—and, am I forgetting something? Oh yeah! _Calling me a bitch_!"

It takes me a moment to register what she just said, because as the last words were coming out of her mouth, Taylor hissed; and when I looked over at him, he had a grimace on his face like someone had just hit him. I was momentarily distracted by Taylor's expression when some words came floating past my head…

_Calling me a bitch…_

"Sir, I think the conversation was taken out of context…" I hear Harris say as my head is down and my hand is on my chin.

_Calling me a bitch…_

"Oh, really?" I hear Ana's voice now. "Let's see, I think your words were 'You've gotten awful cozy for one day…'" She's mimicking Harris now.

_Calling me a bitch…_

"' You're just pissed because your chance got blocked today… You get to follow that little bit of hotness around all day…you even got her calling you Chuck. Did I interrupt your plans today because I lost sight of David…?'" She's still making her point.

_Calling me a bitch…_

"'What the hell are we supposed to do? Call him every time the bitch breaks a nail?'" And that's the point that snapped me out of my contemplation. "Please, _Rob_," she spits venomously, "Tell me how I was _supposed_ to take what you said. Tell me how I was supposed to _construe_ those statements and I'll be glad to reconsider my interpretation!" She snaps finally. Harris stands there glaring at Ana like he wants to physically attack her.

"Don't stare at her for too long. I might get jealous." I say in my Dom voice. I need it now, or somebody's going to get killed. It has the desired effect. Harris quickly diverts his attention and I think I see Forsythe…er, _Allen_ shiver. Ana walks over to me.

"I know they are your staff and I can't tell you what to do with them." She begins, then she points to Harris, "but if any of them ever disrespects me like he did today, I'm going to give them the same treatment that I gave Luc. And not you, Taylor, or anybody else is going to be able to get me off of them!" She finishes that last statement pointing in my face.

Yes, Mistress.

I don't know why I ever thought there was submissive in this little ball of hell. She turns to leave and grabs Allen by the arm to follow her.

"Ana, where are you going?" I ask.

"There's half a goblet of wine on my counter waiting for me. I'm going to go upstairs make lunch for my best friend and myself and finish my wine!" She snapped.

"Take Davenport with you." I say.

"I don't need any of them right now. You need them more than I do at this moment. _They_ will tell you why." She walks back over to me and gives me a soft peck on the lips. "Don't spend too much time down here; you have an appointment later." Fuck, it _is_ Monday, isn't it? I forgot about this group therapy shit I have to attend.

"She's a real ball-buster, isn't she?" I hear from somewhere on my right. I follow the voice to see that it has come from the first guard who has been pretty invisible through all of this. I run my hands through my hair and count. I swear they just want to see me kill someone with my bare hands.

"Let me make something clear." The Dom is back. I need control. I'm losing it here. "Everyone under the sound of my voice at this moment is in some way or another on my payroll. The next person that makes a derogatory statement about my girlfriend is going to find themselves without a job and unemployable in at least three states—Washington included. Do I make myself clear?" I hear various "yes, Sirs" around the room, but I am keen on my listening skills, so I clearly know that one is missing. I look over at Mr. Duncan—and we are playing the stare game. He didn't last 30 seconds.

"Yes, Sir." He says meekly.

I point to Jones. "You are calling her a ball-buster because she's pissed that you let her car get vandalized. You," I'm pointing at Harris now, "are calling her a bitch because you lost David and she had to defend herself…again. What is she supposed to do, throw flowers at your feet, you _idiots_?" The room is silent. I put my fingers on the bridge of my nose. "Mr. Robinson, I need a room where I can speak with my private security. Do you have one available?"

"Yes Sir." He shows me and my three bodyguards to another room just off the lobby.

"Mr. Robinson, who is your direct supervisor at Vansteen?" I ask when he turns to leave. He gulps audibly.

"Martin Walker, Mr. Grey." He says.

"And who is his supervisor?"

"Marsha Sims, Sir."

"And hers?"

"I don't know who's above her, Sir." He says nervously.

"Thank you, Robinson. I will be with you and your colleagues shortly. Please have the tapes cued so that I can see what occurred with Ms. Steele's car." I say, dismissing him.

"Yes Sir." He closes the door. I quickly search the internet for the number to the community center.

"International Community Center, how may I direct you call?"

"Ronald Carlisle, please." I'm never going to make it there in time. It's already 3:15 and I'm not going to have this fiasco wrapped up in time to get there by 4:00.

"Ron Carlisle." He pipes into the phone.

"Mr. Carlisle, this is Christian Grey."

"Mr. Grey, what can I do for you?" He says casually.

"I have an organizational situation here that requires my immediate attention and I am afraid that it will not be concluded by 4pm. I will be there, but I will be unavoidably tardy." I explain.

"Well, we've already determined that you won't flourish with the group, so why don't you just come to my office at 6:30 and we'll have a little chat?" Great. Two shrinks. Carlisle and Flynn. At least Carlisle is only for another few weeks.

"That's fine, Mr. Carlisle. I appreciate your flexibility in this matter."

"I'll see you at 6:30 then, Mr. Grey." He says before ending the call. I turn to Harris and Davenport.

"Somebody needs to tell me what the _fuck_ happened _right now." _I bark. Harris has adjusted his tie so many times that I don't know why he doesn't just take it off.

"Sir, we are not 100% sure." He begins, his voice shaking a bit. "Davenport and Ms. Steele arrived to discover that Ms. Steele's car had been vandalized. I had been on Mr. David all day. I'm not sure how he did it, but the security tapes confirm that it was he who vandalized her car."

"How did he get to her this morning?" I ask.

"It was actually afternoon, Sir." Harris says.

"Afternoon?" I ask. I thought it was morning when she and Davenport left my apartment.

"Yes, Sir." Harris perks up. "Davenport and Ms. Steele didn't get to the apartment until after 1:00." Now this is intriguing. It is only too obvious that this is a rat on a sinking ship and he is trying to pull anyone down with him that he can. I shoot a look at Davenport and then back to Harris. Let's give him a little more rope.

"Continue Harris." His posture and demeanor changes and now he thinks he's in the catbird seat.

"I followed David here," He continued, "and I was following orders that if he came anywhere Ms. Steele we were to take him down. So as he got closer to Ms. Steele, I engaged him, as did Davenport. When we did and Ms. Steele saw the condition of her car, she ordered us to let him go, and you are not going to believe this, Sir."

Tell me what the fuck happened, you incompetent imbecile.

"Sir, she went into the car, pulled out a Glock, and pointed it in his face. She pretty much made him swear to never contact her again and kept him subdued until the Sherriff's department arrived."

I stand there gawking at these two numbskulls like they have just hit me.

"Are you fucking serious?" I ask, nearly dumbfounded.

"Yes sir. She has a 9mm Glock G19C that she keeps in the glove box. When Mr. David approached her in the parking garage, she told us to step away from him and put that gun in his face."

I'll have to talk to Ana about this gun later. But right now, all I can feel is rage at these incompetent assholes standing in front of me.

"Davenport, what took so long to return here?" I ask. Harris is smirking now. Oh, don't smirk, Dickwad...you're next.

"Ms. Steele stopped by the Apple store to get a new phone and change her number. She said she texted you, Sir." Davenport explained.

"I don't recall seeing a text from Anastasia." I say.

"It would have been from her new number, Sir."

"Ah," I say going to my text messages. "That would explain it." I locate the text from the odd number and open it.

_****Hey Everyone. It's Anastasia Steele. I have a new number. Save this in your phones please. The old**_ _**one is void effective immediately. Rocking the new iPhone, too!****_

I turn back to Davenport. "Chuck, huh?" I say.

"Yes, Sir." He's clearly nervous. Good, he should be.

"She's got my housekeeper calling her Ana. You, too?" I say curtly. He shifts uncomfortably.

"Yes, Sir. She suggested that when we are in public situations that we keep the relationship formal and use Davenport and Ms. Steele or Ma'am, but that those formalities where not necessary in a one-on-one situation." He chokes.

"I'm surprised she didn't say _Dr_. Steele. She's a real stickler on that." Harris seemed a little uncomfortable with that statement. "Something wrong, Harris?" I ask.

"No, Sir." Harris says nervously. I look to Davenport.

"Ms. Steele informed us that she is a doctor a few moments before she came down to speak to security, Sir." Davenport says flatly. That let me know that there was more to the story.

"I told you she was personable, didn't I?" I say to Davenport.

"Yes, Sir, you did." He responds.

"Having said that," I begin, "do you realize that this is twice—_twice_—that this lady has shown you fuckers up? This is _twice_ that she has come face to face with this bastard and took care of _herself_. Maybe she's right! Maybe she doesn't need a security detail because she is making you CIA/FBI trained mother fuckers look like fools! And _you_," I turn my attention to Harris, "did you not think I paid attention to what my girl said? Did you not hear her tell me that Davenport subdued David before you even got there? What did you think—that you could blatantly lie and throw a colleague under the bus and earn brownie points with me? You lost your mark and you blamed someone else for your mistake, but worst of all…you called my girl a _bitch_. Nobody will trust you. Nobody will want to work with you. And I'm certainly not going to spend my hard-earned money to watch you fuck up over and over again. You are fired. You are so fired, if I could fire you twice, I would. Turn in your keys to Taylor immediately." He scowls and turns in his keys. He then turns to me and says, "You can't handle that little trick, so you need a whole damn security staff to cover your back. She's going to run you over and bust your little balls just like she did that bastard in the parking lot."

I want to punch him, but I do him one better. I pull out my blackberry and call Welch. "Welch."

"Sir."

"Robert Harris has been fired from my staff. Deactivate his clearance and security card effective immediately. Oh, and blackball him."

"Yes, Sir." I hang up. Harris is glaring at me, no doubt wondering what I just did.

"Leave town, you are officially unemployable in Washington, California, and New York, and any other state where I can make my influence reach…which you know is not hard to do." His expression is horrified.

"You son of a bitch!" He spit.

"Hey, I warned you. And if you keep talking, I'll make sure that you can't get work anywhere. You'll be lucky to land a job as security for a super market!" He wanted to say something more but thought better of it and stormed out of the room. I look at Taylor.

"There's another one we have to watch." He says.

"Yeah, I know." I respond. "Get another man on David."

"Yes Sir." Taylor goes to his phone. I turn back to Davenport.

"Ana seems to like you."I say. He twitches a little nervously.

"Um, yes Sir." He responds.

"Follow me." Without missing a beat, he falls in behind me. Yeah, I guess I'll keep him for now.

We go back to the security office where Robinson, Duncan, and Jones are all trying to figure out who to blame for this fiasco.

"Let me see the footage." I say curtly. I watch as David wildly destroys Ana's windshield. She may not need security per se, but she does need someone to watch her back from this jerk. When the deed is done, Davenport informs them where to forward the tape to Ana and David's confrontation. I see Davenport subdue David, just like Ana said, and a few moments later Harris shows up. Where was he—out scratching his ass somewhere? They then let him go and Davenport stands behind Ana. He is very professional, I'll give him that. Within minutes, I see my delicate little Butterfly go to her car and emerge with a firearm.

Shit! She's scaring _me_ right now.

She says a few words to David and the next thing I see, she parts her legs and aims that gun straight up at his face. I detest firearms, I really do, but she looks fucking _hot_—standing there looking like a sexy brunette Charlie's Angel holding this asshole at bay with a gun. I can see Davenport talking to her, but she doesn't flinch. Next, Allen enters the frame and convinces her to put the firearm away. There's some conversation between the cops and Ana, and she hands over her purse to one while the other is in her car. I almost shit myself when they find her gun, but they put it back and return her purse. I look at Davenport.

"She's licensed?" I ask, bewildered.

"Yes Sir." He responds. I shake my head and put my hands over my lips while I continue to watch the footage. She says something else to David and goes over to Allen, who puts his arms around her. Davenport shifts uncomfortably. I look over at him as the sheriff is obviously serving papers to David.

"He's gay." I say. Davenport looks shocked. "Don't worry. I didn't know at first either. Now that you know, he's going to seem like the gayest man you've ever met." I add.

"I never would have known, Sir." He says as we continue to watch the footage. "Very impressive when he's operating in official capacity. He's very professional - I'd want him on _my_ side in a legal battle!"

"Really?" I comment. The sheriff gives David the papers and he leaves…and Harris is still there! I swear, where was this man trained? "You say he's one of the best?" I look to Taylor who shrugs.

"He used to be, Sir. I apologize. I don't know what happened to him." I just wave my hand.

"You've got another guy on David?" I say as I watch Ana take the gun from her car, spit a few words at Harris and get on the elevator with Allen.

"Yes Sir," Taylor responds. I nod and turn to Davenport.

"Why didn't you go up with her?" I watch as the two men exchange some not-so-pleasantries.

"She ordered us not to follow her, Sir. She was so pissed off at Harris, her exact words were, 'I have a loaded firearm in my purse. I'll secure my own god damn apartment.'"

"Oh yeah." I said resignedly. "You did best to leave her alone. When did that fucker call her a bitch?" Davenport looks from me to Taylor, who nods at him. Amazing! Harris has been fired and Davenport is still honoring _The Code_.

"We were reporting to Taylor right there, Sir." He points to the footage. "Since the crisis had been averted and the police had gotten involved, we didn't see the need to call you sooner. Ms. Steele thought otherwise. She pointed out how much of a mistake it was for us to wait to contact you before she went up to her apartment. There, Sir," he's pointing to them getting on the elevator. "We both go up to Ms. Steele's door and wait for further instructions from her or from Taylor."

"Do you have coverage of the 19th floor and Ms. Steele's hallway?" I say to Robinson. He gets onto another machine and cues up to Davenport and Harris outside of Ana's door. It's kind of a side view, so you can see all of Harris and part of Davenport.

"She must've heard our conversation through the door, Sir. She recited it back to you verbatim. Right after he made the…" he cleared his throat, "'bitch' comment, she came out and confronted him."

"What did she say?" I ask.

"She asked him when did he lose David, and he didn't want to tell her. She called him a line of very unflattering names and told him that she knew he called her a bitch. He told her that he lost David at 11:00 and that's how we knew what time to look for him." How did we manage to hire such a loser?

"Congratulations, Davenport. You get to keep your job…again." I say. I turn to Robinson.

"When you told Ms. Steele that you would handle the repairs to her car, I assume that you meant you personally since you _are_ responsible for security on the premises and failed to secure her vehicle." He twitches a bit. Yeah, squirm, mother fucker.

"Absolutely, Mr. Grey." He chokes.

"State of the art? Shatterproof?" I push.

"Yes sir." He croaks.

"Oh, and the detailing…" I begin.

"Not to worry, Mr. Grey. _We_ will take care of everything." He says shooting a look at the two gentlemen sitting behind him.

"Very good, very good." I respond. "I just fired Mr. Harris for his incompetence as this was his second misstep. I am not accustomed to giving people repeated chances, Mr. Robinson, Mr. Duncan, Mr. Jones." I say looking at each of them. They are equally uncomfortable. "I have decided to forego my usual policy in this instance only because you are repairing the damage to Ms. Steele's car. I will however be speaking to Mr. Walker and Ms. Sims in the morning. I trust that Ms. Steele will be bringing you a copy of her protection order against Mr. David and you have many pictures of him in your surveillance, so I don't need to be concerned about her safety on that end, correct?"

"No Sir. This will not happen again Mr. Grey." Robinson assures me.

"And her car will be repaired…" I wait for an answer.

"Tomorrow, Sir." He responds.

"Good. Thank you, gentlemen." I look at my watch as I leave the office. It's nearly 5:00. What a fucking day!

"I'm going up to see Ana. Taylor, I have that appointment, but it's been moved to 6:30. Davenport, once I leave, stay as close to Ana as she will allow you. She doesn't have a car now, not until tomorrow at least."

"Yes Sir," they answer in unison. I call the elevator to go see my girl.

"Come in, but be quiet." Allen says quietly as he opens the door. He points to Ana on the sofa. "It was a combination. She wouldn't shed those angry tears, you know the ones…" Yeah, I know the ones. "And she had _quite_ a bit of wine." It looks like she had a bad day, too…and it started out so well. "I've got to get going. Will you tell her to call me later so that I don't worry about her? And let me know if she needs me." He says, handing me his business card. I reach into my card case and give him one of mine as well.

"I have an appointment at 6:30, but my guy with be with her while I'm gone. Don't worry, she'll be fine." I say, proffering my hand to him.

"Thanks." He said, shaking my hand. He picks up his briefcase and heads for the door. "Christian?" He said stopping at the door. I turn to look at him. "She's my best friend. I'd kill for her. I love her." He says softly. "I've known her for 14 years. I know her better than anybody. She'd probably kill me for this, but I think she loves you." He looks up so that his eyes meet mine. "Please don't hurt her." Those last four words were more powerful than anything that he has said, including the fact that he thinks Butterfly loves me—which is pretty fucking powerful, by the way.

"I won't hurt her, Allen. I promise you that." I respond.

"I'm going to hold you to that." He says in all seriousness before he walks through the door and closes it behind him. I truly believe that man would hunt me down if I hurt Ana. So I'm going to do everything in my power not to allow that to happen.

I walk over to the sofa, and there's my Butterfly, curled up in the fetal position sleeping soundly, her hair cascading beautifully down her back. I sit on the floor right at her face so that I can stroke her skin and her hair. Her lips are so kissable right now. I can't help but plant a gentle, chaste kiss there so as not to wake her. In three days, she has transformed me. She has made my body feel like no other woman has. She has opened me up to hopes and dreams I never thought possible. She has unleashed the heart in a heartless man and redeemed the soul of a soulless demon.

And she touched me.

She touched my chest and my back…and the coffin in which I spent most of my days and nights was opened, and I was released from condemnable hell and eternal solitude. She released me…by opening her own wounds to me, she set me free. Free to feel, free to hope, free to…

She is everything to me. I never thought I could feel anything like this for another human being. I can't breathe without her…can't _be_ without her. She makes me feel new and fresh and light. She makes me feel whole. My soul subconsciously reaches for her. She has woven herself into me and I ache to touch her and be near her. It's better than flying, better than gliding, better than kickboxing. It's better than mergers and acquisitions, better than Mrs. Jones' mashed potatoes, better than Bollinger.

Better than sailing…  
Better than ice cream…  
Better than Michelangelo's David…  
Better than flawless diamonds and Tahitian pearls…  
Better than…

She whimpers softly. What are you dreaming now, my beautiful Butterfly? What lovely visions are dancing through your head to cause that faint upturn I see on your lips? And in her slumber, she speaks.

"I love you, Christian." She whispers.

My heart dies, then comes back to life. I stroke her beautiful face and whisper,

"I love you, too."

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**I need to say that I don't mean to insinuate that a gay man looks a certain way. However, when you are in my best friend's presence, you know that he is a gay man. Allen is fashioned after my best friend only Allen is more effeminate than my best friend. So this is why it was surprising to Davenport that he was gay and surprising to Christian that Davenport didn't identify that. **_

_**The Code of Silence—Christian mentions that even after Harris is fired, Davenport still honors "The Code." It's just what it sounds like—keep your mouth shut or you will be deemed a traitor. Harris blatantly and inadvertently broke the code several times in his conversation with Christian in an attempt to save his own ass, but Davenport would not break it without permission. **_

_**For those who may think this relationship is moving too fast (sleep together on Friday, "I love you" on Monday), I have two things to say to that. First, they were attracted to each other the day they met three weeks prior. They had been subconsciously growing closer ever since then despite themselves. Also remember they gave in to temptation the week before, so the flood gates had really been opened. Second, my husband told me he loved me **_**eight days**_** after we met. I knew I loved him the same day even though I denied it for a couple of days. We are now 12 years together, 7 years married. Yes, it does happen in real life. ;-)**_

_**Please review!**_


	23. Chapter 23: With You I'm Born Again

_**I want you guys to know that I read all of the reviews and I am sorry if I didn't respond to everyone. I was sick right before my last update. I am on the mend now and I promise to respond to your reviews for here on out. Sickness doesn't stop me from updating though...unless I am incapacitated. ;-)**_

_**Again, a reminder. I post on and Wednesdays and Saturdays, at or around 3pm PACIFIC TIME-that's West Coast time in America. If I ever have time for bonus chapters, they are usually on Mondays.**_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

* * *

Chapter 23—With You, I'm Born Again

GREY

I am on my way back to Anastasia's apartment. The meeting with Carlisle went better than I had expected, even though that smug fucker seemed to read me just like Flynn.

"_You seem affable today, Mr. Grey." Carlisle had said. _

"_Actually it's been a rough day." I replied._

Of course I was affable. I proclaimed my love to a woman that truly means the world to me. Well, she was asleep at the time, but I don't want to scare her away. So this will move as slowly or as quickly as she wants.

"_What's different that makes you so happy?" _

"_Actually, I think I had better discuss that with my own therapist." I had responded. _

"_You see a therapist. Is it Ana?" Funny he had asked that. I laughed at the thought. _

"_No!" I snickered. Although she is helping to bring closure to one of the most difficult areas of my life. "His name is Flynn." _

"_Hmmm…I don't know him." Carlisle had said. _

We turn into Ana's parking structure and I see that the glass has been cleaned up from the ground and her car is covered with a canvas vehicle cover. So far so good, boys. Let's see what tomorrow brings. Taylor parks in one of the visitors spots and turns the car off.

"Should I wait, Sir?" He asked.

"Yes. If I'm staying, I'll send Davenport down with instructions.

"Yes Sir." He responded.

As I am riding in the elevator, I think about the one breakthrough that I could discuss with Carlisle.

"_I was angry today and I wanted to hit somebody." I had stated. _

"_Really?" Carlisle asked. _

"_Yeah, but then I thought that's what got me here in the first place, so I thought better of it. But since he is an employee of mine, I did fire him."_

"_Well, that's healthy…in a way. You found an alternative solution to the problem. But what are you going to do when the person is _not_ somebody you can fire?" I shrugged. _

"_I don't know. Think about _this_ again?" I answered uncertainly. _

"_Again, good start. You are thinking about the consequences of your actions. What brought about this change Mr. Grey?"_

_She_ did, I thought as I exited the elevator onto Ana's floor. She made everything better, and I want to be better…for me _and_ for her.

"_Ana says, 'hi,'" I said without answering his question, although I'm sure that response was answer enough. If not, the huge smile on my face brought on by the memory of what transpired while she was giving this salutation had to be a dead giveaway. _

"_Aaahh. So you got that apology, did you?" He had said with a smirk. _

"_Huh? Oh yes, she apologized. I think it might have been a trying day for all of us. She explained to me how she was losing hope in the 'power' of group therapy all along and that it was inevitably going to happen sooner or later. I was just the lucky sucker that got chosen." _

I don't know if he had caught my pun, but he didn't let on if he did. The session went on for another half hour, and Carlisle is satisfied that I am beginning to make some progress that will appease the court. He has agreed to meet with me again on Wednesday at 4:00 so that it doesn't run into the team sessions and we can get on with our nights a little earlier. I was thankful for that. I knock on Ana's door and Davenport answers.

"Sir," He says stepping back and letting me in. I look around conspicuously before Davenport answers, "She's in the kitchen, Sir." I walk through her great room and there she is in the kitchen, humming some tune I'm not familiar with. She has changed into another sundress and some slides—a favorite combination of hers when she is at home, I see. I stand and watch her for awhile, puttering around the kitchen and preparing little things for dinner. She is wearing a cook's full frontal apron, not those frilly little things that the women from the fifties used to wear. She's a serious cook! She turns around and sees me standing there and she nearly jumps out of her skin.

"I'm sorry, Baby. I didn't mean to startle you." I say.

"Christian!" She says, her hand on her chest. "You scared me to death! Why are you standing there all creepy-like?"

"I was watching you." I say softly, and her whole demeanor changes.

"You were?" She squeaks.

"Yes, I was," I said coming around the breakfast bar. "I've wanted to hold you from the moment I saw you this afternoon." I said taking her in my arms.

"Oh?" she asked, her hands on my forearms.

"Um hmm. I've wanted to kiss you…here," I kiss her cheek. "…And here…" I kiss her earlobe and her hands travel up my arms.

"Mmm." She says as I leave open mouthed kisses on her neck and shoulders.

"Your skin is delightful, Ms. Steele."

"That's because you do delightful things to my skin, Mr. Grey." She purrs. Arg! That went straight to my dick. The things she does to me.

My lips travel under her chin savoring her flavor, lapping her up so that I can taste her when she is not around. I make sure that I caress her once forbidden zone so that she feels my love through her scars. As if she could feel my purpose, her arms dart around my neck pulling her close to me. Yes, Butterfly, feel all that I have for you. Feel it like I feel it for you. There is a sudden surge of heat and passion between us and I am almost dizzy from its effects.

"Christian…hold me…tighter…please!" She almost whines. I take her in my arms lifting her off the ground. She wraps herself around me clenching to me like I was her lifeline, and I am clenching just as tightly. Her face is buried in my neck and I just hold her there, protecting her from the world from all the bad that can get to her…and take her away from me…

My Ana…

"Christian…" Her voice is strained.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No…I…" Again, she is struggling with her words.

"What is it, Baby?" I say still holding onto her.

"I want to say something…but I'm afraid." She squeaks.

"You can tell me anything, Butterfly." Say it, Ana.

"You won't run?" She says, clasping tighter to me.

"I'll never run from you, Ana." Say it, Baby. She takes a deep breath.

"I think I love you, Christian." She says burying her face deeper in my neck. I inhale the scent of her, her hair and her skin. I want to remember this moment forever…the first time she told me that she loved me—awake anyway—hopefully the first of many.

"I _know_ I love you, Ana." I say softly. As if she could, she holds me tighter. I feel her body shake and I know she is crying.

"What's wrong, Baby?" I don't dare let her go.

"I…I didn't think I could…I didn't think…" She's starting to get a little weepy. I sit her on the breakfast bar so that I can look at her. I take her face in my hands and wipe her tears with my thumbs.

"Talk to me." I coax gently. She slowly catches her breath.

"I didn't think…I could love again. I didn't…know where to start…or what to do…" She tries to look down. I raise her head.

"You are perfection, Anastasia." I say looking into her eyes. "You are beauty, and intelligence, and independence, and strength, and sensuality and every desirable and good thing all rolled into one package. He damaged you. He took you for granted. But you came _back_ from that—and now here you are presenting yourself to me…a damaged, confused, battered shell of a man…"

"Christian, no…" She takes my face in her hands and kisses me deeply. Aaaahhh…she gives my soul life and her kiss is healing. My Ana…my Butterfly. She breaks our kiss and brings her forehead to mine. "You are so much more than that. You're tender, and gentle, and caring, and compassionate..."

Is she talking about _me_?

"You dropped everything to come and see about me…_twice_…even though I wasn't in any danger." Yes, Baby, you were. You just don't know it, yet.

"You sent your goons to look after me, even though one of them doesn't know his asshole from a hole in the ground," she laughed through her tears.

"And when you saw the brands…" She went silent. I know this is a hard topic for her. I kiss her cheek where the tears are falling. She doesn't have to say anything—I already know.

"I'm afraid, too." I confess. Her eyes get large.

"Of what?" She whispers.

"Of losing you. Of you leaving me. Of not being worthy of you. Of being so damaged that I can't be fixed…"

"Christian, please…stop…" She interrupted me and pulled me into an embrace again. "Please, Christian, you mean so much to me. You showed me that I can love again. And if you're damaged, confused, and battered, then we can be damaged, confused, and battered together. I'll never leave you. You'll never lose me…" she's crying again.

"Please, Baby, stop crying." I rub her back. "I can't take it when you cry."

"I'll stop crying if you stop saying those horrible things about yourself." She sniffled. "I can't take _that_."

"Ok, you've got a deal." I said pulling her face away so that I can see her. I kiss her lips tenderly. They are so soft. "No more crying now, okay?"

"Okay." She says smiling through her tears.

"So," I say lifting her from the breakfast bar and setting her on the floor. "What's for dinner?"

"Oven-seared pork loin with rosemary, butter garlic cheesy crushed potatoes, and butter basted brussel sprouts…say that three times fast!" She winks at me as she cleans her face with a napkin.

"Good grief, that sounds like Sunday dinner." I say. She snickers.

"You see, that's why I'm good at what I do." She opens the oven and removes the pork loin. It looks absolutely mouthwatering. "I cook things that are quick and easy but _look_ like they take a long time and a lot of effort." She winks at me and bends down to get the cheesy potatoes…Ana ass all in my face. I would grab it, but I don't want her to drop her masterpiece. And what a masterpiece it is! Did I tell her I love cheesy potatoes? I don't think so.

"What made you decide on this menu?" I ask. "It looks delicious."

"Well, there are two security members here who I can guess haven't eaten dinner yet. Pork loin pretty much is cook-and-serve unless you're doing some magnificent recipe, which I didn't…just garlic salt, lemon pepper, and rosemary. Brussel sprouts simmered in butter are a no brainer. And I was out of cheesy potatoes and it's one of my favorites so I always have to have it around. I usually make it on Friday night so I can eat it all weekend, but I went out with the jerk…and then afterwards…I was…distracted." She says with a blush. Cheesy potatoes is one of her favorites. Oh good Lord, I'm falling in love.

"You are amazing." I say as I kiss her nose. I notice that Davenport has discreetly disappeared. "Did you see where Davenport went?" She smiles at me.

"Again…distracted." She says coyly. Yeah, I guess we both were. She wipes her hands and takes her phone from her purse. She pushes a button and says, "Dial Chuck." I hear Siri say "Calling Charles Davenport, Chuck." Geez! Should I be concerned? She says she loves you, Asshole. Give her a break!

"Chuck…where'd you go?" She says. "No, we were just wondering where you went…hold on, I'll ask him." She turns to me. "Taylor wants to know if you're staying the night." That was classy. Davenport went to wait with Taylor so that I could have some time alone with my girl. Hmmm, he keeps an eye on her, she gets along with him, and he knows when to get lost! Definitely need to keep him around.

"Can I stay?" I ask. I don't want to assume.

"Of course, you can stay." She says softly.

"Then I guess I'm staying." I answer, just as softly. After a deep breath, she says,

"Yes, he's staying. Can you please come back up to the apartment for a moment, Chuck?...Okay, I'll see you shortly." She ends the call.

"Chuck, huh?" I say. She sighs.

"I am not calling that man Davenport unless we are in public…and even then only if it's necessary. He's worth his weight in gold. He never lets me out of his site. He was on Edward before I had a chance to say anything…and I know he's personal protection now—not surveillance." My mouth falls open.

"How did you know?" I gasp. She smirked.

"It's not rocket science." She says, pulling out placemats from under the bar. "He came inside when I went to the Apple store instead of staying in the car. He got out with me when we discovered my car had been vandalized. He immediately subdued Edward the moment we saw him—like a bodyguard—instead of calling in the incident—like surveillance. He took orders from me when I told him to let Edward go—which Harris seems to resent, so I _knew_ he was surveillance and not personal protection." She hands me the placemats. "He did everything I told him even when he was contemplating disarming me."

Yeah, I forgot about that! I need to talk to her about that! She took two plates down and handed them to me. Hey! When I did I get on table setting duty? "When I came up to my apartment and told him to stay behind and call you, he never spoke back to me. He just did what he was told. Harris, on the other hand, doesn't know when to shut the hell up. Flatware is in that drawer right there." I laugh to myself. No special treatment for you here, Grey, I thought. I grab the flatware while she gets two plastic takeaway plates with flatware attached. Boy Scout, I tell you!

"After he called you, he came upstairs and stood guard at my door. I would bet the ranch that was _his_ idea and not Harris'." She began carving servings of the pork loin and putting them on a serving platter, putting two large servings into each of the takeaway plates. "Then, the entire time Harris was in the hallway making excuses and calling me defamatory names, Davenport was going over the protocol trying to figure out what went wrong and trying to get Harris to shut the hell up." She spoons heaping helpings of the cheesy potatoes into the plates followed by ample servings of the brussel sprouts. Good God! She looks like she's feeding an army! She snaps the tops onto the takeaway plates just as Davenport knocks on the door. "Will you get that for me, please?" She says without missing a beat.

"Yes, Mistress." I say under my breath.

_**STEELE**_

He thinks I didn't hear what he called me. I bet he thinks I didn't hear him call me that earlier. Keep it up, Grey, I've got your Mistress.

Davenport comes into the kitchen led by Christian. "Yes, Ma'am?" I have just finished packing the takeaway plates into one of my reusable shopping bags. I include a few disposable napkins since they just might eat in the car.

"Here, take this. Careful, it's hot. I know you haven't had anything to eat all afternoon and I don't know about Taylor so…Sorry there's nothing to drink, but I think I would have had to resort to juice boxes or something." I laugh. He laughs with me.

"Thank you, Ms. Steele." He says graciously.

"You're welcome." I smile. "Well, I'm going to go over here and finish getting my dinner ready and I'm going to let you deal with the boss." I say as I turn back to my meal. I put the cheesy potatoes in a small serving bowl since it's just me and Christian and leave the rest to cool before I put it away. I take the pork loin and the cheesy potatoes to the table and come back for the brussel sprouts. Christian dismisses Chuck and comes back to the kitchen.

"Chardonnay or Cabernet?" I ask.

"Chardonnay, please." He says huskily. A flash of heat and desire ran through me at the change of the tone in his voice.

"Chardonnay it is," I say, desperately trying to control the wanton nymphomaniac squirming around inside me. I remove a Le Crema Sonoma Coast Chardonnay from the wine cooler—not a $1500 bottle, but it will just have to do. I take two wine glasses from the cupboard and hand them across the bar to Christian. Then I bring the brussel sprouts and the Chardonnay to the table.

"Would you like some music?" I ask.

"Definitely," he purrs. He has got to stop doing that, or we're not going to get through dinner. I take another deep breath to steady myself and find the remote to my docked iPod. I have the bay hooked up to my surround sound. So when I press play, Al Jarreau pipes through the dining room.

"Very nice," he says. "I haven't heard this one. What is it?"

"Waters of March." I say, taking my seat. He sits down after me.

"There's so much we don't know about each other." He starts. "I want to know everything about you."

"Like what?" I ask, serving the food.

"Well, I know your favorite color is blue and that you like jazz—not Dixieland…" He's talking about what I said in group. All of a sudden, I remember that embarrassing thing I said about Breakfast at Tiffany's.

"Oh please don't say it." I plead.

"What? The tiara?" He teases.

"Oh God, he said it." I shake my head, handing him his plate. "I was just trying to break the ice."

"I thought it was kind of cute." I'm sure I blush five colors when he says that.

"I always thought it was so romantically tragic. She always looked at the jewelry like something she wanted but could never have." I sigh a little. "It's the story of my life…only the thing I was chasing wasn't material."

"What was it?" He asks, uncorking the Chardonnay. I shrug.

"Peace. Closure. The lack of fear. Love." I froze on the last word. Christian Grey said he loves me. Not just he loves me…he _knows_ he loves me.

"Well, we've taken care of one of those things. All that is left is to cover the others." He says sensually. "So, Ms. Steele, how do you suggest we go about doing that?" He pours me some wine. I sigh again. How can he be so damn dreamy?

"Time, I guess. I don't really know, exactly. I do have closure on the whole Edward thing, thank God." His face grimaces when I say that. "What's wrong, Christian?"

"Not now," he says. "I promise I will tell you. But right now, I want to talk about you, and us, and enjoy our meal." I smile.

"Fair enough." I say.

"So tell me about you and Allen. How did you meet?" He takes a bite of his pork loin and nods his approval. "Very good." He says. I smirk.

"Would you tell me if it wasn't?" I ask. He laughs.

"Probably not," he says honestly, "but I certainly wouldn't tell you it was 'very good.'" I laugh with him. "So, you and Allen, how did you meet?"

"Well, we sort of just _happened_." I begin taking a sip of my chardonnay. "He was a student aide in my keyboarding class in 7th grade and we were both misfits. One day we just started talking. And then we talked the next day, and then the next day, and then every day nearly for 14 years."

"Nearly?" He asks. I knew he caught that.

"We didn't talk for some of the time that I was in Henderson. I got in touch with him when I came back to Montesano with Ray, but when Carla and Husband #3 came back to get me and bring me back to Hell, they didn't even give me a chance to say goodbye. Luckily, we kept in touch as often as I could get to email. I couldn't tell him I was staying in a battered women's shelter when I came back to Washington so I waited until I got my own place to even tell him that I was here. He was so upset with me." Christian's expression changed. I looked at him questioning.

"I never knew that you stayed in a battered women's shelter. It's not on your background check." He says, almost apologetically.

"Well, I can only assume that it wasn't a matter of public record because it was, after all, a shelter for battered women and there was most likely some level of anonymity to allow protection for the women that were staying there." It made sense and it's the only reason I would think that it didn't show up.

"Okay, but, battered women. Had you been beaten again, Ana?" I know where he was going with his line of questioning. I swallowed my food, and put my fork down.

"I showed them my brands and they let me stay." He gulped audibly. "He was very, very cruel to me mentally and emotionally, but he never physical hurt me."I said softly. "Although I don't know which was worse—the beating and the branding or the horrible way my _guardians_ treated me. Either of them could have broken me. Husband #3 always said I was too stubborn for my own good. I guess it worked in my favor this time." I picked up my fork and continued to eat.

"I don't know if stubborn is the right word," Christian began as he put his first forkful of cheesy potatoes in his mouth and froze, closing his eyes. I looked up from my plate to see what he was doing.

"Christian?" I say after a few moments of silence. Still nothing. What is he doing? "Christian, what are you doing?" He holds up his finger. Did he just shush me!? His tongue is rolling around in his closed mouth. I squirm a little thinking of the things that tongue has done to me, but then I bring my focus back to Mr. Grey. I put my fork back on my plate and cross my hands with my elbows on the table resting my chin on my hands, waiting for Christian to let me in on whatever's going on. He opens his eyes slowly like he is in bliss.

"Please don't tell her I said this," he begins closing his eye again and taking another forkful of cheesy potatoes, "But this may be better than Mrs. Jones'. I think this is the best cheesy potatoes I've ever tasted." I smack my lips.

"Oh, Christian, please," I say unbelieving. "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"I'm serious." Then his face fell. "You sent some with Taylor didn't you?"

"Of course I did." I answer.

"Oh hell." He laughs, as he pulls out his blackberry. "Just a minute…I'm sorry." And he starts typing away. What the hell is going on? For a few moments, he is playing with his phone, then he breaks out in laughter.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, what is it?" I ask.

"Taylor and Davenport had planned on taking dinner to their respective places but when Davenport brought the food to the car, the smell was irresistible for too long. They actually pulled over somewhere between here and Escala to eat." He's laughing and I'm smirking a bit.

"Okay, so they're hungry. None of you have eaten since before lunch, that's understandable." I say.

"But I told him that I hadn't tasted the potatoes yet. This was his response." He handed me his blackberry.

_****It's a good thing you found her first, Sir. I'd fight you for her to get these potatoes every night.****_

Okay, so that was funny…and cute…and flattering - but surely would _not_ like that. "Okay, okay, I believe you. The cheesy potatoes are good." I say, returning his phone to him, picking up my fork and continuing my meal.

We continue talking through our meal and I tell him about the formidable years and the horrible things that Husband #3 did to keep me _in line_. He constantly tried to get my money from working the odd jobs that I worked, but I flatly refused. He had told me if I didn't give it to him that he would put me out and I told him to do it—I would just go to Washington with my real father, even though I was fully aware that Ray wasn't my real father. He was real enough as far as Dads go.

_You're still leaving out that one crucial piece of information.  
_I know, but I just can't tell him that now.  
_Then, when? The longer you wait, the worse it will be.  
_I'll tell him…just not now._  
_

We have finished our meals and I have put the leftovers away by the time I tell him everything about Carla and Stephen Morton. I refill our wine glasses when Christian says, "There are a couple of things that I need to discuss with you and they are very important."

"Okay," I answer, a little nervous.

"You know that I do background checks on everyone that gets close to me or if I feel I need to keep an eye on them, right?"

"Yes." I answer expecting.

"How much do you know about David?" He asked. I shrug. I'm trying to think what he told me about his upbringing.

"Well, he comes from a small town in Oklahoma. His parents were farmers and he didn't want to work the farm. He wanted to get out and see the world. So even though he stayed around for a while after high school, he left and came to Washington because he had some friends here. He said that he had a scholarship waiting for him—he just had to pick the school he wanted to attend. I always asked him why he picked U-Dub when he could have chosen MIT or Stanford, UC-Berkley or Harvard or Columbia…he said that he had friends in Washington and he wanted to come here. He had even done his research and U-Dub is in the top 20 schools worldwide for its Computer Science program. I couldn't argue with the logic." I answer.

"Have you ever met his family? Anyone from his life before he moved to Washington?" Christian asked cautiously.

"Um, I met his sister once, maybe a year after we started dating. She came to town briefly and their meeting seemed a little strained, but he told me that his familial relationships were strained anyway since his family was angry with him for leaving and not staying to tend the farm. So other than that, no, I haven't met any of his family." I answer. "Why are you asking me this, Christian?" He sighs.

"I'm trying to get some more information on the last few years since you two broke up, but nothing that he told you is true." He says.

"Well, honestly, I don't care if it's true or not, Christian. He's not my concern anymore."

"But I think he _is_ your concern, Ana. If everything that he told you about himself was a lie, why didn't he come clean sometime during the two and a half years you guys were together?" I'm still waiting for him to tell me how this concerns me. He pushes his empty plate away from him and folds his hands on the table. "David comes from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, not some small town in Oklahoma. His parents are not farmers—they own a sporting goods store. He has two brothers, no sisters. And he didn't leave home to keep from going into the family business. He left as a deal with the parents of a young girl named Camilla Johannson. He assaulted and raped her his first year in college and his family paid her and her family off with the guarantee that he would leave town and they would never see him again." I gasp when I hear this news. _Assault and rape?_ He lied about _everything_? Who the hell is this man that I fell in love with for 2 ½ years? "He didn't _choose_ to come to U-Dub, Ana. He's living in exile." Christian says.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Butterfly's already pale face has turned completely white. She's trying to take in air and it looks like she's hyperventilating. I jump from my seat and run over to her. I kneel in front of her. "Breathe, Baby." Her wide eyes shoot up to me, her hand on her chest. Please, Baby, breathe. "Deep breaths, Baby. Slow down." She's whimpering with each breath but she manages to slow her breathing. "Talk to me, Baby." She has tears flowing down her face and she just shakes her head as she clings to my arms. I take a deep breath. "I need to ask you something, Ana. Do you think you can answer it for me?" She's still looking wide-eyed at me.

"Yes," she chokes.

"How did you and David meet?"

"At a party." She said quietly.

"Okay. A frat party?"

"No. A d…dorm party." She says, taking a deep breath.

"Did you frequently attend dorm parties?" I ask.

"All the time." She answered, her eyes trained on mine.

"Do you remember seeing David at any of these parties before, or anywhere else for that matter?"

"I don't know…I don't think so. It was a long time ago, Christian." So he _could_ have profiled her, or it could have been just a sick coincidence.

"When David started cheating on you, did he choose a specific type of woman?"

"Yeah, anything with a pussy." I almost laughed when she said that, but this situation is very severe and I need to be serious.

"I need you to think, Baby. Did anything stand out about the girls? Were they all a certain height? The same hair color? The same circle of friends?" She shook her head.

"Christian, he screwed anything! I mean, they were all attractive…"

"How did you know? Did he bring them around you?" I asked in horror. Her hand goes to her forehead. I know that's her tell that this is hard for her, so I take her other hand.

"Sometimes. Sometimes they were friends of ours, or friends of friends of ours, or even women I had never seen before. But you know how you go into a room and there is someone there who has slept with the one you're with, and there's this silent standoff—this soundless pissing contest? _That_ happened to me quite often." I can't say that I know that feeling—never had a girlfriend. "Other times I was inundated with pictures and videos and emails and strange phone calls. I knew most of the women. He didn't have a type, Christian. He truly screwed _anything_!" It's looking more and more like creepy coincidence, but I still have to tell her.

"Ana, Baby. I need you to listen to me, okay?" She nods. "I want you to have a close personal security detail, at least until we can pinpoint what's going on with David." She looks at me like I have two heads. "Butterfly, do you remember when I told you that I had a type? Petite brunettes just like you?" She nods again. "Well, the woman that David assaulted—Camilla Johannson—she could be your twin." She starts shaking.

"But he was never violent with me. If anything, he neglected me until I was forced to face the fact that he didn't want me."

"So why the change? Why now?" I ask. She gasped. "Baby? Baby, what is it?"

"He never answered me." She says. Now I'm confused.

"Baby, what do you mean?"

"I asked him the same question…why me, why now…and he never answered me." She stood up and started pacing. "He said he didn't want me, that I was used and second-hand. I told him that I didn't want him either so why didn't he just go away? He said because he wanted to make my life miserable because no one said 'no' to him. When I deduced that he must have fucked half of Seattle and that's why he came back to me, he wouldn't confirm or deny. But when I told him that I knew that this wasn't simply about rejection because I know other women had rejected him, what was this about…he never answered me. He kept calling me a 'whore' which irritated me because of the brand, but I couldn't figure out why. She rejected him! That's what happened! But did she cheat on him? Did she leave him for someone else?" She's searching for answers, too now.

"Baby, I don't know. I'm trying to find out everything that I can…Will you please agree to close personal protection? I'll make sure they are as covert as possible except for Davenport, who I want with you as often as possible." The two-heads look became a wide-blue-eyed stare and then she slowly nodded. She agreed! Oh, thank God. I damn near rushed her taking her in my arms. "Thank you, Baby." I said crushing her to me, kissing her face and hair.

"Christian," she says sweetly, pulling her face away from me, "you _do_ love me." She is awestruck.

"I would die if anything happened to you, Butterfly. I don't think I could live without you." I say gazing into her beautiful sapphire eyes.

"But it's so soon. Doesn't it seem too soon for us to feel this way?" She questions. I rub my cheek against hers.

"How long is love supposed to take?" I say, softly, still relishing the feel of her skin on mine.

"I don't know. As long as it takes, I guess…or as short." She says as she grabs my head and pulls me down to meet her lips. With the music still piping through her iPod surround system, we sway to Al Jarreau talking about the using stars to write "I love you" across the sky. She is so tiny, yet so powerful—I am in awe of her strength as well as her vulnerability. We continue to sway as the song changes and Al sings my words to my girl as I continue to sway with her in her dining room.

_Let me hold you, I can hold you longer  
__Let me feel you, till my heart is stronger  
__Let me love you, I can love you tenderly__  
_

It's about a guy saying goodbye to his girl, and trying to get her to stay—so I'll just take the part that applies to us…_I love her_. I dance her over to the sofa and we sit. She crawls into my lap and we kiss…

…and kiss…

…and kiss…

…and kiss.

The more I kiss her, the more I want of her…and she seems to feel the same way. She stands up and I instantly feel bereft of her presence. She takes my hand, and I stand with her. She leads me to her bedroom.

Okay.

She puts her hands under my suit jacket and gently rubs them up my chest to my shoulders, her eyes following her hands as they push my jacket off and down my arms. Laying my jacket on a nearby chair, she removes my left cuff link then my right and places them in my suit jacket pocket. She then kneels to remove my shoes and my socks. The sight of her meticulously undressing me is causing my skin to tingle and some kind of unfamiliar mental and emotional overload. All I can do is obey her unspoken commands—lift your foot, put it down, lift your other foot. I don't touch her because right now, she is taking care of me, and I can see that's what she wants to do.

Her eyes haven't met mine once as she delicately and lovingly goes about her task—unbuttoning my shirt…slowly…and pushing it off my shoulders like she did my jackets minutes earlier. Gently unbuttoning my slacks and unzipping them before gliding them slowly down my legs, kneeling once again to remove them at my feet and lay them in the chair with the rest of my clothing. She then puts her hands under my t-shirt and gently strokes my skin as she pushes it up my body. My skin is aflame from her touch…mmmm. I know I need to follow her lead—this is her movie and I am the leading man, but I don't know how much longer I can go without touching her. When she pulls my t-shirt over my head, her eyes finally meet mine. I feel almost bashful as she looks at me with sensual, wanton, lust-filled deep blue eyes. She leads me to the bed and guides me to lie down, still wearing my Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

And now she stands next the bed. She reaches behind her and unzips her dress. She slowly slides the straps off her shoulders and lets the dress slide delicately off of her body. Oh God, thank you for not letting her wear as many articles of clothing as I did. I think I'm going to explode as Greystone is twitching feverishly in my underwear. How cruel of you to leave me in my underwear, Mistress.

Her hands drag back up her body and now Al Jarreau is singing about dreaming. I have got to get this playlist! She cups her hands around her breast still constrained in her strapless bra. She reaches around and expertly unhooks her bra pushing it gently off her breast and letting it fall to the floor while she pinches and pulls her own nipples in front of me. I swear my mouth is watering and I have to subdue a whimper. But I'm going to remember my Dom control and lay my ass on this bed until she tells me to move…or is that sub training? I don't know, but I'm going to do it. I involuntarily lick my lips and she continues to tease and pull her own nipples until they are pert, pink, and hard. Then she runs one of her hands down her body to her navel and then her panty line. Please, don't do it. If you do, I'm going to lose this fight.

Yep, she did it.

She parts her legs while she is standing and slides her hands in her panties and I can see her touching herself. My dick is so hard that it's painful. Oh hell, she's torturing me. When she throws her head back and makes herself moan, I can't take it anymore. I reach down to rub my aching erection through my boxer briefs. When she raises her head to look at me, I hope I haven't ruined our voiceless game of control by touching myself. When she makes eye contact with me, she only nods. I reach into my briefs and pull out my cock. Oh hell, it needed to be free! I begin to stroke myself. Shit, this is good! She briefly watches my hand going up and down my erection and her breathing changes. She's panting as she parts her lips and her eyes meet mine again. She is still standing next to the bed, just out of reach. I grip my manhood tighter. She is magnificent! I can tell her hand has disappeared into her flower and she is fingering herself while I stroke harder and faster, my guaranteed release only moments away. When she pinches her nipple and throws her head back again, I almost lose it right there and then. I have to control it, have to time it right…when…she…fuck, this is hard!

When she raises her head, the carnal look in her eyes is driving my hand harder and faster. Baby, please, come for me, I beg her with my eyes. As if she read my thoughts, that sheen of sweat appears on her body and her breathing is no longer controlled. I stroke my dick at the same pace that she is thrusting her fingers inside of her. When she bites her lip to keep from screaming, I lose the fight. Three more thrusts of my hand and I am shooting cum all over my stomach, grunting so as not to break the silence other than Jarreau still serenading our sex game. As I let out a breath I was holding, I watch my beautiful, sensual, sexy Butterfly make herself come so that she is shaking and leaning on the chair where she has laid my clothes to keep herself from collapsing onto the floor. I watch as she rides out her orgasm breathing heavily. Without looking at me, she takes her hand from her panties and puts it in her mouth, greedily licking her fingers and moaning in delight.

Oh. Fuck. Me.

I just came. _Hard!_ And my dick is twitching again! What the hell?

She disappears into her en suite still wearing her panties and I hear water running. She comes back with a warm washcloth and gently cleans my juice from my stomach. Oh, hell—where have you been hiding all my life? She is standing by the bed again, but now she is closer and she removes her delicious black lace panties and proceeds to pull my Calvins down my legs.

Oh, Baby, do what you want to me! I am yours!

She climbs on top of me but does not put by begging dick where it wants to be. Instead, she puts her hands in her hair and pushes it over her head so that when she drops down and we are nose to nose, her hair covering both of our heads. "Touch me," she whispers, a breath away from my lips.

"Where, Mistress?" Did I say that out loud? She smirks lasciviously.

"My thighs, Mr. Grey," she says just as softly. I run my hands from her knees up her thighs to her hips and back down again.

"Mmm," she says as she sticks her tongue out and licks my lips. "Oh Mr. Grey. I like that." She purrs and then bites the lip she just licked. Fuck! Is she top or bottom? I don't even know right now! Reflexively, I dig my nails into the tender meat of her thighs. She gasps and takes my mouth with hers, ferociously and deeply massaging my tongue with hers, consuming all of the passion I am emitting to her. What else do you want from me, my Mistress? Anything for you…

She releases my lips and runs her teeth over the stubble on my chin, gobbling my Adam's apple with her luscious tongue and lips, her hair draped over me the same way it did the first time I pulled it. Does she want me to pull it now? I can't…not unless she gives me permission. It caresses me everywhere her lips did not…my eyelids, my earlobes, my cheeks—and even some of the places where her lips have been…my lips, my chin, my neck.

"stroke my torso, Mr. Grey, gently." She says softly into my chest.

"Yes, Mistress," I say, totally lost in her caress and the caress of her beautiful brown locks on my face, my neck, my chest…Mistress, I am not worthy…I am yours…

She peppers gentle kisses on my chest as her hair continues to caress me, and I gently caress her body as she has asked. She licks my nipple and pleasure shoots through my body all the way to my toes. I open my mouth wide but dare not let any sound come out or my Mistress may stop. I have a mouthful of her hair and I use it as a mental gag to keep me from crying out in pleasure. I sniff it deeply and allow the scent to calm me a bit. I continue to stroke my strong hands delicately over her petite body. I want my Mistress to be happy with me. I am gone. I have never felt like I could give myself over completely to anybody…_ever_…not even _her_—the unmentionable one. But this Mistress, she will not hurt me. I can trust her…she can have me…do anything she wants to me…and I will do whatever she asks. Then she does something I have never felt before. She bites my nipple. "Ah!" I cry out from the pain and the sensation that goes right to my groin, causing my penis to stand at attention once again.

Oh, no! I made a sound! Mistress, I'm sorry!

But she doesn't punish me.

"Ssssshhhh," she hisses gently against my nipple causing ripples of pleasure to run down my legs again. Oh God, I have died and you accidently taken my dark soul to heaven. She slowly makes her way over to the other nipple where she gives it same treatment as the first, licking and teasing it with her lips and tongue. I am panting heavily from the pleasure, trying not to move or come before she gives permission. I'm ready this time. When she bites the other nipple, I gasp loudly but I don't make a sound, I wasn't so successful in not moving. My hips thrust forward looking for some friction against her delicate skin. She hums softly as she kisses down my torso, my abs, my stomach, her long hair still caressing my body and the ends caressing my face as she moves.

"Do you like that, Mr. Grey?" She asks just above a whisper.

"Yes, Mistress." I choke. She's going to give me a blow job…I know it. I won't be able to resist.

"Mistress, please," I protest as she gets closer to her prize.

"Yes, Mr. Grey?" She says softly.

"If you kiss me there, I'll come. I can't hold it, Mistress." I plead.

"Yes, you can, Mr. Grey, and you will. If you do, I promise to reward you greatly. Do you understand?" She says gently. Her voice and all of her commands are so gentle and soft. I have to resist…for my Mistress, I have to.

"Yes, Mistress." I try to control my breathing as she gets closer and closer to my manhood.

"Mr. Grey?" she says softly.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Can you do what I say, Mr. Grey?" I gulp audibly.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good. Cup my head with your hands, but don't move my hair." I do as I am told. She puts one hand on my thigh and the other on my manhood. I close my eyes to the warmness of her touch.

"Open your eyes, Mr. Grey." How did she know? I open my eyes quickly. "Now lift your head and watch." I lift my head and look down at her. I can't see her face but her head is right at the magic spot, my hands cupped on either side of her head, and her tresses are splayed across my chest like a fur blanket. It is the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my life. Oh, Mistress, I apologize in advance. I won't be able to hold out.

"Mr. Grey?"

"Yes, Mistress?" I squeak.

"You may make sounds if you want. No words, just sounds. And you may thrust, but don't come." Oh my God.

"Yes Mistress." I squeak again. She takes me in her mouth, and I hiss. So warm, so soft, so good. Oh God. I won't thrust. If I thrust, I _will_ come. Come on, Grey. Hold on. You're still Christian Grey. You can do this.

Yes, I can do this.

Her lips circle gently around my shaft and she sucks, not too hard—just enough to make me want more.

Oh, Fuck. She's going to draw it out. I know she is. This stroke is divine—it's not supposed to make me come, it's just supposed to stimulate and make me crave her more. My Mistress wants me to enjoy this. And enjoy I will.

I start a very slow stroke inside her mouth. She gently matches my tempo. "Aahh!" I can't hold it in anymore. It feels too good, and she has me watching her head bobbing up and down on my pelvis while her locks hold me prisoner. "Ah…oh….aaahh!" I'm thrusting into her hot, soft mouth and she is only gently massaging my dick. When she pulls her mouth back and caresses the head suckling and licking, I had to stop her.

"Mistress!" I shouted desperately, and she stops. The physical, emotional, and visual assault was too much for my senses. A moment longer and she would have been swallowing my seed. She lifts her head and pulls her hair from my chest and allows it to fall on her beautiful back. I feel so cold and lonely without her hair covering me.

"Mr. Grey, you did well, better than I expected." She said, her beautiful body straddling my thighs and knees. "Would you like for me to reward you now?"

"If you think I deserve it Mistress." I say softly.

"Oh, I do." She stood up. "Sit up for me." What is my Mistress doing now? She takes several pillows and puts them behind me. "Scoot back against the pillows." I'm scooted back until I am almost sitting upright but not completely. She climbs back over me and positions my head right at her opening.

"Are you ready?" She asks softly, sensually.

"Yes! Please! Please, Mistress!" I beg. She slides slowly down on my length and I can't help but cry out when her hot core envelopes me. "Oh my God!"

"Yes!" She hisses as she steadies herself on my shoulders and rides me so, so slowly. "Feel it, Christian…" She called me Christian. I snapped somewhat out of sub mode, but not out of all of the love and tenderness I felt while she handled me. For once, _I _felt protected. And now, as she wraps herself around me, slowly and deliciously, I feel loved. She rises slowly and drops just as slowly, looking me in my eyes. Her hips are controlling me. This is why she wanted me to sit up, so that I could watch her take me…watch her love me. I don't want to break our blessed silence, but this revelation fills me and I can't hold it back. Just the litany that is her name, that's all and I'll be content for now….

"Ana." I say in a strained voice.

"Touch me," she says just above a whisper, her voice husky and dripping with passion. This time, I don't have to ask where. I caress her waist, her stomach, her back, her beautiful breasts. I won't thrust because her rhythm is exquisite. But every so often I will rock my hips just to get (and give) deeper penetration. And one of those rocks was almost my undoing.

"Ah, Ana…" I moaned, as the one motion found my sweet spot, and apparently Ana's too. She grabbed my face with both of her hands.

"Yes, Baby." She whispered, her explosion hiding in her voice. She pressed her lips to mine and poured every bit of love and desire into her kiss and she slowly grinded into me pulling me further and further under her spell. She has drawn out this pleasure train as long as anyone possibly could for me. I am raw with love and emotion and I feel like every orgasm I have ever felt in my life was nothing before this. Nothing before Ana taking me places I never knew I could emotionally or mentally go. This was my cleansing—from the filthiness of Elena, from making the experience dirty, shameful, mostly painful, and something that had to be hidden. I have a new Mistress now—My Delicate Domme. She has saved me. And if I don't come, I will still be more satisfied with this experience than any other in my life. No scene, no TPE, no punishment fuck has ever left me feeling more sated and content than I do right now. She let me know that it was okay to let go—to give _her_ the power, to give _her_ the control—and she would take care of me. And now, she is making love to me…passionately, deeply, slowly, and sweetly—and I don't have to worry about not getting my release because I. Am. Going. To. Come. Very. Soon.

She pulls me closer to her, I am sitting up now, her hands still on my shoulders and she is looking into my eyes. Oh God, it's coming.

"Hold me." She says softly. I wrap my arms around her gently. "Yes, Baby." She encourages. Oh, fuck.

"Do you feel it baby?" She whispers.

"Yes, Baby." I breathe, barely holding on.

"Do you feel my love?"

Oh, God, yes!" It's flooding over me like a tsunami, drowning my fears, doubts, and self-hatred. It's consuming. It would drive a lesser man insane.

"Do you feel how much I want you? How much I need you?" With that statement, she broke my defenses. I explode into her violently, the surge burning through my chest and into my manhood so that I can barely move. "Oh God! Ana…Baby…" I cling to her and she continues to ride me.

"That's it, Baby." She says, her voice quivering with her own passion. "Give it all to me." My hands are splayed across her back and my face buried in her chest as I give myself to her. "Aaah!" She yells as I feel her head go back and she finds her own release.

"Oh my God!" I cry as she squeezes every single drop from me. "Oh, Ana, Baby. I love you so much." Her arms wrap protectively around me and her hands tangle into my hair, pulling me closer to her. Her legs are quivering as she catches her breath.

"Oh, Christian." She says breathlessly as her fingers run through my hair. I don't want to move from this spot. I want to stay here forever, in the cocoon that is Ana. I don't know if I do it or if she does, but we gently start to rock. She lays her head on mine. I couldn't hear it before, but the music has now changed to Boney James proclaiming his love. Oh, I definitely need this playlist. Subliminally, I remember every song that facilitated my ride to freedom tonight, and will never forget the day my Butterfly set me free. "Christian…my love." She whispers as we settle into one another. We stay that way for a long time…silent…rocking…wrapped in each other's love.

* * *

_**DAVID**_

I'm gently stroking the picture with my finger as if it would come to life. Rosie. My Rosie. I've always loved her. I never stopped loving her. I just thought there was more out there for me to have. I was young and that's what I wanted.

And now she's gone.  
Gone forever.  
Now it feels like I'll never get her back.

I have a restraining order saying I can't even get close enough to hear her voice.  
Or her laugh.

Fuck, Ed—why were you so fucking anxious? You should have taken your time, Man!

But I will get her back. I will. She'll be mine again and that rich fuck won't be able to do anything about it. I just have to get her alone. I just have to remind her of what we used to be and what we used to have. Then she'll understand that I was her first, and I that no other man will ever love her like I do. Yeah, I did some stupid shit, made some rash decisions, and of course, this last episode with Phyllis put me on a list forever of not being able to frequent my usually haunts and stomping grounds. But I never stopped loving Rosie, and I should have never let her get away.

Now she's all I think about. And even this deep amber liquid can't remove my feelings or the memories that we used to share. I wish I had listened to her. I wish I had treated her better. But now I have to find a way to get her alone.

Away from him.  
Away from the guards.  
Away from her faggot friend.  
Away from everybody—just me and Rosie, so that I can remind her of what we were together, before the women and the ego and the cheating…when things were good.

"It won't be long now, My Love," I say aloud to the gorgeous picture of my beloved, "We'll be together. I just have to wait—wait for an opportunity for somebody to slip. And I'm a patient man…I can wait as long as it takes."

* * *

**A/N: **

_**The title of this chapter comes from a 1979 song by Billy Preston & Syreeta Wright—With You I'm Born Again. There are a gazillion remakes of this song, but I like the original. Pick whichever one you like, and listen to the words. **_

_**Yes, Edward has flown over the cuckoo's nest. Y'all know crazy don't just go away... (One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey)**_

_**Ana and Christians Dinner, Dancing, and Delights Playlist  
**_**AL JARREAU SONGS:  
**_**Waters of March  
**__**Fallen  
**__**We're In This Love Together  
**__**Mornin'  
**__**Sleeping Bee  
**__**Teach me tonight  
**__**Let Me Love You  
**__**After All  
**__**You Send Me  
**__**(A Rhyme) This Time  
**__**Your Precious Love**__**  
**_

**BONEY JAMES SONGS:  
**_**I Still Dream (with Al Jarreau)  
**__**I Get So Lonely  
**__**All Night Long  
**__**Are You Ready  
**__**Seduction  
**__**Sara Smile  
**__**Body Language  
**__**Blue  
**__**I Will Always Love You**__**  
**_

_**Please Review!**_


	24. Chapter 24:Digging Dirt & Cleaning House

_**I really want to thank all of you for your kind words during my illness. I received messages through emails, PMs, my Facebook ID, my Facenook group, even in reviews and I am overwhelmed. There is a song by The Winans called "For We May Never Know" and it just says that you never know who your actions are going to touch in your life. I'm glad that my little story has touched so many people that I got such an outpouring of love, concern, and well wishes when I was ill. Again, thank you. You don't know what it means to me.**_

_**Now—HAPPY TIME!**_

_**To Amelia: Thank you for joining me, Dear. Glad to have you. I loved your long review—you were really very encouraging and detailed. I like that a lot. Thanks for reminding me that I forgot to site the "Cuckoo's Nest!" That was actually a book by Ken Kesey before it was a movie. I've read the book but I haven't seen the movie (I know, blasphemy, right?). And yeah, keep Google translate handy, lol. **_

_**As always, thank you to my wonderful guest reviewers: Anailuj, Beachycolor, Beth, Carol, Haunted One (I hope Ch 23 finally loaded for you), Jaimini, Laney, Naeo99 (some of my favorites are on that song list), Rachel in Boston, Rauguste, Soph, Tempress, Teresaromance, and Tj.**_

_**Thank you to all of my newest readers and reviewers! There were a lot this time (yay!). I am very happy to have you on board!**_

_**Someone asked me about the slides that Ana likes to wear when she is at home. There is a picture of her slides on my Pinterest page at pinterest dot com/pin/2040762303597245/ Put a the "dot" is and remove the spaces.**_

_**Again, a reminder. I post on and Wednesdays and Saturdays, at or around 3pm PACIFIC TIME-that's West Coast time in America. If I ever have time for bonus chapters, they are usually on Mondays.**_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

_Chapter 24—Digging Dirt and Cleaning House_

_**STEELE**_

I awake in a strange position. Christian and I are facing each other, holding each other. His head is nuzzled into my chest and he is holding me around my waist. I am holding his head close to me with my hands in his hair and my legs wrapped around him. Although I don't remember it and I don't know how, we have fallen asleep in the same position that we were in when we were making love, only we are lying on our sides—and we never moved all night. I just want to stay here and hold him—block the world out, the Edward Davids, the Robert Harris's, the Elena Lincolns…I just want to love my man with every bit of me. But I know we both have responsibilities and we have to leave our little cocoon.

I gently run my fingers through his messy copper locks. "Baby?" I say, gently trying to rouse him from his slumber. His breathing changes slightly. "Baby?" I say again, stroking his face.

"No," he moans, pulling me closer to him. "I don't want to get up."

"We have people that depend on us, Dear." I say kissing his forehead. He sighed heavily.

"Yeah, I know." He says kissing my breast. Oh, Mr. Grey, that's wonderful, but…

"Christian…" I say, my resolve slipping fast. "We really need to shower and get dressed." His tongue sticks out and runs salaciously over my breast before he takes the nipple into his mouth.

"I know Baby. We won't be long." He says as he crawls up the bed to meet my mouth.

"Christian," I whine. "I have patients to see today." His hands slip to my butt and he starts to fondle my hole. Now how would he know I would like that? I reflexively move my hips against his hand.

"Oooo," I say before I can stop myself. That was Mr. Grey's cue to make his move, and I am already positioned perfectly for his morning wood since my legs are wrapped around him. With one smooth move, he's inside me. I gasp as he rocks gently inside me, massaging and applying pressure to my clitoris with his pelvis.

"Do you still want me to stop?" He says, his voice deep and smooth like caramel.

"No," I breathe, pressing against his pelvis, his length filling me from base to tip.

"Are you sure?" He taunts, his voice controlled and he sticks his index finger in my ass, massaging gently.

"Aah! Yes! Yes! I'm sure!" I exclaim, panting now.

"Oh, Baby! This turns me on so much!" He says as he starts a deeper stroke into me, his finger massaging me closer and closer to orgasm. I didn't know which one to focus on, his finger deliciously stimulating my ass or the incredible stroke of his cock.

"Kiss me, Christian." I say, my voice raw. His lips seize mine, his tongue playing lusciously with my own. He moans in my mouth and I feel his length get harder and his stroke quicken. He is racing to his release and driving me to my own.

"Oh, Ana…shit. I'm gonna come…come with me, Baby." He growls and sticks his finger further into my ass.

"Oh, fuck!" I scream as I explode around him and he is right behind me, pumping his seed into me. Oh, I am so glad I didn't have to tell him I like anal!

"Shit, Ana. You are so hot!" He says, trying to catch his breath. He pulls his finger out and I grab onto his arm. Shit, I almost came again! "We are going to have to explore that avenue when we have more time." He says fiendishly.

"Yes…by all means…" I say, trying to catch my own breath. He pulls out of me and I whimper a bit at the tenderness and the emptiness. He plants gentle kisses on my lips.

"My Ana." He says, between kisses.

"Yes, Mr. Grey," I reply, tasting his delicious lips. "Only yours." He groans into my mouth.

"We better get up now or I'm never letting you out of this bed." He says, grabbing my ass and pulling me against him.

"Yes, yes. You're right." I say as I reluctantly unwrap myself from around him. I stretch my stiff limbs. Being wrapped around Christian Grey is a lot of fun, but it can leave you needing a massage when it's done. "Do you want the shower first, Baby?" I ask. "Or you can use the guest shower if you like."

"What? No shower together?" He says, tilting his head.

"Not if we want to get to work." I say, matter-of-factly. He nods in agreement.

"True. Taylor is most likely downstairs with a change of clothes for me. You go ahead—I'll use the guest bathroom."

Half an hour later, I am in the kitchen in my Lindy Bop "Delores" Red Vintage 1950's pencil wiggle dress with the sweetheart neckline, capped sleeves and ruched with buttons at the bust and a kick pleat in the front left with decorative buttons at my thigh. My hair is in a tight bun and I am wearing my black suede platform stilettos with the snakeskin heel. I whip up some eggs scrambled with cheese and mushrooms and some bacon and toast. Christian comes out of the bathroom in a light gray suit—Cesare Attolini, I would say—with a white dress shirt open at the collar, no tie. He's wearing Cesare Paciotti gray leather shoes and his hair is still slightly wet, mussed up…

Fuck. Me.

I'm so busy trying not to drool over him that I hadn't noticed he is frozen in his spot eyeing me with the same lust that I am giving him.

"Ms. Steele, has anyone ever told you that you dress way too sexy for work?" He said, his voice low and sensual. I look down at my dress. Nope, just fine.

"You just don't want anyone else to see me." I say, putting his breakfast on the breakfast bar. I turn back to the refrigerator and pull out a bagel.

"That's true, but you are still sexy as fuck." He responds. I look over my shoulder after I put my bagel in the toaster.

"You're pretty delectable yourself this morning, Mr. Grey." I turn back to my bagel to add cream cheese and jelly.

"How do you cook in those?" He asked, and I knew he was referring to my shoes.

"I can do anything in stilettos. It's one of the benefits of having to compensate for being so short." He raises his eyebrow.

"Anything?" He says, seductively. I walk over the breakfast bar and lean over to him so that he gets an eyeful of my cleavage. I put my hands on the counter spread out so that my upper arms push my bosom together and up.

"Anything." I confirm, my voice dripping with sex. He tried, but he failed. His eyes dart down to my hoisted breasts and he licks his lips.

"Ms. Steele, you're playing with fire." He warns.

"Oh, no, Mr. Grey. _You_ are." I say in that voice that dominated him during our love making session last night. He recognizes it immediately. His eyes become hooded, his pupils dilate. I smile at him and kiss him across the breakfast bar. "Coffee, Christian?" He blinks once.

"You're going to be the death of me. You know that, don't you?" He says, his baritone voice betraying his arousal.

"I hope not," I say, with a smile as I give him his coffee. I sit down with him and eat my bagel and coffee while he enjoys his breakfast.

"Aren't you going to eat more than that?" He asks about my continental breakfast. I sigh.

"I told you—no big breakfasts before I have to listen to someone spill their guts. I'll be asleep by noon." I know he wanted to argue with me, but I think he knew he wouldn't win.

"I have to ask you a serious question." He says, after he swallows the last of his eggs. I put his plate and fork in the sink.

"Shoot." I said, before sipping my coffee.

"Interesting choice of words." He said shaking his head. I frown showing my confusion. "Gun, Ana?" I still look at him questioning.

"Yes." I answer.

"Ana, I am so anti-gun." I find that hard to believe.

"You told me that people are always after you. How can you be _anti-gun_?" I ask.

"Because I have the best security force that money can buy." Except for Harris, I think to myself.

"And don't they carry guns?" I question.

"Not all of them, and not all the time." He replies.

"But they're armed _sometimes_." I push. He sighs heavily.

"Yes, sometimes they are." He replies.

"Good. So now you understand the need for me to be armed…_sometimes_." I say, folding my hands. He sighs, heavily.

"A glock, huh?" He says, a little disgusted. Might as well get this out of the way now.

"Do you know anything about guns, Christian?" I ask.

"Only that they kill people." He says.

"Guns don't kill people, people…" I start.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. People kill people." He says, sarcastically. I sigh again. I'm trying not to lose my patience with this man. Time to dazzle him with my gun knowledge. Maybe that will put him at ease a bit.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"You should probably know that I have more than one gun, Christian." Oh for fucks sake. What would she need with more than one gun? The look of horror on my face prompted her to continue. "I've been shooting ever since I was old enough to hold a firearm properly, aim, and pull the trigger." She says.

"I don't see how that is supposed to make me feel better, Ana."

"It's supposed to make you feel better because I know what I'm doing. I'm not out there just swinging the damn thing around because I can!" Okay, I can hear that she's getting a little irritated. But I'm irritated, too. I don't want my Butterfly carrying a gun. If she's likely to _point_ a gun, she's likely to have one pointed _at_ her. I visibly shudder at the thought.

"Christian," She says, her voice softer this time, "I don't pull it out unless I feel threatened, _really_ threatened, like with Edward in the parking garage yesterday. And from what you've told me, I _should_ feel really threatened by him. I'm not stupid, Christian. I would much rather not have to shoot anyone, although make no mistake. I'm fully prepared to do so if I must—but it's not on my bucket list." I know I'm not going to win this one, though I want to argue her down about the many, many reasons she shouldn't be carrying that thing…_those_ things. Fuck!

"What do you carry?" I ask reluctantly. She takes a breath.

"I keep the 9mm Glock G19C with a slide lock and integrated compensator in the car. In the apartment near my bed, I keep a Beretta Px4 Storm Type F Sub-Compact with a reversible magazine—also a 9mm. When I _choose_ to carry, it's a .44 Magnum 629 double-action S&W Special."

"A Magnum?" I ask in horror. "What are you doing? Robbing stagecoaches!?" She laughs a little.

"It's a mini-magnum, Baby. It's only about seven inches long." She smiles. I throw my hands up.

"Fuck. I'm in love with Wild Bill Hicock!" I shake my head. She comes over and puts her arms around my neck.

"I am a very responsible gun owner. I am proficient with my weapon and I am fully aware of all the dangers involved." She says. I put my arms around her and sniff her hair.

"I would die if something happened to you." I hold her close to me. Why can't I just put her away for safe keeping like they do all of the Butterflies at the farm?

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Christian." She says softly.

"Why do you carry them, Ana? Are you afraid?" She stiffens. "What? What is it?"

"Well," she begins slowly. "I had stopped carrying them for about two years or so. I even let my CCW lapse. But then something happened that frightened me. So I renewed my CCW and got my weapons out of storage."

"What happened?" I snap. I'll kill the fucker who scared my Ana like this. She shifts uncomfortably in my lap.

"I got word that someone was looking into Anastasia Lambert." She said trepidatiously.

Shit! The fucker was _me_.

"I'm sorry, Ana. Why did you never tell me?" I ask.

"Well, I did, sort of," She said. "The day that I came to your office. But we were both in a different state of mind, then." I hold her closer to me.

"Well, now that you know it was me, can't you get rid of the guns?" I question. I so don't want her carrying those things.

"Well, now we have Mr. David to be concerned about." She protests.

"But you'll have close personal protection now." I argue. She sighs.

"I still feel safer with my guns, Christian. Look what I had to do yesterday to show that bastard that I was serious." I'm still seeing her looking like a sexy Charlie's Angel pointing that damnable thing in Edward's face. So glad I wasn't the one looking down the barrel of that piece.

"I'm going to relent for now, Ana. But I reserve the right to revisit this at a later date." I say in pure CEO form.

"I wouldn't expect anything less." She smiles as she pulls me in and kisses me tenderly.

"I fired Harris, by the way." I say.

"Good riddance," she adds. We stand there for a few more moments.

"Do you know one of the reasons why I'm so drawn to you?" I ask.

"Why?

"Because you treat me like a normal guy. From day one you never treated me like Christian Grey Billionaire CEO. Even my subs treated me that way, but not you. You always treated me like…Christian."

"Just Grey." She said softly.

"Just Grey." I repeat.

"Well, when I first met you, you were an ass, Mr. Grey," She says, as she releases me and goes to her room. She's right, I was an ass.

"Was I?" I say to Ana, returning with her briefcase.

"A big one!" She replied. "It wasn't too hard to treat you like everyone else, except…" She pauses.

"Except what?" I said, closing the space between us.

"Well, it was kind of hard…because…you're gorgeous." She breathes.

"And you're breathtaking." I say putting one arm around her and pulling her gently to me.

"Mr. Grey," she whispers closing her eyes, "we have to get to work."

"I know." I close my lips over hers. Her kiss is delicious. I could stay lost here forever, but she's right. We have work to do. I reluctantly pull myself away from her sweetness. "You ready to face the world?"

"Yes," she said after a deep breath. "Am I riding in with you and Taylor?"

"No, Baby. Davenport left the Audi here last night and Taylor brought him back this morning, so he'll be going in with you today." I respond, as we leave her apartment and she locks the door.

"Okay…so…" she pauses, as we wait for the elevator.

"So?" I ask.

"We'll talk later?" She says. I know what she's aiming at. We haven't really defined our relationship or how we are going to handle it. How do I tell her that I want to spend every waking moment with her that I possibly can? That I have spent so much of my time locked in a lonely hellish lifestyle under the guise that I was content and in control and now I don't want to waste another minute? Right now, all I can say is, "Yes, we'll talk later." And I kiss her again before we get on the elevator.

* * *

I think I have caused some people to feel like they are in the Twilight Zone this morning. I have been pleasant and happy…I have even smiled a few times before I even realized it. It's the Ana Effect. She makes me happy. She makes me look forward to the future now. Before it was just day by day, going along—each day dragging into the next merger or acquisition…or sub. After Ana made love to me last night, I have no idea how I have gone all of my life without it. I have no idea how I have survived this long without this connection. Now that I have it—with Ana—I can never go back.

She took care of me last night…completely. We never discussed her being my Domme. It's just understood. I don't know how it happened and I don't care. It just feels right—and she knows exactly when I need it. When I want to play, she'll let me play. And when she wants to lead, I gladly let her lead. It's liberating! I never thought I could sub again—especially after the realization that Elena had me under her thumb for all these years. But with Butterfly, it's different. It's so different—and I love it! How it that possible? I'm a Dom! Who the fuck cares? When it comes to my Butterfly, I am whatever she wants me to be.

I go back to my office and wait for the department heads meeting this morning. I really hate this meeting, but I have to keep them on their toes or my business will go to shit! I'm scrolling through my emails again. More from Elena—when will that woman get a clue? I will have to talk to her at some point to discuss how we will be handling the Esclava salons after this. I don't want anything to do with her anymore. I don't want her near me or in my life in any way, but the salons are profitable and I would be a fool to let them go. I'll talk to Ana and see what she thinks. I never told her that Elena and I are still in business—especially since the last time I saw her, I wanted to kill the bitch and Ana effectively beat her ass without touching her…much. The sooner I tell her that, the better. I think this will be tonight's discussion.

Tonight. Her place or mine? Will she want to spend the night with me again after spending four nights with me already? Am I crowding her? Shit, this is all so new to me. I'll have to ask Butterfly how this is done. I will follow her lead. She's had a bad experience, and I've had no experience, so she's a better teacher at this sort of thing.

I have just talked to Mr. Walker and Ms. Sims about the bungling idiots that they have working at Ana's condominium. Although I don't want them fired, I do want them replaced—all of them. I want competent guards watching over my Butterfly and her belongings. I also spoke to the regional vice-president and informed him that I want to know how none of these officers had a clue what was happening for nearly two hours and I expect answers by the end of the day. I will hold him personally responsible for that structure from now on. Nothing gets you results like holding someone personally responsible for something.

I look at my wall clock—9:54am. Time to go scare some department heads.

This has to be the most boring meeting I have ever attended. These people are droning on about projections and possible projects and I couldn't care less. I'm into hard core numbers and results. I don't want to see what you _think_ is going to happen—I want the bottom line.

"How much time and effort have we put into marketing research on this project?" I ask the suit babbling at the other end of the table. Get me down to some dollars and cents, Man, and stop with all the not-so-impressive jargon. As he is going into a gaggle of information that I can easily (and more effectively) get from a spreadsheet, my blackberry buzzes. I have a text from my Butterfly.

_****Just finished my second patient. Thinking of you.****_

How sweet is that? She lightens my mood immediately, but I can't break into the Cheshire grin that I want in front of the suits. So my face remains impassive as I respond:

_****In a room full of suits and all I can think of is kissing you.****_

That ought to give you something to think about while you're seeing your next patient. My phone buzzes again.

_****I'm thinking of kissing you, too, in many, many different ways.****_

No boners in the boardroom, Grey. I shift in my seat as I look up and see a few of the department heads looking at me with interest. I glare at each of them momentarily and they each clear their throats and pay attention to the suit currently speaking.

_****No fair making me squirm in front of all these men. You know how you affect me, Ms. Steele.****_

I put my blackberry down and stand causing the room to get quiet. "Mr. Anderson, did I just hear you say that the product did not score well with the 21 to 30 age demographic and only marginally better in the 31 to 40?" Anderson adjusts his tie. I don't understand why these people still haven't figured out that I can do several things at once. It's called multitasking, you assholes. That's why I'm the C_hief_.

"Um, y-yes Sir, that's correct." He stutters.

"And how much money have we thrown behind this?" He fumbles with his paperwork. "Never mind. I don't need to know. I didn't make it to where I am today throwing good money behind bad products. What I would like to know, Mr. Anderson, is why you continued to push a product that did not test well in two of the highest paid demographics in Seattle." I lean forward on the desk, my glare focused solely on Anderson. He's starting to sweat now. Every so often, you have to make an example of one person so that the whole team falls in line. Today, that person is Anderson, and rightly so. "What's more, why am I only just now hearing about this? Last week…" As if on cue, Andrea hands me her iPad with last week's notes and key points. "You were testing in Tacoma, Montesano, and Bellevue. Seattle testing had been done and you were about to test in Kirkland and Newcastle. Are you telling me that between last week and this week, results were so bad that you had no advance warning that we were wasting our time?" My blackberry buzzes again. Give me a moment, Butterfly.

"Um, no sir…um, yes sir…um…" Did _I_ hire this guy?

"Get this stuttering idiot out of my face." I say, standing up straight. "Does anybody have any news on any projects or developments that is going to make me very happy this morning?" I look from face to face and a timid hand goes up next to where Anderson has vacated his seat.

"Yes, Ms. Simpson?" I say, impatiently. She clears her throat.

"The three buildings that you purchased for half-way houses in Highland Park and Cass Corridors have been fully renovated. We have a contract in place with Detroit Receiving and Babesworld for counseling and outpatient medical treatment." She said quietly. This is good news. I have no love lost for Detroit after my horrific experience there as a child, but if I can prevent one child from suffering the abuse and neglect that I did then, I will do whatever is in my power to make that happen—short of adopting the lot myself.

"Thank you, Ms. Simpson. That _is_ good news." I reward her with the 32-teeth smile and of course, she blushes. "Anyone else?" Either there's no more good news or these lemmings don't have the balls to speak up. "Go back to your departments and bring me something I can work with. I have no problem replacing management that can't get me solid results, as Mr. Anderson may soon discover. Meeting is adjourned." I sit down at the conference table and watch the heads leave the conference room. These are the people to whom I entrust the fate of my empire? I will have to get with Andrea to set up some individual meetings with the departments and then possibly bring in an outside auditing team. I may be letting some things slip by that need my attention. There might be some restructuring in GEH's future.

I pick up my blackberry and I am reminded that I have a text. Ah, yes, the lovely Ms. Steele.

_****Would I be too presumptuous in asking my place or yours tonight?** **_

"Yes!" I say, as I do a fist pump in the air. She wants to see me, too.

_****Of course not, Butterfly. Either is fine with me, as long as I get to see you.****_

Does one man deserve this much happiness? I see that I have another text—from Elena. This woman, I swear.

_****Why are you avoiding me, Christian? We need to talk!****_

No we don't, Elena…or what was it that Butterfly called her? Oh yes, Pedo-Bitch She-Thing. I love that. Just as I'm chuckling to myself, Taylor steps into the conference room.

"Sir. Mrs. Lincoln is here to see you." He says.

"Is she up here or down in the lobby?" I ask perturbed.

"She on this floor, Sir."

"Let security know that Mrs. Lincoln is no longer allowed in this building without an appointment…and that Anastasia never needs one." I say as I rise from my chair and head to my office. I see Elena standing there at Andrea's desk in her normal funeral garb, a large black purse tucked under her arm.

"Christian," she says upon seeing me. "This is ridiculous! We really need to talk about this!" I walk over to Andrea without looking at Elena.

"Does Mrs. Lincoln have an appointment?" I ask a bewildered Andrea.

"Um, no Sir." I turn to Elena.

"Make an appointment with my assistant." I say to her. "Andrea, if my girlfriend Anastasia Steele shows up here, always send her right through. If she calls, find me wherever I am." Both Elena and Andrea are awestruck.

"Your…_girlfriend_, Sir?" Andrea repeats.

"Yes. My girlfriend. Make sure all of the required people are aware. Is that clear?" Andrea fights a smirk.

"Yes, Sir." She says in her usual professional manner. I turn to my office, go inside and close the door. Elena storms into my office two steps behind me.

"You can't avoid me forever, Christian. We have to _discuss_ this." She says.

"Andrea, get me Welch and Taylor, please." I say through the speaker.

"Yes Sir," Andrea's disembodied voice calls back.

"There's nothing left for us to talk about, Mrs. Lincoln." I say curtly. "We are no longer friends. That topic is not up for discussion. You have nothing to do with my personal life anymore. That topic is also not up for discussion. As for our professional relationship, I haven't decided its fate as of yet." She turns pale.

"What do you mean?" Her whole life is the Esclava salon chain since her divorce from Linc. I'm a heartless bastard, granted—except when it comes to Butterfly—but I wouldn't dream of taking the salons away from her. I'm not _that_ heartless.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Lincoln. You get to keep your salons. I just don't know if I want to be part of that venture anymore." My blackberry is buzzing again.

"Christian…why?" I can see that she is shocked and maybe a little hurt, but I don't care.

"Because you're a fucking pedophile! And I don't want anything to do with you. I don't even want to be associated with you. The thought makes me sick, don't you understand? As much as I don't want my parents to know about my lifestyle, I'm tempted to tell my mother what happened just so that she knows what she's dealing with!" I snap. As if her face could get any paler under all that make-up, Elena turns as white as a sheet.

"She really has turned you against me!" She says, tears in her eyes. I throw my hands up.

"And. You. _Still_ don't get it!" I say flustered. "Listen to me carefully—assuming all of that plastic surgery hasn't affected your eardrums." Her head popped back in surprise at the insult. "You came on to my brother when he was 14-years-old. I found that out on Thursday. I talked to you on Friday and gave you a chance to come clean about it. Not only did you lie about it happening, but then you turned around and blamed my brother! My brother, _Mrs. Lincoln_. That means that I had to decide whether _you_ were lying to me or whether _my brother_ was lying to me. Do you understand that? Do see the ramifications of that statement? Get it through your bleached blonde head that Anastasia had nothing to do with this!" I came around my desk and towered over her. "I love my family over and above anything in my life. These are the only people who loved me when no one else would."

"_I_ love you, Christian." She says her voice shaking. And again I see the beast with two heads.

"Isn't that convenient? You told me that love was for fools and now _you_ love me?"

"I've always loved you, Christian." She drops her head. "And there were no other children." She lies.

"Oh, no, just me and my brother, right?" I say, flatly. She sighs.

"Christian, I…" She trails off. Taylor sticks his head in the door. I wave him off, and he closes it.

"You what?" I ask.

"I…never touched anyone who wasn't willing." What the fuck? Well at least the bitch finally admitted it.

"Are you fucking serious? Horny hormonal teenage boys are _always_ willing, you sick bitch! That's why _I_ was willing…and you _knew_ that. But you ran up against my brother, and to your surprise, he _wasn't_ willing. Do you understand that if I had believed you, I would be in a feud with my brother right now? Do you understand that? Do you even care?" She's weeping now. I've asked her three times if she understands what I'm saying."You need to understand that the breakdown in this relationship is because of _you_…because of _your_ actions. You could have cost me my relationship with my brother because you have some kind of sick appetite for children. Our lifestyle is taboo enough without involving _children_! But you know what the worst part about it is?" I walked up to her and stood in her face. I hear my Butterfly singing in my ear, so I don't have to grab this bitch and shake her—although shaking some sense into her might be a good idea. "I thought I was special. I thought there was nobody else like me…that you only did this for _me_. But you did it for yourself, to fulfill your own sick needs. I had already been abused—and you abused me again and God knows how many others. This was _your_ doing, Mrs. Lincoln. This has abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with Anastasia Steele."

At the mention of her name, Elena's eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. "She's the reason you didn't want Greta!" She spit. I nodded.

"Yes, she is the reason." I confirmed. "I've known her for three weeks, but she wanted nothing to do with me. I thought she hated me. Every time we were in a space together, we were scratching at each other. I threatened to ruin her career. She did a background check on me, can you believe that?" I laughed. "And she's got good people working for her because they found shit that most people could not."

"How do you know that she's not just another opportunist?" She shot.

"Because she didn't pursue me. I pursued her! She didn't even know. The only reason she got a background check on me is because I got one on her and she wanted to know who was digging around in her past," I say.

"Does she have something to hide?" Elena sneers. It's time to bring this conversation to an end.

"I'll tell you this, Mrs. Lincoln. There is a specific reason why other than Grace Trevelyan Grey, Dr. Anastasia Steele is the strongest woman that I've ever met. You don't want to know why, and you don't want to meet that woman. I watched as she had a martial arts master begging her to let him get up. Yesterday, I watched her make five men grovel while a sixth went running away with his tail between his legs—all while dressed like a teenager. She was able to acquire classified information on me, including who I was before I became Christian Grey. She is the only woman that I have ever known who has looked me in my eye and taken me on, balls to the walls, without flinching or patronizing me. She is a remarkable woman, and you don't want to bring out her bad side. You. Will. Lose."

"Why are you calling me Mrs. Lincoln, Christian?" She asks, her voice pleading.

"Because we still have a questionable business arrangement and that's how I address all of my business associates." I press the button to the intercom. "Taylor!" I know he's still out there.

"Christian, please. There must be some way we can mend this." I have never seen Elena beg. It's kind of refreshing. She almost looks human…

…almost.

Taylor comes into the office and remains silent.

"I will be in touch about our business arrangement, Mrs. Lincoln. I hope you heard that carefully. _I _will be in touch with _you_. Since you can't seem to hear me each time I say it, let me make this perfectly clear this time. Do not contact me unless I summon you. Do not come to see me without an appointment. Do not come to my home anymore. Address me as Mr. Grey when you see me, except around my mother. I want to spare her the embarrassment of knowing that she had been friends with a pedophile for many decades—but make no mistake, Mrs. Lincoln. I value my privacy, but I will publicly out _myself_ before I ever allow you to have control over me again. Do I make myself clear?" I glare at her and await an answer. A single tear falls down her cheek.

"Perfectly." She says flatly.

"Good. Taylor will see you out." I turn and go back to my seat and take out my blackberry. Taylor stands aside and waits for Elena. She pauses before leaving.

"When you come to your senses and realize that little tart can't fulfill your needs, I'll be here. I'll always be here, Christian." She says, softly.

"Address me as Mr. Grey or don't address me at all. Goodbye, Mrs. Lincoln." I say without looking up from my blackberry. She solemnly leaves my office and I can hear her weeping in the hallway.

Poor little pedophile.

"Welch!" I yell as I check my latest texts from Butterfly.

_****That sounds wonderful. I'll stop by my place and pick up a few things then meet you at your place**_ _**after work. I can't wait to see you.****_

I can't wait to see you either, Butterfly.

_****Strangely, I need your advice on a business venture. We'll talk this evening. Love you.****_

I don't think I've ever written that in a text before…feels good. Welch comes into the office.

"She doesn't look too happy," He says about the Pedophile as he closes my office door.

"Yeah, well, I can imagine there are quite a few people that wouldn't be too happy with _her_ right now," I respond, thinking of the families of the unknown amount of children she has molested over the years, mine included. "What do you have for me today?" Welch opens his tablet and starts to scroll.

"I'm sending you an email right now, Sir. I would have sent it sooner but I wanted to discuss some of the things that I found." My blackberry buzzes again. I open the email on the touch screen computer instead. Two attachments—one about David and the other about the Mortons.

"Which one first?" I ask.

"Let's start with the Mortons." He answers still looking at his tablet. I open the attachment on Ana's "guardians" as she calls them. Carla seemed to jump from mindless job to mindless job for many years and then last year she settled in as a nurse's aide in a convalescent home/assisted living facility in Boulder City. I personally thought she seemed to be a little up in age to be a nurse's aide, but in these times you get work wherever you can find it. Stephen Morton was working with the water board for many years and was let go just before Carla started working with the elderly. Unless he has been collecting some sort of unemployment compensation or had one hell of a severance package, they have been living off of Carla's meager wages for the last 13 months.

"What do their finances look like?" I ask Welch. He scrolls through his tablet, then says, "Not too good right now. They were fair to midland for a while. His salary seemed to pay their way for the most part. However, in 2001, they received a pretty big payout from an unknown source. I had to pull in a few favors to get to the bottom of that one, Sir."

"That big, huh?" I ask looking up at Welch.

"I would say so, Sir. The payout came from Franklin Whitmore. He's a high level executive for an insurance company out there."

"Why would a man on the water board be getting a payout from an insurance company? Was there an accident or something? Those are usually kept pretty private." I ask.

"You misunderstand, Sir. Morton didn't get a payout from the insurance company. He got a payout from Whitmore's personal accounts." I do a double take on that statement. I'm a businessman and that stinks to me.

"How much was the payout?" I ask.

"Three quarters of a mil." Welch answers. This was not business, this was personal.

"What did Morton's finances look like in 2001? Could this have been a loan from a friend? Did he ever pay it back? Was his house in foreclosure…" I'm firing off questions as quickly as they come to me.

"Sir, slow down." Welch interrupts. "I don't see any outstanding debts or problems in the Mortons' financials at that time. The house was gifted to Morton years before when his father passed away, so he only had to pay taxes and a small home equity loan on the property. From what I can tell, everything was fine until…" Welch trails off. I look up from scrolling the information on the screen and wait for him to finish his statement.

"Until what?" I prompted.

"Sir, 2001 was the same year that Anastasia Steele was attacked." Okay, now he's got my attention.

"Give me all of the information without my having to ask you any questions. I need to know exactly where you are headed with this." I sit back in my chair.

"I have a theory, but I don't know how accurate it is." Welch takes a deep breath. "Ana Steele gets beaten and burned in February but doesn't know what happened to her when she awakes." Yes she did. She just couldn't turn anybody in because she couldn't see their faces. "Nobody is arrested for the crime. Ms. Steele disappears for the summer and everything is quiet in Green Valley…maybe too quiet for what just happened a few months prior..."

"The locals are getting restless." I observe.

"Exactly." Welch confirms. "Somebody gets nervous and maybe talks to Daddy about making this whole thing go away. Whitmore has three children—all of which were attending Green Valley High at the time. The next thing you know, Morton is getting a huge payout in August from Whitmore and a few days later, Ms. Steele is dragged back to Henderson…"

"To a school she can't even attend and a bunch of people who don't want her around, including her parents." Welch looks at me puzzled. "We've talked. Her mother ignored her and Morton treated her like crap. She never went home for more than a few hours at a time in the middle of the night. She left as soon as she was able and they don't even speak now. Why did they bring her back?" I question.

"To keep her close." Welch responded. Shit, it makes perfect sense. They didn't know that she remembered what happened to her, and they couldn't take the chance of it all coming back to her when she was here in Montesano with Steele. They had to be able keep an eye on her in case details started coming back to her. "It wasn't a payout, Sir…"

"It was a pay_off_. He fucking sold out his stepdaughter and brought her back to hell for $750,000…and her mother let it happen." I stood up and ran my hands through my hair as I paced my office. "He probably bought their silence. I'm certain Ana doesn't know about this."

"How certain are you, Sir?" Welch asks.

"Ana repeatedly contends that she doesn't know why they brought her back to Henderson. It's a major point of contention for her. Had she known it was money-based, it would have still been a point of contention, but it would have been different. She would be angry for being sold-out…what were the Whitmore children's names?" Welch scrolls a bit.

"Two boys and a girl—Amber is the youngest at 25. Then there's Cody who just turned 27 and Landon who is 28." He says. So Amber would have been a grade under Ana, Cody would have in the same grade or a grade over Ana, and Landon would have been a senior. I can't rule any of them out just yet.

"What are they doing now?" I ask.

"Amber married and moved to New York, now in the fashion industry but still using her maiden name. Landon is a sports commentator in Texas. Cody went to Harvard, then to Columbia, then dropped out and went back to Green Valley. He's been working for his dad's company for the last three years, but he doesn't appear to be doing very well as most of his money is coming from his father. He is effectively spending his inheritance _now_."

So which one of these people had something to do with Ana's attack? Were they all involved? I have no idea how to approach this and I can't just come out and ask her.

"I'm thinking that I should probably talk to the Mortons. I just need a reason to do it." I say. Welch shrugs.

"Money talks, Sir." He says. He's right, of course.

"Let me think about that for a moment. What happened to the money?"

"Well, the money was spent pretty quickly, cars, clothes, high roller nightlife in Vegas and Lake Tahoe—nothing set aside for Ms. Steele, further emphasizing that your assumption may be correct that she didn't know about it." Of course she didn't. She stayed at a shelter for battered women when she first moved here. "Besides that, I'm still looking to see if I have missed anything."

"Anything else of any great importance right now?" I ask.

"Not really, except for the relative in Las Vegas. Ms. Steele used Morton's sister-in-law's address to zone for Chaparral. Her name is Cynthia Morton and she works for the Clark County School District, so no doubt she probably did some things on the inside to allow 'Steele' to finish as 'Lambert.' She and Morton are estranged, though, so it's possible that she did this solely to help Ms. Steele. She may be worth talking to."

"She may indeed. Okay, so what about David?" I asked.

"Ah yes…we've saved the best for last…or worst I should say." Oh shit. I open David's file. Fuck! What the hell…?

"What is all of _this_?" I ask.

"That is a list of all of the women that David has slept with over the past ten years." Who the hell has this kind of time on their hands!? Good grief, Man! I do a search for Ana's name and before I can hit enter, Welch says, "She's number 22, Sir." Good God. She dodged a damn bullet! It's a wonder he hasn't been killed by some deadly sexually transmitted disease by now!

"He's been a busy boy, hasn't he?" I say sarcastically.

"Very!" Welch answers.

"Any of these of interest?" I ask.

"Fifth from the bottom—Phyllis Studdard. Ms Studdard was admitted to the hospital three months ago badly beaten. She had recently had sexual intercourse but contends that she was not raped—just that her _lover_ got carried away. When she was asked his name, she refused. She was released from the hospital four days later. A transfer of $50,000 was made into her account from Mr. David and she subsequently left town…but not before she had already planted the seeds in the proper circles that David is the pariah that landed her in the hospital. Some of the stories of their encounter are pretty gruesome. I have no doubt that they have gone through the rumor mill a few times and have been exaggerated, but the basis is pretty sound. It's almost identical to the attack on Camilla Johannson except that supposedly there was no rape. It's enough to say that he couldn't get a date in the greater Seattle area if his dick were dipped in platinum." Damn! And now he's after my Ana. Over my dead body, Fucker.

"How were you able to single out Ms. Studdard?" I ask.

"After I saw what happened with Ms. Johannson, I cross referenced possible hospital stays and MO's with the girls and the times they were noted seeing David, and we got this hit. If there are others, they weren't bad enough to be hospitalized." I'm wondering if I should tell Ana about this. She has already agreed to close protection, and she knows this guy is crazy already…and she carries a fucking gun! Three fucking guns! No, I won't tell her. She's taking enough precautions already.

"There's more, Sir." More? What more? "Look at Mr. David's college roommates. I scroll through the list of his roommates.

"What should I be seeing?" I say scrolling through the years…2004…2005…2006…

…2006…_FUCK_!

"Do you see it, Sir?" Welch says, noticing the change in my expression.

"This is _not_ a coincidence! It is not a coincidence that this was one of his roommates and he ends up dating Anastasia!"

"I don't think so either, Sir." Welch concurs.

"Find out everything you can on this guy. Every. Little. Thing. Back at least 15 years!"

"Yes Sir. Will that be all, Sir?"

"One more thing. I need any information that you can get me on Elena Lincoln's personal affairs."Welch looks questioningly at me.

"Personal affairs?" He repeats. I run my hands through my hair.

"I have it on authority that Mrs. Lincoln has been - and may still be - molesting teenage boys." Welch's eyes turn cold.

"Okay." He says with a bitter tone that I can't place.

"Will this be a problem for you, Welch?" He straightens his jacket.

"Absolutely not, Sir. My pleasure, in fact." He says with conviction in his voice. I don't ask why.

"I don't care what it takes to find the information. Hack her computers, search her office, break into her car, hack her cell phone. Hell, climb a tree outside of her house if you have to..."

"I understand completely, Sir." Welch says. I want to know if she is still doing this sick shit. How and where does she find her candidates? Hell, I was delivered to her on a silver platter, but Elliot wasn't. He just had the misfortune of being her best friend's son.

Most of all, I need to know if a check on her would reveal anything about me.

"I don't need to tell you how delicate this situation is, correct? I can trust you to handle this with the utmost discretion - need-to-know basis only?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Grey." His demeanor tells me that this means something personal to him, but I won't ask if he won't tell me.

"Thank you, Welch. That will be all." As he closes my office door. I look at David's roommates:

Fall 2004—Kip Johnson, Sioux Falls, SD

Spring 2005—Marshall Brookings, Des Moines, IA

Fall 2005—Dennis Jackley, Missoula, MT

Spring 2006—Everest Billings, Henderson, NV

I asked Ana if she thought she was profiled and she said no. Could he have known something about her before he met her? It certainly is possible. I'll know more once I find out about this Billings guy. I pick up my blackberry and realize that the last buzz was not the email from Welch after all. It was a message from my favorite person:

****I love you too.****

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"Hello, Ms. Steele, this is Mr. Robinson at the Cristalla Condos. I'm calling to let you know that your windshield has been replaced and your car has been detailed, Ma'am. You may pick up your keys and your warranty paperwork at the security office anytime you like."

"Thank you, Mr. Robinson. How late will you be there this evening?"

"As late as you need me to stay, Ma'am." Suck up. Christian must've scared the pants off of this guy.

"I'll be there between 5:00 and 6:00." I say.

"That's fine, Ma'am." Mr. Robinson says. "I'll see you then." I end the call.

I haven't heard anything from Christian since my last text, but the man does have a multi-billion-dollar company to run, and I need to get a grip. We have such fun together and I feel so free. I haven't felt this way in a long time. It always seems like I have to be on my guard…but not with Christian. He's just as bruised and guarded as I am, making it easy for us to let go around each other. And when he called me Mistress last night… Oh. My. God! The power was insane. It fueled my inner Nympho more and more! I have no idea where it came from, but it felt like I could do anything but I also had a responsibility. I can't explain it—he was mine. Not just my man—he was _MINE_! I had to love him and I had to take care of him—but he had to do what I said. It was amazing, and he submitted so freely. I will have to ask him about that. We will have to set some parameters. Maybe I'll do some more research. Each BDSM relationship is defined by its participants—I know that much. He and I will set our parameters. Ours is a relationship without borders to begin with—totally undefined, except that we love each other. I have no doubt that we will have a wonderful time discovering our mutual wants, needs, and desires.

_I kind of liked it when he tied us up.  
_Yeah, me too! That's his Dom side coming out.  
_That slap on the ass was kind of hot, too.  
_I know, right?  
_Okay, now I'm getting horny.  
_Me, too. Shut up, already! I've got another patient to see!_  
_

The Bitch finally goes silent just as Marilyn announces that my next patient is here. A few moments later, "Monica, it's good to see you. Come in and sit down. Where would you like to start today?"

* * *

Good grief! My car is spotless! And beautiful! It almost looks better than when I bought it! Good job Mr. Robinson! Chuck and I run up to my apartment so that I can grab some things before I head to Christian's—a couple of outfits, tops and bottoms; a dress; several changes of underwear and bras, a few pairs of stockings and a couple pairs of shoes. I'll leave everything in my bag so that I don't scare the man half to death. His blue Anderson Sheppard pinstripe suit lay in the chair where I left it last night. I think I'll leave it there. I like it there. I pick up his shirt and inhale—it smells divine, like Christian. All of a sudden, I need to be near my man in the worst way. I reach in my dresser drawer for My Boo. I pull the magazine out and release the slide to pop out the round in the chamber. I load the loose round back into the magazine and relock the slide. Putting the Glock and the magazine in my purse, I grab my make-up kit and a couple of ponytail holders just in case and Chuck and I are off.

"I want to drive, Chuck. Will you follow me?"

"Sure, Ana. Right behind you."

Once in my car, I put My Boo and the magazine back in the glove box and head off to Escala.

Once we get there, Chuck has to go in before me since I don't know the codes to the underground garage. Chuck has been given instructions to have me stop at the front desk before I go upstairs. I get to meet Marc, the clerk who called Christian in a tizzy on Sunday when She-Thing showed up.

"Hi, are you Marc?" I say to the gentleman behind the counter.

"Yes, Ma'am. How can I help you?" He says with a pleasant smile.

"I was told to stop at the front desk. My name is Anastasia Steele." His face lights up with recognition.

"Ms. Steele, yes. Just a moment." He goes into the office and comes out with two boxes, one large and one small, as well as two envelopes, also one large and one small. "You'll need to open the small envelope now, Ma'am. Mr. Grey isn't home yet but he should be here shortly."

"Thank you, Marc." I smile warmly. I open the small envelope and it contains a small embossed card that contains the codes to the garage and to the elevator to get to the penthouse. Underneath the codes in the same lovely script as his "I'm Sorry" business card is written:

_**You have the magic code to my heart. Now here are the codes to my home. Christian. **_

Oh that man can really make my heart go thumpity-thump! I run to the elevator giggling like a schoolgirl. When we get inside, Chuck goes to push in the code.

"No!" I squeal, and Chuck jumps back like I hit him. "I'm sorry. I mean…I want to do it." I say, kind of whiny. Chuck works hard to force back a smile, but steps away from the console to let me punch the numbers in. I enter the six-digit code and the elevator slides shut and smoothly glides to the penthouse. I hug the boxes close to me, but not too hard as it is clear to see that one of the boxes contains flowers. When the elevator opens at Christian's foyer, Chuck and I step out and he steps aside with a flourish, allowing me to the front door first.

He's teasing me.

"Ha, ha! Very funny." I turn the doorknob and enter the great room. The air is different. I can't quite place it, but I feel more…welcome—not so much like a guest anymore.

"Ana!" I am greeted by a chipper voice and a smile.

"Gail, hi," I pause. "May I call you Gail?" I never asked permission.

"It's fine by me, but I don't know about Mr. Grey," she whispers to me like it's a conspiracy. "It looks like you have some packages there."

"Yeah, it looks like it." I smile widely. "Where should I sit them down to open them?"

"Anywhere you like, Ana. Mr. Grey insisted that you make yourself at home." Her voice is warm and inviting…like the mom I never had, which is pretty sad since I grew up with the woman that birthed me.

"Thank you, Gail." I smile and decide to take my packages and bag to Christian's bedroom. I put the huge box and the small box on the bed with the envelope. Which one to open first? The flowers! I open the flower box to reveal a gorgeous assortment of exotic and wild flowers—all in blue! Roses, hydrangeas, morning glories, dayflowers, chaste plants, bluebonnets, bluebells, and of course a few light blue rhodies. The flowers are exquisite and I am blown away. Of course, there's a card:

_**Blue…your favorite color, just like your beautiful eyes. Christian X**_

Oooohh! He put a little kiss on his name! Before I open the small box and the envelope, I bring the flowers back out to the kitchen.

"Gail, please tell me that there is a vase somewhere large enough to accommodate this magnificent arrangement." I put the flowers on the breakfast bar.

"Oh, Ana!" She exclaims. "They're breathtaking!"

"Aren't they?" I say, breathily. My heart is doing cartwheels in my chest. "Please tell me there's something we can put them in." She smiles at me.

"I'll take care of it for you."

"Thank you," I say before taking one of the roses from the arrangement and returning to my other packages. I decide to open the envelope next. It's an invitation:

**_Anastasia Steele_**

**_Your presence is requested at_**

**_The fundraiser meeting of the Helping Hands Association_**

**_Saturday, July 7, 2012_**

**_At the home of Carrick Grey and Dr. Grace Trevelyan Grey_**

**_Bellevue, Washington_**

At first I am confused because I'm not exactly sure what this means, then it hits me…Christian wants me to meet his family! I'm excited and nervous all at the same time. He wants me to meet his family and that's a good thing, but what will they think of _me_? Hell, I'm a doctor and I know that counts for something—but Christian comes from _real_ money. Will they think I'm after his fortune? Well, we'll just have to see because I am sure as hell going!

I finally reach for the little box that's left. I pull off the beautiful ribbon and remove the top to find another box inside. The unmistakable red leather of Cartier.

"Oooooo!" I squeal like a schoolgirl. Cartier means jewelry.

Give it to me, Daddy!

I remove the Cartier box and open it and holy. Cow. Batman. There is a perfect replica of the tiara that Audrey Hepburn wore in _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. I don't know if it's silver or platinum, diamonds or Swarovski crystals but when I tell you that it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life, that would be an understatement. This piece of jewelry is thoughtful…and priceless…and splendid!

"Oh my God I'm dating Santa Clause." I said, stunned at the exquisite creation before me. I wonder how long he had _this_ one cooking. I know even the powerful Christian Grey can't get something like this done overnight. Well, maybe he could. What the hell does it matter, I think to myself as I run to the mirror to put it on. Oh my God, I am Holly Golightly and I immediately hear "Moon River" playing in my head. A small smile creeps across my face as I think about the day I told the group about _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. I was wearing that little blue dress—the one that I said was too short for work, but I wore it anyway. I think I was trying to impress him even then. That's one of the days he tried that awful staring crap with me. Yeah, blew up in your face, didn't it, Grey? Come to think of it, it blew up in both of our faces. I pick up my bag from the floor and carry it to the closet. Various Christian Grey suits greet me from various designers.

My boyfriend is so hot!

And he knows his fashion…Armani, Paul Stuart, Borelli, Canali…and those are just the ones that I know! Beautiful Caesar Picotti, John Lobb, and Tanino Crisci leather shoes line the shoe shelves—again, just the ones I know. Crisp white shirts pressed to perfection, ties and cufflinks organized by color and style. I think Christian might be just a little OCD on top of everything else, but the neatness and organization is comforting. I run my hands over Prince Charming's suits as I peruse his closet wearing my tiara. I get to meet his family on Saturday. I will do him proud. I smell one of his suits. If it has been cleaned, it still smells like him. I take the jacket off of the hanger and wrap it around me. It is way too large and I can't roll up the sleeves like I do with his shirts, but I sit on the floor of his closet with my rose and my tiara and cocoon myself in Christian's jacket—and his smell.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**"That's why I'm the Chief." Greys Anatomy, Season 2, Episode 22, said by James Pickens as Chief of Sutgery Richard Webber.**_

_**Holly Golighty is of course Audrey Hepburn's character in Breakfast at Tiffany's and there is a scene where she sits on the balcony with a guitar singing "Moon River."**_

**_Please see the pictures to accompany this chapter at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/  
_**

**_Please review! You know how I live for it!_**

**_Love and Handcuffs!  
Lynn x_**


	25. Chapter 25: What You Want

_**ZINGER AHEAD! Yep, another stupid ass guest reviewer. I have no problem with someone reviewing as a guest. I used to do it myself. What I DO have a problem with is some nameless faceless person who feel like they can criticize you—incorrectly, by the way—instead of coming out and saying, "Hey, my name is So-and-So" and this is how I feel. It's like a kid throwing rocks at people then hiding behind a tree—only I'm assuming that these are grown people, which is worse. So, phantom guest reviewer, this is for you. **_

_**Dear Guest Reviewer who labeled Christian as "socially handicapped" and asked if Ana could no longer hang out with her friends, aka "the little people" since she was now with the great Christian Grey—I fully understand that quite a bit has happened in my story and that your TINY LITTLE MIND may not be able to comprehend the concept of TIME, so let me help you with that…**_

_**FRIDAY NIGHT: They fuck  
**__**SATURDAY: They fuck again and she spends the day with "the little people" AFTER SHE TELLS CHRISTIAN that she spends time with her friends EVERY weekend.  
**__**SATURDAY NIGHT: Back at Christian's at the prompting of "the little people." They fuck.  
**__**SUNDAY: They fuck again. Altercation with Elena  
**__**MONDAY: Back at home, Ana's car is vandalized, her **_**FRIEND**_** Al is there to serve papers to Edward and to tell Christian not to hurt her. They fuck again.  
**__**TUESDAY: They fuck again. Ana maintains that she will not be eating big breakfasts and they go to work. Ana gets a tiara from Christian...**_

_**IT'S STILL TUESDAY, FUCKER! CAN YOU GIVE ME A CHANCE TO GET THROUGH A FUCKING WEEK BEFORE YOU START INSULTING MY FUCKING CHARACTERS AND HOW THEY SPEND THEIR TIME? Damn!**_

_**And don't tell me how often my characters can fuck, either! They will fuck every day three times a day if I want them to—NO INFECTIONS INVOLVED! They'll be bionic bangers and there's nothing you can do about it…or am I dealing with yet another guest-reviewer-broken-pussy in my midst?**_

_**Oh and one more thing. Whose story are you reading where Christian goes to his family's house EVERY SUNDAY? My story starts on June 7, 2012. The first time my story mentions Christian going to his family's house was June 28, 2012—and that was a THURSDAY. He will be returning to his family's house on July 7**__**th**__** for the fundraiser meeting. So in a full month, he's been there TWICE—and neither one of them was a SUNDAY! You can check these dates by finding the emails sent to/from Christian/Elena (Chapter 9) and Ana/Brian (Chapter 10) and just count backward and forward and tell me how many SUNDAYS or days**_** at all**_** that he has been at their house! I don't label the dates in my story but I do label the DAYS OF THE WEEK! You are not required to keep up with the dates if you don't choose to—I will certainly be throwing a date in every now and again to let readers know where we are. But if you are going to check someone on the events in their timeline, KNOW THE FUCKING TIMELINE! That is all (geez, Idiot!)**_

_**Once again, my lovelies, I can take it if you don't agree with me. But by all means, don't be condescending when you are making your point. And if you are like me and you like to throw some sarcasm in with your statement, please make sure your facts are straight and your shit is spot on, because I will cut you down if it's not!**_

_**To anailuj: Thank you for your review and your always kind words. To clarify, Edward and Cody didn't study together. Edward and this guy named Everest from Henderson studied together. His relationship to/involvement in Ana's attack has not yet been revealed. But so far, you are one of very few that has mentioned any of those details. Good eye!**_

_**To leantired (Brenda from California): Thank you for joining me. I would have sent you a PM, but you have PM's disabled. Of course, you can call me Lynn! ;-) When I have a bonus chapter that needs to be posted, I will give you guys three chapter. Other than that, if I commit to three chapters a week, my chapters will be shorter and not as well written because they are rushed. For that reason I humbly BEG my readers to please be patient with me and let's stick to the Wednesday/Saturday schedule so that I can continue to give you a quality story. I know the story is WORTHLESS without my readers, and I have to say that the fact that you want more fills my heart with immeasurable pride. Again, thank you. **_

_**Of course, thanks to my "guest" reviewers Amelia (thank you!), Babyblue, Camora, Carol (that closet was the shit, wasn't it?), Jaimini, Lisa from Ontario, Naeo99 (I want a Cartier box from Christian too—hell, just give me Christian), Rachel from Boston (thank you—I'm feeling much better now), Rauguste (Santa Clause, tee hee hee), Tempress (very good points!), Tj, and my wonderful guest reviewers for dropping by to tell me how much you enjoy the story. **_

_**A quick note—the charity is called "Helping Hands." Saturday is not the fundraiser—it's just a meeting to discuss the fundraiser. **_

_**And a VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to MelDWake! Thank you for sticking with me!**_

_**Sorry for being so long winded...**_

_****__**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

_Chapter 25—What You Want _

_**GREY**_

Good God, I thought this day would never end. I planned on being out of here at least an hour ago, but the meeting with the Pedophile and the subsequent revelations about David and the Mortons took more time than I thought. I'm still wondering if I should tell Ana about Phyllis Studdard. My decision not to say anything is nagging at me a bit. She already knows the guy is certifiable. He was One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest before he met Ana. No doubt losing her was the last straw. Like I said, the power of Ana's love would drive a lesser man crazy. It did. It drove David crazy to be without her. Now he's unstable. I'm already checking into the Green Valley situation without her knowledge. I think I better tell her _this_ one. It will be hell, fire, and brimstone if I don't.

I step into the great room and I see my flowers arranged masterfully on the dining room table. She's here. "Hello, Mrs. Jones." I greet.

"Mr. Grey." She smiles. "Dinner is ready whenever you are, Sir."

"Thank you. Has Ms. Steele eaten already?"

"No Sir. She's been in the bedroom for about the last hour. I haven't heard a peep out of her." She answered.

"Is she well?" I ask concerned. "She didn't seem sick or anything when she came in, did she?" Mrs. Jones shook her head.

"Not at all, Mr. Grey. She came out of the room with this huge blue bouquet, bouncing like a teenager and asking me to please find something to put them in." She laughed. I smiled too.

"Let me go see what's keeping her." I say before walking to my bedroom.

When I walk into the bedroom, it's empty except for the invitation and the empty Cartier box on the bed. The light is on in the en suite so I check there. No Ana. Where did she go? Mrs. Jones said she's still in the bedroom—and she left every light on. I reach into the closet to turn off the light…and there she is, sleeping soundly on the floor wearing my ocean blue Tom Ford sport coat and her tiara, and holding a blue rose. I can't resist. I pull out my blackberry and snap a few pictures of my Sleeping Beauty. She is so adorable and I want to remember this moment. I crouch down and pick her sleeping body up from the floor. She whimpers a bit before laying her head on my chest. Just before I get to the bed, she very softly and sleepily says, "Hi, Baby."

Thank God I'm a strong man because her delicate beautiful voice can truly make you weak.

"Hey." I respond softly.

"I love my flowers." She says, eyes still closed and voice still sleepy. I would think she was talking in her sleep again if she weren't talking directly to me.

"I'm glad. I couldn't decide which one to get, so I got them all."

"That sounds like you." She chuckled a bit and kissed me gently on my neck. Mmmm. Oh boy… "Christian, the tiara. It's exquisite…why?" I know what she's asking. This is how I show affection—besides the obvious—I shower with gifts.

"Because I want you to know that you can have whatever you want…and _not_ the knock-offs." She opens her eyes.

"You know you don't have to buy me, right? I'm already yours." She says. Don't give me a hard time about this, Woman.

"Yes, Ana. I know that you are not for sale." I say, a bit chastised.

"Good." She says wide awake. "As long as you know, I would love some of those Louboutin platform stilettos." I laugh as I place her feet on the floor.

"Oh really? Holly Golightly didn't wear those." I tease.

"No, but Anastasia Steele does!" She says, rolling her neck a bit, and I laugh. "I've always wanted some, but I would have to take out a second mortgage on my condo to afford them!"

She could have asked for anything—a new condo, a new car, more jewelry, cash—she asked for _shoes_. She is going to be _so_ much fun!

"If it's Louboutins you want, My Love, it's Louboutins you shall have." I said. She squealed.

"I'm finally going to own a pair of Louboutin shoes!" _So_ much fun.

"Come, Ana. Time for dinner." I take my sport coat off of her and lay it on the bed. I delicately remove the tiara and put it back in the Cartier box. Then I slap her ass hard and she freezes. Oh shit.

"You okay, Baby?" I ask, approaching with caution.

"Uh huh." She answers.

"Did I do something wrong?" What's this?

"Oh, no. Not at all." She says, her voice shaking just a bit and her breath coming in short. "We'll talk about it later. Let's eat." And she walks out of the room. Get outta here—she liked it!

_So_ much fun…

* * *

I find myself using the fireplace more in the last few days than I have since I moved here. Ana likes the fire—even in the summertime—and I like Ana. So here we are sitting in front of the fireplace after dinner. Ana is nestled between my legs, her back to my front, and we are each enjoying a nice Bollinger. Perfect time to talk about a few things.

"Remember when I said I had a business venture that I needed to discuss with you?" I begin.

"Um-hmm," Ana said sipping her wine, "though I have no idea why you would want to discuss it with me. You're the businessman, Christian."

"Well, the venture is financially sound and very profitable, but there's more to it than that which is why I need to talk to you."

"Okay, I'm listening." She replies. I take a breath.

"Elena came to my office today." Ana stiffened.

"She just doesn't learn, does she?" Ana spit.

"Well, no, she doesn't. Of course she was trying to tell me how wrong I was about her and that you had poisoned my mind against her and a whole lot of other nonsense, but that's not the issue at hand." I sat up a bit and Butterfly turned a little to face me. "Elena lent me the money to start my business after I dropped out of school. I paid her back of course. But after she and her husband were divorced, she was pretty much left with nothing because of the prenuptial agreement, so…she's a licensed beautician and I financed her salons." Butterfly is looking up at me like there should be more to the story. She's right, there is. "I'm still a silent partner in the business." Realization dawns.

"Oh." She says very matter-of-factly. "I see. What's the name of her salon?"

"Esclava." I answer. Butterfly nods.

"'Salon to the celebs.' I've been there before. You're right, with the prices she charges I could pay a car note. The business is very lucrative." She says flatly.

"And in light of recent developments, I don't know what I should do with my end of the business." I finish. Butterfly twists her face in deep thought.

"How often did you have to see her to discuss business before now?" she asked.

"Not often that I remember, but now since I am not speaking to her, she will find a reason for it to be more often, I'm sure." I answered.

"So here are the questions that you need to ask." She sat up and turned to me. Oh hell, she's serious, though her voice is very controlled. "First off, you're in the business of making money, and this venture is making money for you, correct?"

"Yes, the salons do very well." I reply.

"Now, that's about the only pro that you have in your list of pros and cons. Here are all the cons." She began counting off on her fingers. "One—she's a pedophile. How many children has she molested? Do you want to be associated with that if this comes out? Everything you do in the dark is one day brought to the light, Christian. Don't think she is going to get away with this forever. Two—you have severed every other relationship with her. She is going to try to find reasons to get in touch with you. She will use those opportunities to attempt to sway you back under her control. Any weakness that she can exploit against you, she will. Any trump card she has to play, she is going to play it. Do you feel like dealing with that? Three—I had to sing in your ear to keep you from killing that woman. I'm not going to be there to sing to you every time she shows up. Four—I hate her fucking guts. She treats me like pond scum because I had the nerve to fall in love with you. When she walks in, I can _smell_ evil, and I don't want to be anywhere _near_ that woman. If you decide to continue to business with her, that's going to be your decision—I just hate her, and I know that is one of the reasons that you are presenting this to me. Finally, this woman is a friend of your mother's which makes the whole thing doubly disgusting but that's an altogether different conversation. You are going to have to keep up some kind of decorum when she is around your mother or the cat will be out of the bag. She is not going to give up, Christian, I know it. She's like a parasite and she feeds off of your need for her and the power she once held over you. I watched this woman scream for her life, obey my orders until I could get you to let her go, and then sit right on that stool and wait for you. She is absolutely positively _convinced_ that she can sway you back to her side and she is not going to stop until she does it. Now, there it is in a nutshell."

"There's one thing you forgot to mention. Besides the fact that you hate her, how will it affect you and us if I stay in business with her?" I ask.

"Well, I would never tell you how to run your business, Christian, just like you can't tell me how to treat patients. But know this—I won't let it affect me that you are doing business with her. I trust you, Christian, and I will trust you until you give me a reason not to; it's _her_ that I don't trust. So if you so choose to remain in business with her, keep her away from me." She says with finality.

"That opens up another problem, then." I scratch the small amount of stubble on my face.

"What's that?" She asks.

"She's a friend of the family. She's always at the house for family functions. You _will_ see her again—most likely this Saturday for the Helping Hands meeting." I can see it in her face. She already wants to ditch. Should I ask her to endure Mrs. Lincoln for my sake? Hell,_ I_ don't want to endure Mrs. Lincoln. I don't want to uninvited her, but on the other hand, I don't want her to feel like she has to attend just for me. Just as I was about to let her off the hook, she says, "I'm not in the practice of hiding from anyone. It is unfortunate that she is friends with your mother, but it a necessary evil that I can endure for us." For us—she didn't say for me. She said for _us_! I like that.

"Have I mentioned how incredible you are?" I say, softly.

"Hmm, not today." She says playfully. I kiss her gently on the cheek.

"There's something else I need to tell you." She sighs heavily.

"Oh God, there's more?" She says.

"I'm afraid so." I answer. "You know that we are keeping an eye on David and what he's doing as well as what he was doing over the last few years."

"Okay," She says expecting.

"A few months ago, he was…dating, I guess…a woman who ended up in the hospital, badly beaten like Camilla Johannson. She claims that he didn't rape her, but he paid her off to get out of town. She destroyed his reputation before she left."

* * *

_**STEELE**_

That's what I get for thinking I was going to have a quiet evening alone snuggling with my boyfriend. He bought me those beautiful flowers and that to-die-for tiara—I'm going to have to ask him what it's made of—and we had a fabulous dinner. Now I have to sit here and endure conversation about She-Thing. Why the hell would he want to go into business with her? I understand that she helped him when he wanted to start his business, but why couldn't he just do the same thing—just lend her the money and she pay him back when she was on her feet? I know what it is, but I don't want it to affect his decision about a potentially lucrative business. This was just another way to keep him close…to be able to watch him. No doubt, his subs all used her services. Of course they did; they were _her_ girls. She was keeping tabs on Christian in every way that she could, and this is just another method. I explain to him that she's a parasite trying to get under his skin and hold on any way that she can. I think he heard me and I'm not sure what he's going to do about it, but I won't tell him to let go of a profitable venture just because the business associate is a demon from hell. It has to be his decision.

I could live with that. There's no reason for me to come into contact with the nasty, low life pedophile—until he reminds me that she is a friend of his mother's. Fuck, I forgot about that! I will definitely see this silicon-filled, pulled, plucked, lifted, skinned, colored and stuffed Thanksgiving Turkey again. Well, Christian and I are a couple and the offensive pedo-bitch is not going to cause me to tuck tail and hide.

"I'm not in the practice of hiding from anyone. It is unfortunate that she is friends with your mother, but it a necessary evil that I can endure for us." I think he was very pleased with that answer.

"Have I mentioned how incredible you are?" He says in a soft sweet voice that warms me right down to my toes.

"Hmm, not today." I answer, my voice filled with mirth as he kisses me on the cheek.

Just as I was about to settle back down into the comfort of his arms, he informs me that a few months back Edward assaulted another woman pretty much that same way that he assaulted that girl back in Iowa; that he paid her off, but his reputation has been ruined in the Seattle circles.

"I knew it! I knew it was something like that!" I say, recalling the conversation that I had with him in the parking structure where he refused to answer my questions. Christian looked at me questioning. "I asked him in the parking garage 'why me?' He never answered me. I deduced that his reputation had been ruined in the circles that we travelled in but he never answered. I knew something had happened." I turned to Christian. "Do you see what I mean when I say that everything you do in the dark will one day be brought to the light?" Christian turned pale as a ghost and his eyes turned almost white.

"I'm going to liquidate my interests in her business tomorrow. I'll gift her the shops so that I have nothing else to do with them." He says.

"Are you positive that's what you want to do? I want you to make this decision based on what _you_ want to do." I say sternly. He sits up again.

"Do you remember when you read me that report at our third meeting?" Boy, do I!

"Yes," I say with a small chuckle.

"I saw everything that I built, my life's work, crumbling at my feet. I freaked out on the _possibility_ that my reputation could take a hit. The business world is brutal, and the business I'm in is _particularly_ brutal. I have a whole PR department and a very extensive legal team that _regularly_ fends off rumors before they start. I felt like I would never be able to recover from having to do jail time—the possibility of it sent me into a tailspin. My business would have been ruined! How could I possibly spin the fact that I'm in business with a pedophile? She came on to my brother 17 years ago and I found out. Somebody is going to find out what she's doing—and I don't want to be on that sinking ship when they do." He gathers me up in his arms and kisses me on the temple. "Thank you, Butterfly." I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I slid my arms around his waist and snuggled into his chest.

"Now I have something that I want to discuss with you." I say.

"And what's that?" He asks.

"_Mistress_?" He stiffens.

"You don't like it?" He questioned.

"Oh, quite the contrary. I _love_ it." I felt his body relax again. "It's just…I don't know what it entails. I've never done anything like that before. I know each relationship is defined by its participants and I just want us to define ours so that we know what to expect." He rubs circles in my back. It's very soothing.

"In a D/s relationship, the Domme or Dom is responsible for the well being of the sub. The things that are practiced are not to harm the sub or put them in jeopardy in any way. There is pleasure and pain involved—but pain only to the degree that it evokes pleasure. There are times when one wants to exercise control and there are times when one wants to relinquish control. I am predominantly a Dom. I haven't subbed for many years since…" He trails off and I immediately know what he is talking about. He's talking about the She-Bitch and that she was his Domme. I take his free hand in mine and kiss his palm then entwine my fingers with his and snuggle back into his chest. He takes a deep breath and relaxes significantly, then continues. "I didn't feel comfortable submitting once I became a Dom. I didn't trust anyone…until you." He drops his head in this shy way that I have never seen in the weeks that I have known him. I can tell that he has never had this conversation with anyone before.

"So…as a sub, is it your sole purpose to please me?" I ask.

"Yes, and to be punished if I don't." He responds.

"Punished? How!?" I say aghast. If he expects me to use one of those whips or some of that torture shit I saw online, he's crazy!

"However you see fit." He responds. "Most D/s relationships are started with an agreement, as you know, about hard limits and soft limits, what's allowed and what is intolerable. My relationships were always in writing."

"You mean, like a contract?" I question.

"No, not _like_ a contract, it _was_ a contract, clearly spelling out the parameters of the arrangement. It was strictly business, and the contract was retractable at will by either party. This way my subs knew what was expected of them as well as what they could expect from me." He stated. Good God, he even handled _sex_ like a merger. No wonder he's so hungry for love now. I turn around to face him on the sofa, on my knees between his legs. I gently rub his chest and his breath becomes labored.

"So, when I was giving you oral pleasure, and I told you not to move my hair or I would stop, stopping would have been your punishment—not letting you come, correct?" I don't know where I dig that voice from but he responds to it immediately.

"Yes, Mistress." His voice is raspy and he chokes out the words.

"And if I tell you that you cannot touch me while I caress you, like this," his breath hitches as I straddle his body with mine, running my hands gently up and down his arms, his fingers clenching the cushions of the sofa, "would that be considered a punishment as well?"

"Not always, Mistress." He responded, still trying to control his breathing.

"Elaborate, Mr. Grey." He looks like he's going to combust, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

"Mistress may be testing my limits, seeing how much I can exercise control. It would only be punishment if I have done something that displeases my Mistress." He says, his voice breathy and his eyes hooded. Oh Christian. You make me so hot but we have to bring conversation back. I kiss him gently on the lips.

"I need my Christian back. I have a lot of questions." I say softly. He blinks and takes in a deep breath, then lets it out as his arms slide around me.

"What is it that makes me worthy to be your Domme? You've never had anyone but the Unmentionable One and now after all of these years, you chose me…" I said.

"Well, first of all, I think _worthy_ is definitely the wrong choice of words. A more appropriate word in this instance would be _trust_worthy. I have to trust you to take care of me when I submit to you; not to take advantage of me in a vulnerable condition." That's what I was feeling last night, like I was _responsible_ for him—and he almost seems to zone out a bit on me, like he's someone else. "Secondly, I didn't choose you. I didn't wake up that morning and just say, 'hmm, guess I'll be Butterfly's sub.' Something inside of me chose you. Whatever it was, it knew that you were the one; I could be totally free and let go, and I don't have to worry what's going to happen because ultimately, it will end in our mutual pleasure unless I have displeased you and you choose to punish me. And that's perfectly acceptable."

Punish Christian. I'll have to give that some thought. He's got one thing right, though, about not being the one to choose. My Inner Mistress chose him—I personally would _never_ choose to dominate anyone…_ever_! But with Christian, as soon as he called me _Mistress_, she rose up from wherever she was hiding and seems to appear whenever she is needed. The slightly scary thing, though, is that there is another side hiding in there as well.

"I've never been a submissive, Christian." I start slowly.

"I know." He replies.

"So, what happens when we change roles?" His pupils dilate a little and I swear I feel a little throb in his groin area._ Mr. Grey!_

"You mean, you sub for me?" I nod tentatively. "You would _do_ that?" He asks. I swallow hard.

"If you trust me to take care of you when you are being submissive to me, I have to trust you, too…right?" I hear my voice squeaking nervously. He gives me the same tentative nod that I gave him moments before. "And even though there is pain involved in the experience, you know that I would never hurt you beyond your limits and I have to expect the same from you, right?" He nods again. "So how would we know when the time is correct for one to be the sub and the other to dominate?"

"Oh, trust me," he says, his voice deep and sure, "we'll know."

* * *

_**GREY**_

I cannot explain the joy that I felt when Butterfly's eyes lit up when I asked her about being my Mistress. I need to learn to trust again and to open up—not that I ever really did; the only person that I somewhat trusted outside of my family was that wretched blonde woman. So the best place for me to start to begin to break these walls down and become a semi-normal person is with someone that holds my heart and makes me weak in the knees anyway. If I turn out to be wrong about her and she hurts or mistreats me, I'll never want anyone else in that way again anyway. It's refreshing and rejuvenating to be able to let my guard down and submit to someone else for a change. Not to have to be in charge for a few precious moments. To know that the vital decisions are being made by someone else—it's euphoric! I almost transcend this plane of life and existence and I am someone and somewhere else completely, though I am still able to function perfectly—to obey commands and enjoy the pleasure she brings me, even when she's torturing me. She's incredible, exquisite…fuck-mazing! She makes my heart want to burst open with love and affection.

Since she's a novice to all of this, notwithstanding her previous studies in college, I start to explain to her the basic concept of BDSM. Before I can get too conceptually deep in the conversation, she questioned me about a sub's objective. It's always the sub's objective to please the Master or Mistress—whatever that may entail—and be punished if they do not. I could see the wheels turning when the topic of punishment arose, but she quickly deduced that not all punishments are painful. She slides into Domme mode so effortlessly, like she was born to dominate to some degree, and it immediately triggers submissive Christian. It's her _voice_. It's something in her voice—I don't know what it is—but she could ask me to do _anything_ and I would. I knew the moment I heard it that she was my Mistress. It couldn't be any other way. I would have to say, though, that the most shocking thing was when she asked about subbing for me.

Is it Christmas already? My birthday has already passed so it can't be that. How did I get such a gift? How did I get to be so damn lucky?

You're a lucky son of a bitch, Grey.

Yeah, I know.

In Butterfly's eyes, the D/s relationship as we define it should be quid pro quo. We should be Sir/sub or Mistress/sub as needed. She's unsure as to when we will know what is needed. I am positive that we will be 100% certain who needs to be in charge and who needs to submit as the situation arises…especially as we get to know one another more. We spend the rest of the evening discussing hard limits, soft limits and D/s expectations. Though I have a high pain tolerance, Butterfly is adverse to intense pain—giving or receiving. We will experiment with different devices, toys, techniques to see which ones work best for us. I was over-the-moon to discover that she was open—pun intended—to anal. It turned me on immensely and completely sent her over the edge when I initiated ass play during our last sex session.

This conversation led to our going to the playroom and my introducing her to all of the toys and devices therein, as items are purchased new when a sub's contract is ended. It just feels strange to use the same toys on different subs—except for my dick, of course, as long as they check out. Ana has informed me that she has recently switched birth control methods from the pill to the IUD, so I know that she had to have a check-up before they inserted the device. I never knew, though, when she was on birth control if the last man that she was active with was David four years ago. I'm really curious about that…is it bad form to ask?

Anyway, she winced at the idea of the genital clamps but thought that the adjustable nipple clamps might be fun. When we got to the punishment devices, she was an unequivocal "No" on whips, canes, and belts. She doesn't mind being bound, but she doesn't like ropes and she's not very fond of gags. Neither one of us wants any of that radical electrode/blood play/needle crap that we saw online, but both of us have decided that we want to experiment with collars. I've never collared a sub though I have been collared before. It wasn't a pleasant experience for me, so I am hoping I can replace that memory with a good one from my Butterfly. We reserve the right to introduce new items and aspects with the approval of the other as time goes on.

No NDAs.  
No contracts.  
No three-month terms.  
No sub-mobiles  
Just me and my Butterfly, loving each other and meeting each other's needs.

It doesn't get any better than this.

* * *

Wednesday morning, I quickly set the wheels in motion to sever my ties with The Pedophile. Once I review our business arrangement - if you can call it that - I quickly have legal draw up the papers to return my portion of the business with no strings attached...except one. I have covertly included a morality clause with two parts. First, if Mrs. Lincoln is arrested, any assets associated with the Esclava Salon chain are to be frozen and maintained by an outside executor pending the outcome of the arrest. Second, if that arrest becomes a conviction - conviction of a crime being defined as all felonies and any misdemeanors except for traffic violations - that the salons and all assets are to liquidated and the proceeds turned over to the Helping Hands foundation.

Someone is going to get that woman and I'll be damned if she's going to continue to use profits acquired from the assistance of one of her victims to help with her defense against others.

I'm banking on the fact that she won't even read this clause, but even if she does, it really doesn't matter. Either she will accept my terms or I will simply liquidate my interest with the financial institutions and let them know that I will no longer be backing Mrs. Lincoln. That will officially leave her bankrupt since most of her business is cosigned by me, and all of her loans will become due immediately. By signing this agreement, I pull out my interest in her business but she gets to keep the financial backing. I sent her a text asking her to meet me in my office at 2pm and bring her legal counsel. She was unsure about the legal counsel but, of course, agreed to meet me.

I discover that I may have to wait a little longer than usual for the information on the background checks that Welch is doing. The Pedophile, of course, is not going to leave a paper trail of her illegal child sex activities. Whatever she has is most likely under lock and key. Even her phone records are coming up empty. Explicit texts concerning sexual activities are made to disposable phones…phones that she probably supplies for her subs until she's finished with them. I tell him to concentrate more on her financials. See where she is spending her money. There has to be some evidence somewhere, and I am going to find it. I have a feeling that I am going to need some leverage in the future—but more importantly, I want her to stop fucking little boys!

The information from Nevada proved much more fruitful. Cynthia Morton still works for the Clark County School District, but is now remarried as Cynthia Crestwood. She has no children, but supports many abused children's charities. That will be my way in to talk to her about Anastasia. I wonder if Anastasia's ordeal is what fueled her passion to rally behind this particular cause? She will be one of the stops on my visit to Nevada. I haven't decided when I am going yet. I need to get my ducks in a roll and a game plan, first.

A little more poking around on Morton uncovered that he is an alcoholic. He has unsuccessfully been to rehab three times. His third failure resulted in his dismissal from his position at the water board—no severance, no pension, no unemployment compensation. He hasn't been able to find work since. Older man in this economy, fired from his old job for drinking—he's likely to never find work again. So now it's up to Mrs. Morton to take care of the household expenses on a nurse assistant's salary—living in Green Valley. They won't be living there too long. I tell Welch to put a tail on Morton and see what his activities are over the next few weeks. He'll be an easy berry to pop.

Now for the Whitmores. Amber hasn't spoken to her family in years—supposedly a disagreement over whom she decided to marry. I guess it didn't matter to them that she moved to New York and is making good money in the fashion industry. She actually has her own line of women's clothing. I need to have Andrea find out how I can set up a phone interview with her…nothing like a little animosity to fuel the giving of information.

Landon left Green Valley in 2001 after he graduated and has only gone back sporadically—for the occasional holiday gathering and even then, not every year. He was engaged to be married in 2006 but the bride never showed up to the wedding. That's got to hurt. The fact that he was in such a hurry to leave after graduation reeks of the exile in which David currently finds himself. The situations are eerily similar—young girl gets assaulted and raped; well-to-do family pays off the victim's family; the accused leaves town. The only thing that doesn't add up is that Landon left for UCLA immediately after graduating and appeared to have returned to Green Valley for the holidays in his freshmen year and for summer vacation the next year. That doesn't sound like a guilty kid in exile. Also, what was the need for payoff and bringing Ana back to Henderson if the threat had now gone to UCLA? Bearing those thoughts in mind, arrows now point to either young Amber or our last candidate, Cody.

It appears that Cody never made it to the altar either, but not for lack of effort from a certain young thing named Carly Madison—also once a student at Green Valley High School. I may need to check her out, too. They were to be married in 2007, but two weeks before the wedding, Cody decided he needed to spend some time in Cabo—and didn't return for six months. This was just after he dropped out of college for the second time. I have no problem with choosing to drop out of college. Hell, I dropped out of college and I'm one of the 10 richest people in America—I think I may have moved up to five now, but I digress. Cody is definitely not making his family proud right now. It appears he had no prospects when he dropped out of college and no real concern for his future, so he just went back home and went to work for dear old dad.

Probably the best news I got from the background checks concerned one Everest Billings—Mr. David's college roommate from University of Washington. As it turns out, armed with a degree in telecommunications, Mr. Billings applied and was accepted as an intern for a very reputable company in the Seattle area. He moved up the ranks quickly and was soon in an upper-management position at Noticon Mobile Communications—a subsidiary of Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

This small bright spot was marred by the news that there was a fire in one of my smaller businesses today - a restaurant in Algona - but I already know what this means. The news won't read:

_**Fire in Restaurant in Algona**_

It'll say:

**_Christian Grey's Algona Interest Goes Up in Flames! Insurance Fraud? Is Grey Enterprises in Financial Trouble?_**

One of the main reasons why I need to get the hell away from Elena Lincoln. Once again, a headline that should say:

_**Salon Owner And Seattle Socialite Elena Lincoln Arrested on Charges of Child Molestation**_

would actually read

**_Christian Grey's Close Personal Friend And Business Partner Involved in Child Trafficking Ring_**

I know it's sounds paranoid, but I speak from experience. Any second now, PR is going to ask me how I want to handle the _Algona_ situation. Oh, the horror!

At 1:45pm, Andrea informs me that the Pedophile has arrived. I summon Marshall from legal to bring the revised business agreement as well as Taylor to keep me from killing the bitch. Once I have all of my people in place, I activate the recording device in my office that I had installed for all business dealings I thought may be shady, and tell Andrea to send her in. She marched in waiting for me to dismiss my staff.

"Have a seat, Mrs. Lincoln. Where is you legal counsel?" I say. Her face falls. Yeah, Bitch. It's not a ruse; this really is a business meeting.

"We've never needed attorneys in our dealings before, Christian." She says, affronted.

"Clearly you have forgotten the rules since our last meeting. You _will_ address me as Mr. Grey. And I would suggest we reschedule this meeting until you can secure your legal counsel." I say flatly. I don't even know if she _has_ legal counsel. She has always deferred to me and _my_ legal counsel...or Carrick.

"What is this all about, Chri-" She starts to do it again.

"_Mr. Grey_!" I bark cutting her off, glaring at her, and causing everyone within the sound of my voice to jump, including Taylor. She gawks at me for a moment.

"Fine!" She spits. "_Mr. Grey, _what is this about?"

"Are you waiving the option to have legal counsel present at this meeting, Mrs. Lincoln?" I ask.

"What is going _on_?" She is clearly losing patience, straightening her back and obviously getting into her Domme stance. Oh, no, Lady. This is _CEO Christian Grey _you are dealing with now. That shit definitely won't work.

"Are you. Waiving the option. To have legal counsel. Present at this meeting, Mrs. Lincoln?" I ask, slower, indicating that something may be wrong with her hearing after all. When the Domme stance didn't work, she walks over to my desk and did the same "boob move" that Butterfly did for me on the counter...only now, I have a face full of silicon.

"Do we really need these people present.._Mr. _Grey?" She purrs. Bitch, step back before you give me _cooties_!

"Mrs. Lincoln, please step away from my desk." I say sternly. She doesn't move but continues to bobble her fake boobs at me. "Mrs. Lincoln, step away from my desk and sit down or I will have Mr. Taylor remove you." Her face, once again, turns whiter than usual and she straightens herself and takes a seat. "Once again, I ask are you waiving the option to have legal counsel present at this meeting, Mrs. Lincoln?"

"Yes, I'm waiving my right to counsel. I just want to know what the hell this is about." She snaps. I nod at Marshall who hands her the documents, in triplicate, already signed by me. She starts to read the heading and recognizes it as the severance of our business arrangement.

"Christian..." I glare at here. "Mr. Grey, fine. What is this?" She is confused and angry.

"What does it look like, Mrs. Lincoln? I am severing our business agreement and gifting you my portion of your salons." I reply.

"Gifting me. Why?" She inquires.

"It's not my intention to see you in financial hardship, Mrs. Lincoln. I just no longer want to be in business with you."

"Why not?" She snaps.

"It's no longer a desirable venture for me." I say flatly. She scowls.

"It's because of _her_, isn't it?" She spits.

"Mrs. Lincoln before you say anything else, I need to let you know that this meeting is being recorded." Her face falls again. What did you think this was - an excuse to see you? As delusional as she is, she probably did!

"Why is the venture undesirable, Chri...Mr. Grey?" She sneers.

"Being in business with you is no longer in my best interest, and that's all that I have to say on the matter. Please read the agreement." She looks down at the document and pretends to scan it. I know she has little to no idea what she is reading.

"If you pull out of the salons, I'll lose everything. As you know, most of my business is based on your goodwill with the financial institutions." She knows that much.

"If you _read the contract_, Mrs. Lincoln, you will see that I am only pulling my interest in your salon chain, not my backing with the financial institutions. However, if you refuse this new agreement, I _will_ liquidate my interests and pull my backing with the financial institutions. That is also there if you_ read the contract._" I make sure that I repeat that phrase. The bitch should have brought a lawyer, but no. She's so busy thinking that she still has control over me that she doesn't see I'm the man holding the cards right now.

Silly little Pedophile.

She sits for several moments scanning the contract and still mentions nothing about the morality clause. Either she didn't see it, wasn't looking for it, or just didn't care. She sighs heavily and closes the folder.

"It everything to your satisfaction, Mrs. Lincoln?" I ask, formally.

"Well, honestly, no." Shit! Did she catch me?

"What do you take issue with?" I ask.

"I take issue with severing our business arrangement." She snaps

"Unfortunately, that's not one of the options offered." I say in full CEO mode. "You have two options. Option A - I gift you my interest and you sign the contract. Option B - I liquidate my interest and pull my backing. And because I am not interested in any of your stalling tactics, one of those options will be implemented by the end of business today. The choice is yours which one it will be." She looks at me in horror.

"She's making you cut me off completely." No longer willing to bicker with this woman about her _own_ actions having consequences, I fold my hands on my desk and wait for her decision. This bitch is _draining_ me, and one way or another I'm going to be done with her today.

"A friendship that has lasted for many years and you are just going to throw it away." She continues.

Still nothing.

"I deserve better than this, Christian. I can't believe you would do this to me."

Got nothing for you, Lady.

"She has you so brainwashed, you can't even make sound business decisions anymore!" She spits. Oh, I'm about to make one right now, Bitch.

"I see you've chosen Option B. Mr. Taylor, will you please remove Mrs. Lincoln?" Just as Taylor makes to remove her, the Pedophile protests, "No. No. No. I'll sign the damn contract!" She snatches her arm away from Taylor and proceeds to angrily sign page after page after page of this contract. After reviewing the contract for her signature, I give a copy to her, one to legal and I let her watch me conspicuously put a copy in my safe.

"One more thing before you leave, Mrs. Lincoln. You may want to take a good look at page four." She flips to page four and reads.

"A non-disclosure agreement!?" She gasps. "You think you need an NDA against _me_?"

"I certainly do!" I spit. "And you had better read it carefully, because it is _retroactive_." I warn. "It covers our business dealings as well as any personal dealings you may have had with me and my family."

"Is this reciprocal?" She asks.

"No, it's not!" I snap. She's seething now.

"You don't need one for me! You better get one for that little bitch!" She snaps. I won't let her see that I want to rip her throat out right now.

"That's no longer your concern. Goodbye, Mrs. Lincoln. Taylor." Take out the trash! Taylor walks over to the Pedophile who throws one last look at me before leaving. I breathe a sigh of relief that she is finally out of my midst and turn off the office's recording device.

"She is one piece of work." Marshall says.

"Tell me about it." I respond. Before I get the words out of my mouth, my desk phone rings.

"Grey."

"Mr. Grey, it's Sheila in PR. How do you want us to handle the Algona situation?"

See what I mean?

* * *

Most of my day has been pretty fucked up. I'm pissed that I'm getting nowhere in my search for evidence against the Pedophile. I know that it's only been one day, but I am just very impatient to bring this situation to a close. I also had to see Carlisle that evening in lieu of those damn group meetings. He has agreed to give me the standing appointment on Wednesday at 4:00. However, his schedule won't accommodate anything else for the second session, so I'm stuck with Monday at 6:30 after the group. Two more weeks and I'll be done with this shit. We were supposed to spend Wednesday night at Butterfly's, but I was so damn wound up from the stress of the day that I just went back to Escala and texted her, telling her that I needed to go for a run. I was glad that she didn't call because I know she was disappointed—I am, too, but I have to work off this stress.

Taylor and I run our usual route to Flynn's office. I haven't talked to Flynn since last Thursday, and I'm not in the mood to drop in on him, especially after I had to fluff up some shit for Carlisle to put on his report. It's amazing to me how most shrinks don't see right through me…except for John…

…And Butterfly.

Sometimes it's hard to remember that she's a psychologist. I just see this beautiful, sexy, woman that is the culmination of all I could have possibly hoped for—not a fucking shrink.

One day, that's going to bite me in the ass.

As I'm trying to rid myself of today's stress, my blackberry starts to ring in my ankle-band. I slow down to a fast walk and look at my blackberry. It's Butterfly. So much for not having to hear the disappointment in her voice.

"Hey, Baby." I answer breathlessly.

"Hey," she says, slowly, her voice concerned. "Are you still running?"

"Yes, I am. I'm sorry, I should have called you…"

"No, it's fine. I just…wanted to make sure that you were okay." She said, tentatively. I wish I could say that I'm okay, but I'm not. This is one of those days where I would come home and work over a sub, but I'm not in that kind of relationship anymore. I don't have the need to inflict the pain, just the need to control. I won't tell her that. I don't know if she's ready yet - or if she'll ever be.

"It's been a really fucked up day, Butterfly. Things just…didn't seem to fall into place." I say as my fast walk turns into a stroll.

"I see," she says softly. "Well, I don't want to interrupt your run. I understand what you need, now." I can't help but feel like her voice sounds a little rejected.

"You know this has nothing to do with you…don't you, Baby?" I ask.

"Yes, I know." She says, her voice still soft.

"I love you, Butterfly."

"I love you, too, Baby." I reluctantly end the call and finish my run home with Taylor right behind me, feeling like a piece of shit because I rejected the one person that I need the most right now. I immediately take to my shower the minute I hit the door and stand under scalding hot water, hoping to wash away the scent of "Asshole."

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I'm taking a big chance by doing this. I really don't know what I am setting myself up for, but I could hear it in his voice. I'm going to take the chance and do this. I'm scared as shit, but I just need to jump. I throw a coat on and set out on my task. When I arrive at my destination, a familiar face greets me and gives me the key that I need. After leaving a trail, I go inside, take of my coat, sit down, and wait.

* * *

_**GREY**_

The shower did little to help my mood. I would call Anastasia, but I think I've left her feeling bad enough tonight. I grab some flannel pants and a t-shirt and head out of my bedroom with intent to get some work done. What the fuck…?

Is that a rose petal? What the hell is this?

Single rose petals lead a trail from my bedroom door, up the stairs, and end at the playroom. Is this what I think it is? Taylor and Mrs. Jones have conspicuously disappeared. I slowly open the door…and there she is—sitting on the large playroom bed, her head bowed and her hands folded in her lap. She is wearing black lingerie that makes her look like she is already bound and my dick immediately jumps to attention. She is extraordinarily perfect. I walk over to her and stand in front of her. She doesn't raise her head.

"Ms. Steele." I say, in that voice mainly reserved for this room.

"Yes Sir," she says, her breathing quickening.

"Why are you here?" I ask. She swallows audibly.

"I thought that Sir may need me." She answers timidly. I can't believe this. How could she know? We've never done this before. How could she know?

"Stand!" I command, and she stands without hesitation. "Walk to the middle of the room." She obediently walks to the middle of the room and awaits instruction. "Turn around and face the back of the room." She turns and I get a look at her beautiful ass, peaking out of the sheer negligee that she is wearing, the "binding" thong putting everything on display. Okay, Ms. Steele. The Dom is here.

"Stay there." I say before I go to change.

It's time to play.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Don't kill me for ending it at the Playroom Scene. There will be a bonus chapter tomorrow - yes, tomorrow, THURSDAY - with the playroom scene. The chapter was just too damn long and I had to divide it into two. **_

_**Cooties: Remember when you were a kid and Mom and/or Dad told you not to kiss the opposite sex because they would give you cooties? Yeah, Christian is talking about that. **_

_**Reciprocal: She-Thing wanted to know if the NDA was reciprocal, which meant that not only could she not say anything to anyone about their past relationship, but Christian couldn't say anything either. Christian let her know that he can tell whoever the fuck he wants to, but she can't tell anybody. **_

_**Please Review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!**_  
_**Lynn x**_


	26. Chapter 26: What You Need

_**Yes, Christmas came early. BONUS CHAPTER! Couldn't leave you hanging without the Playroom Scene. I swear, People, one chapter actually became two and a half or there would have been a 25000 word chapter and that's just TOO long for me (remember, I have to re-read and edit). **_

_**Since it's only been one day, I didn't get a chance to get to all of my reviews. I will get to them but DAMN—you guys had me cracking the fuck up! I had one tell me that Dr. Steele had to find a cure for "Broken Pussy-it is!" I was done when I read that—I was crying, I'm telling you! I couldn't even see! **_

_**To Tempress: OMG! You came out in true Goddess form and RE-ZINGED the broken-pussy reviewer! "Prudish cold fish cock-blockers…" Somebody pass me a tissue; I'm like a proud mama right now! Here's a chapter with some SEX SEX SEX SEX SEX SEX for you! (I FRIKKING love you too, Girl!)**_

_**Thanks to my "guest" reviewers Anailuj, Carol (you read my mind, that's all I'm saying, lol), Hauntedone, Jaimini, Laney, Leantired, LiLi, Naeo99, Rachel from Boston, Rauguste, Soph, , and to my guest reviewers that didn't leave names but still took the time to review. I really appreciate it. **_

_**I HAVE THE BEST READERS IN THE WORLD! I JUST WANT TO SAY THAT.**_

_**Big lemon. BIG BIG BIG lemon. This is my first Playroom scene and I am TOTALLY shooting from the hip on this one. Please be honest with me and tell me what you think.**_

_****__****__**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

_Chapter 26—What You Need_

_**STEELE**_

I can't believe I've come to this man's house uninvited wearing nothing but a trench coat and at least $1500 in Agent Provocateur lingerie. I've had this stuff for years but never found cause to wear it. Now here I sit in Christian's playroom on his gorgeous four poster bed with satin sheets wearing the Whitney collection—bra, panties and suspender garter belt. The Whitney collection is bondage style. The bra is only a ¼ cup with thick straps that cross the top of the cup right across the center of each breast just above my nipples to allow for easy access. Various thin straps are situated in a cage-effect pattern, strategically placed around each breast where my cleavage is, over the top of my breast, up the middle to another wider strip that connects two final thin straps that go over my shoulder. The Whitney thong is merely a thick strap that goes around my waist that splits into two straps at my butt and drops into a provocative crisscross "V" that attaches to two narrower straps that wrap around each thigh. The thick strap disappears into my crevice to connect in the front with a small square crisscross of straps that connect to the wide strap at the top and the thinner straps at the bottom. The Whitney garter belt is made with the same cage-effect pattern as the bra—various thick and thin straps crisscross and connect to top and bottom straps with hook and eye fasteners in the back for easy release. "Covering" this ensemble is the Alina Babydoll—a completely sheer mesh, barely-there nightie trimmed in lace around the hem, up the open front, and around the off-the-shoulder sleeves with satin sashes to tie it together just at the bust. Black silk stockings and black patent-leather Giuseppe Zanotti peep-toe stilettos with ankle straps complete the outfit. To say that I look like I am ready for action is an understatement.

The keyword here is "look" like I'm ready. Inside, I'm fucking terrified.

I don't know what the hell I'm getting myself into. I have no idea what's going to happen…

_You can still get up and make a run for it!_

Just as I was contemplating the thought, the door opens and I see light come into the room from the hallway.

_Too late._

He treads slowly over to me…prolonging my agony I think. Fuck, I hope I did the right thing.

"Ms. Steele." His voice comes out smooth and deep, in such a way that it reverberates through my body and snatches the air out of my chest.

"Yes Sir," I say. Good God, I'm panting already.

"Why are you here?" Oh shit. I think I messed up. In the only voice I can muster, I tell him the truth.

"I thought that Sir may need me." I heard it in his voice. I know I did. I heard it in every word, every pause, every breath. I can be what he needs, and right now, he needs control. I can do this. I know I can.

"Stand!" He nearly barks at me and my legs respond all on their own. I am on my feet before my brain gets a chance to send the message to my body. He follows with commands to stand in the middle of the room and turn away from him, to which I comply. "Stay there," is his last command before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him. I let out a breath I was holding and almost hyperventilate.

Why did he leave me here?

Is he coming back?

Did I piss him off? Take control away from him by topping from the bottom?

A thousand thoughts go through my head as I wait for what seems like an eternity for Christian to return. I am fighting to control my breathing, but I'm not very successful. I can't let him see me like this. If he sees me all flustered and frightened, he will immediately back off and be concerned. This is not about _me_ tonight. This is about _him_.

Get a grip, Steele!

A few deep breaths later and I have relaxed enough to fend off a panic attack or hyperventilating or any other number of embarrassing physical responses to fear. Finally, I hear the door open and close behind me. One last breath…

I hear drawers opening and closing behind me.

_He's choosing his "weapons."  
_Oh why did you have to say that?_  
_

I can hear him padding over to me.

"There are rules for the playroom, Anastasia." _Anastasia_. Here we go. "First, when you come into this room, I will expect for you to be in one of three positions. The position that you are in now is position one. Get on your knees." I drop to my knees as easily as I can in stilettos. "Spread your legs and put you hands on your thighs." I do as I am instructed. "Wider!" His voice commanding, he startled me. I jump and quickly spread my legs as wide as they could go in this position. "Good. This is position two. Go over to the couch and sit." Again, I squirm to my feet, walk over to the couch and sit. "Come all the way to the edge." I scoot my butt to the edge of the couch. "Hands in your lap." I obey. "This is position three. Do you understand the positions, Anastasia?"

There is a lump in my throat, but I manage to choke out, "Ye-yes Sir."

"In this room, you speak only when you are addressed. Do not look at me unless I say so. If you make a sound or look at me without permission, you will be punished. Do you understand, Anastasia?"

"Yes Sir." I feel chastised. His voice is deep, harsh, and commanding. I feel the breath leaving my body again. Hold it together, Steele. We haven't even started yet.

"What are your safewords, Anastasia?" He commands, his voice a little more gentle than before.

_See? You can't do this. You're already wimping out and nothing's even happened yet.  
_I can do this and I will!_  
_

"Bells and whistles, Sir." I say clearly

"Good. Stand." I stand as commanded and he pulls the satin straps to my babydoll to untie it. I watch the satin loosen and I hear My Dom gasp as the babydoll falls open to further reveal the intricate crisscross bondage-style patterns of the ensemble underneath. His fingers only barely touch my skin and I shiver. As he stands closer to me, I now notice that he is wearing some faded, worn jeans that fit him just so right with the button open at the waist.

Fuck.

I want to look at him so badly. I don't know how long I've been here already and I haven't been permitted to look at him once. I know it hasn't been long, but it seem like forever. He pushes the babydoll off my shoulders by its tiny straps and it falls to the floor.

_Hey! Pick that up! That's a $700 piece of lingerie!  
_Shut. The fuck. Up! This is _not_ the time for you to be talking!_  
_

"Take off your panties." Without raising my head, I unhook the suspenders and slide out of the panties, rehooking the stockings when I am done.

"Yes," he hisses. "You are a beautiful sight, Ms. Steele." He says, walking around me and examining me. He is out of my sight for a moment and I wonder what he's doing. Suddenly he snatches me from the side and pulls me roughly against him. I gasp as his hand smacks hard against my ass cheek, grabbing and squeezing it rough. He holds it there as he growls in my ear.

"This is _mine_." He says. "You are here for _my_ pleasure. You belong to _me_. Say it!"

"I belong to you," I say, my voice shaking a bit from the shock of the smack. "Only you, Sir." His hands gently rubs the spot where he smacked me. Then it is gone, and a few moments later, it comes down hard on the other cheek. I whimper involuntarily, then remember that is cause for punishment. Shit. What is he going to do to me?

* * *

_**GREY**_

She looks utterly exquisite standing there with her back to me when I return in my playroom jeans. She's here…in my playroom…and she brought _me_ here. I take a few items from the museum chest and place them on top.

"There are rules for the playroom, Anastasia." I say as I approach her. She compliantly obeys as I instruct her on the three most basic positions I expect to find her in when I come into this room. She seems like she may be losing her nerve when I discussed punishments for speaking out of turn or looking at me, so I softened my voice just a hair when I asked her to recall her safewords and that seemed to bring her back a bit.

"Bells and whistles, Sir." She says, her voice stronger than it was a moment ago. Good girl.

"Good. Stand." It's time for me to unwrap my present, not that I can't already see the Agent Provocateur set that she is wearing underneath. Excellent choice, Ms. Steele, I think to myself as I feel my jeans tighten a bit in the groin area. The straps on the bra cup around her tits perfectly like her breasts are bound by silk Japanese bondage rope. The suspender makes you want to grab on to it and fuck her—_hard_—and she can't get away.

"Take off your panties." I command and she complies immediately, reattaching her stockings to the suspender when she has completed her task. I must touch her.

"Yes! You are a beautiful sight, Ms. Steele." I say as I circle her, trying to decide which part of her I will dominate first. That delicious ass. Yes! I snatch her to me and slap it hard, clutching it to make the sting sink in while relishing the feeling of her skin on my own. Fuck, one hit and I am ready to come. I am going to enjoy this.

"This is _mine_. You are here for _my_ pleasure. You belong to _me_. Say it!"

Reeling a bit from the strike, she says "I belong to you, only you, Sir." Yes, only me, Anastasia. I caress her cheek and slap the other cheek—hard like the first one. She makes a small sound. Hmmm, should I punish her? Let's see.

I go over to the iPod deck and pick a song for tonight's session, something I haven't played in here before. I go back to the museum chest, retrieve my items and put them on the Chesterfield sofa behind her. I need her to be a little mobile but not much, so I also retrieve two of the chains hanging from my suspension system. Adjusting them to her height, I position them where she is standing. I attach a fir lined leather cuff to each of her wrists. "Turn around." She turns around to face me and the Chesterfield sofa.

"Arms above your head." She tentatively raises her hands above her head and I attach the cuffs to the chains hanging from the carabiners. "Spread your legs" Her breath quickens as she spreads her legs. Now she looks like she's attached to my cross—only she standing in the middle of the room. She looks abso-fucking-lutely glorious. Her head is still down and her chest is rising and falling frantically. She reacted the same way when I bound her with my tie. Something about being bound…

"Look at me Anastasia." She hesitates, attempting to regulate her breathing before raising her eyes—but not her head—to mine. "Breathe." I put my hand under her chin and lift her head and she takes two deep breaths. When she is a bit calmer I tell her, "I'm going to punish you, Anastasia." She gulps. "Do you know why?"

"Because I made a sound, Sir." She responds.

"Yes, and what else?" She looks at me confused, my hand still holding her chin.

"I don't know, Sir." She answers.

"For coming to my apartment and enlisting my staff to help you get into my playroom…without permission." She swallows.

"Yes Sir." She says softly. In the same spread leg position, I put my arm around the front of her and begin.

She once said she could do anything in stilettos. Let's see how true that is.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

He likes music when he plays, I see. A sensual song plays in the background about making love outside. With one arm around the front of me, my arms in the air held by cuffs and chains, my Dom begins to spank me—_hard_! The slaps are solid, and they sting! I bite my lip to keep from crying out. My legs are spread apart and there is a certain warmth that I feel in my groin with each smack. I can't explain it. The moment that his hand lands, the pain shoots through my cheeks and down my legs, nearly causing my knees to buckle. But the combination of the hit and the subsequent caress is shooting jolts of pleasure right to my core. This shit is scary—and HOT! I'm trying to process this pain, this pleasure, this unfamiliar ache and I completely lose count of how many times he hit me. Pretty soon, one sting continues into the next, and the next, and the next. I push my weight back on my heels for fear my legs will give out, but that only sticks my ass out further for the next few hits.

Good Lord, how much more of this can I take?

A woman is making sounds of ecstasy in the song now and I almost want to mimic her. As the strikes reverberate through me sending those same shock waves to my center, I feel the need to release. It's rising inside of me, spurred by my Dom's continued punishment, but nothing to bring it forward since there is no stimulation my pleasure center. This _is_ torture. This _is_ punishment. I want to come. _Please_ let me come.

The Bitch dare not speak right now. She knows as well as I do that we are in no way, shape or form in control of this situation. My Dom lands another strike on my tender ass and I now realize that I am biting my lip almost to the point of breaking the skin. As soon as I release it, he strikes me again and I gasp audibly, releasing my breath that I had no idea I was holding. Though my legs and my blessed stilettos are still holding me up, my head has dropped back to sub position and I am wheezing trying to drag in precious oxygen. My Dom is still holding me, the hand that was once striking me is now caressing my sore butt and thighs.

"My God, Anastasia!" He says, his voice growling and his breath just as rapid as mine. "I struck you 32 times before you even flinched." I sure as hell hope that's a good thing because I am wet as fuck and I don't know if I can take anymore spanking! He holds me until my breathing is somewhat back to normal then he walks around behind me…what is he doing?

He's braiding my hair! Okay, this is kinky.

I assume he uses a tie or a rubber band or something to keep the braid from unraveling before he comes back around to the front of me. I am still panting a bit when he reaches his hands between my legs. I gasp again.

"Anastasia!" He gasps in amazement. "You're drenched!" As he begins to rub the moisture around my folds. Oh fuck, what am I supposed to do now? I'm on fire! He inserts one then two fingers into me and I cry out before I can catch myself. Those jolts from before all shoot to my Dom's fingers and my legs start to shake. "You like being spanked, don't you?"

"Yes—yes Sir…" I can barely get the words out. My orgasm is coming. Will he let me…?

"Come on, Baby. Give it to me." He groans. And away I go.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Thirty-two. Thirty-two strikes and she still didn't buckle! When she finally gasped, I knew I had to stop. My hand is stinging deliciously and her ass is a most glorious shade of pink…_dark_ pink. I feel marvelous! Every bit of the day's stress is gone…and we are just getting started. Her spanking was pretty brutal—I didn't go easy on her. I wanted to see what she could take, and she took it all. A punishment spanking is much rougher than an erotic spanking. Hell, not only is her ass going to need some cream, but my palm might need some, too. Of course when I saw how turned on she was from her spanking, I had to reward her with her first orgasm. She was dripping fucking wet! I couldn't let that go to waste. I go to hold her up as she rides out her orgasm, but she has her legs locked and she's not buckling.

This woman is right. She _can_ do anything in stilettos. I'm not easily impressed, but I have to say_—I'm impressed!_

I lick my fingers still dripping with her juices—for _my_ pleasure, because she's not looking at me. Then again, she can't now, can she? And now for phase two.

"I know that you were afraid, Ms. Steele," I say, "which is why I didn't blindfold you." I pull the blindfold out of my back pocket and show it to her. "What are your safewords, Anastasia?"

"Bells and whistles, Sir." She says softly.

"And when do you use them?" She takes a breath.

"Bells when I am reaching my limits and whistles when I want you to stop immediately, Sir."

"Good, be sure to use the safewords if you need them. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," She answers nervously. Once I put the blindfold over her eyes, her breathing changes immediately. She is always so responsive to the smallest things. A blindfold heightens your senses anyway, but I think doubly so for Anastasia. Beautiful, exquisite Anastasia. Control yourself, Grey, I think to myself as I rub my pulsing cock through my jeans. As I examine her perfectly petite frame, her breathing becomes more controlled. I touch her stomach with just my fingertips, and she jumps. She does not know where to expect my caress next. I gently tickle her thigh above the line of her stockings. Her breathing picks up again. That familiar sheen of sweat is slowly starting to form on her skin. I pull down the quarter flap of her bra leaving the strap across her breast in place and exposing her nipple. It responds immediately to the release and perks up in anticipation of the next step.

I am going to recreate the scene she described to me from the BDSM club.

I pick up a pair of adjustable nipple clamps with a chain attached. I fondle her beautiful perky nipples with my finger and thumb. She is breathing heavily again trying to not make a sound.

"You can make sounds, Anastasia, but no words, understand?" I say.

"Yes Si….ah!" Before she finishes her response, I suck her tasty nipple into my mouth. Her head falls back as I tease and torment her nipple and she moans in ecstasy. From my pocket, I remove a set of adjustable nipple clamps attached to a chain. I attach the first one to her tender nipple, tightening it until holds just enough to stay put. Anastasia breathing has become very erratic. She doesn't know what to make of this latest sensation. I take her free breast in my hand and bring my lips to her ear.

"Breathe, Anastasia." I whisper before licking the shell of her ear and watching the resulting shudder. I am teasing her breast and nipple in my hand as I watch her chest rise and fall in anticipation, fear, and arousal. Again, I suck and tease her nipple to prepare it for the clamp while I gently tug the chain on the already attached nipple.

"Aaahhh!" She moans. This is wonderful! Her first time in the playroom and it is splendid. I attach the second clamp and adjust it accordingly. I step back and take in the sight. Anastasia standing eagle spread in the middle of my playroom in stilettos and sexy fucking bondage lingerie chained to the ceiling—nipple clamps hanging from her beautiful breasts, shooting just enough pleasure and pain to her core to be only just bearable. And her ass is a delicious shade of pink. I rub my dick again as I walk around her while she is panting in obvious arousal. I pull gently on the chain again and watch her breathing respond.

"Do you like that, Anastasia?" I ask.

"Ye…yes Sir…very...much!" She breathes. I swear she looks like she could come again right now. I take my deerskin flogger from the wall. I rub her stomach gently, then her back, then her thighs. Then I strike—just the way that she described it to me that night—strike and pull, so that the straps wrap gently around her body in a caress but the ends pierce like little pins…pain and pleasure.

"Aaarrrggg!" She cries out. "Oh God!"

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"No words, Anastasia!" He commands, and I immediately bite my lip. What is he doing? What is he hitting me with? Is that a flogger? My mind immediately goes back to the S&M scene that I described and the way the beautiful young girl enjoyed her torment. Before I could finish my thought, he strikes again, across my stomach so that it wraps around my side and pierces my back—also hitting the chain attached to the nipple clamps and sending a myriad of sensation through my body.

"Ah…ah…ah…" I'm trying to catch my breath. You asked for it, Steele, and now you're getting it. Another strike across my legs wraps around and tortures the tender meat of my inner thigh. I won't be able to take 32 of these, but for right now…

"More…please…Sir…" He stops for a moment. I hear his breath catch. He is behind me. His hand falls hard on my ass and I scream from the pain.

"Silence!" He growls, arousal thick in his voice, his erection pressing hard into my back and his hand around my neck holding my chin. "No words! Understand?"

"Yes-yes Sir." I whimper. He is feral…and primal…and frightening right now. Fuck, I feel like I'm going to combust! What's happening to me?

_Christian.  
_Oh, no, we're not having it this time.  
_This aint for you! This is for me.  
_Oh shit, let her fucking talk. You're gone anyway._  
_

The flogger soon makes contact with my skin again and I writhe from the pain…and the pleasure. My Dom strikes me several more times before dropping the instrument and planting gentle kisses on my shoulders. The air on my skin feels intense—every sensation is heightened. For the first time, I feel my stilettos failing me, like I might buckle any second. I am so aroused, I almost can't catch my breath.

"Are you enjoying this, Anastasia?" He says, his hands roughly holding my cheeks.

"Yes Sir…yes…" I say between breaths.

"Good, because I have one more present for you." He says. He inserts something into me, short and wide, made of rubber. I gasp! It almost made me come.

_Oh, Christian._

I feel him attaching straps to my thighs. What the hell is this? Something long and lumpy is between my legs reaching to the back of me. That's when I feel the lube massaging my rosebud, his finger requesting entry into my ass.

_Oh yes, Christian. _

As if he heard the Bitch, his finger breaks past the barrier massaging the sensitive nerves found there.

_Oh, FUCK!_ "Aaaaahhh!" Oh God, this is delectable! I push my ass against his hand for deeper stimulation and he pulls me against him.

"Still," he breathes. "I want you still." Oh my God.

_My body is yours, Christian. Do what you want to me…_

I feel something inserted into my ass—rubber, like what is inside my pussy, but not as wide—a little longer, maybe, I don't know. He adjusts this instrument and now something is also touching my clit. I can now tell that this is one piece—touching my clit, in my pussy, and in my ass.

He removes my blindfold and he is standing in front of me, his erection freed from those sexy ass jeans and he is stroking himself—his eyes blazing silver. This is definitely not the same tortured man that was on the phone with me earlier. He is so fucking hot.

I drop my head almost immediately. He didn't give me permission to look at him yet. He raises my chin with his hand, forcing me to look him in the eye. He backs away from me a couple of steps and sits on the Chesterfield sofa facing me and still stroking himself. My mouth starts to water as I watch him pleasuring himself. My muscles start to clench deliciously on whatever this is that he has strapped between my legs. He gripping himself hard and stroking deep, his throbbing member engorged as he eyes me carefully. His finger pushes a button on a remote in his free hand and…

_FUCKING HELL!_

"Hhaaaaaaahhhhhh! Hah! Aaah!" I squeal as this…thing…that he has strapped to me starts to vibrate inside my pussy, inside my ass and mercilessly against my clit. I am watching my Dom grunting and stroking fiercely at his dick while I am forced to absorb the constant tingling and vibration in my nether-regions.

"Oh God!" I scream! Fuck silence, this is unbearable! "Oh God!" My Dom's face is strained and I watch as he ejaculates, long streams of cum shooting impressively into the air. My legs begin to shake violently as I watch him squeeze every bit of pleasure out of himself, and I grab the chains holding my cuffs in an attempt to steady myself. While he is panting heavily on the Chesterfield, I freefall from whatever willpower I had previously. I release a piercing scream as my body erupts into an earth-shattering orgasm—the force of which causes the chain to swing and the clamps to pull mercilessly on my nipples, drawing out the sensation even more.

I have no idea what my Dom saw because I have transcended this plane and I am _gone_—floating around somewhere in Orgasmland. I just know that when I float back down to planet Earth, he has removed his jeans and is holding me around my waist while he is un-strapping the tantalizing torture device from my thighs. I shudder in pleasure when he pulls it out of my rectum and again when pulls it from my core. "Aaah!" I say, releasing a breath I was holding and collapsing into him as much as the chains above me would allow. He carries me to the big four-poster bed and sits me down.

"On your knees, Anastasia." He commands. Oh my God, we're not done, _yet_?

I obediently scramble to my knees on the bed, the chains above me giving me more purchase to move since my body is higher than it was when I was standing. My arms are at a 90-degree angle now which provides sweet relief to my aching shoulders. "Face the head of the bed." Grasping the chains for leverage, I turn my body so that my behind is facing the foot of the bed and I am looking directly at the intricate headboard far at the head of the bed while my Dom adjusts the chains. He climbs onto the bed in front of me, on his knees. He once again has to lift my chin to look at him as I follow the rules and don't look at him without permission.

"You are beautiful, Anastasia." He says softly, his voice full of reverence before he kisses me softly then deeply. I was spent a moment ago, but now arrows of arousal shoot through my body again. What this man does to me! He breaks the kiss just as he pulls gently on the chain.

"Ah…ohoo…" I gasp. My nipples are getting tender from the weight of the chain and the clamps, but the pain only adds to the excitement. He licks my lips again before he says,

"Don't come." Then he slides his head between my legs and the torture begins anew.

* * *

_**GREY**_

I normally don't jack off with my subs but this is different. Anastasia is unbelievably desirable standing there with the Stinger attached to her and when I see her body start to shake, I can't hold back anymore. I have of course, completely destroyed my playroom jeans and as I stand to take them off, she detonates into an orgasm, the accompanying shrill I am sure they heard all the way in the Marketplace.

And she's going down.

I step out of my jeans and move like a panther to get to her before she drops or she may dislocate her shoulder. After I release the Stinger, I take her to the bed for our last activity of the evening. I can't help but kiss her beautiful lips—first the soft delicious pair on her face and now the ones in the valley below. I am underneath her so that my hands clasp over her thighs and cup her behind. At the right angle, my nose could tickle her behind while my tongue slurps lavishly at her delicious mound. Her erotic noises fuel me to suck and tease her tender flesh relentlessly. I am holding her still against my face so she can't grind, her legs open exposing her juicy, sweet fruit to my hot, hungry tongue. Her juices slide down to my mouth as I greedily lap every drop, engorging myself on her magnificent flavor. She is lost in the throes of passion and I feel her clit start to stiffen and pulsate. I know that she is close.

Not yet, Baby. Not yet.

I slide out from under Anastasia and turn so that I am lying on the bed facing her.

"Come here, Anastasia." I command. She again uses the chains to steady herself as she crawls up the bed to straddle me. She knows what's about to happen.

"Fuck me." I say. She climbs over me and slowly lowers herself onto my waiting erection. Damn, she feels good. She is so wet and tight. She rises and falls slowly, her pussy wrapping tight around my dick.

"Harder!" I growl as I grab her thighs. She begins to bounce—hard!

"Yessss." I hiss as I raise my hips to meet hers every time she drops. I pull gently on the chain for the nipple clamps.

"Aahh. Aahhh!" She whimpers and I swear her walls get tighter. Milk me, Baby. That's what I'm talking about!

"Is it deep enough for you, Baby?" I ask. "You want it deeper?" I grab her hips and slam up into her bring her down hard on my cock and holding her there while I circle my hips.

"Fuuuuck!" She screams, the nipple chain jerking up and down from the impact. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." She mumbles.

"Did you say something, Ms. Steele?" I say, digging my fingers into her hips and slamming into her again, circling my hips.

"Aaaahhh. No Sir!" She screams, panting in ecstacy.

"Are you _sure_?" Slam! "I _thought_…" Slam! "…I _heard_…" Slam! "…you _say_…" Slam! "…_some_thing!" Slam, wiggle! She is shaking.

"Oh God! No Sir! No Sir!" She wails. "Aaaaahhh." She's going to come any second. I still and let her catch her breath. I told her not come.

"Fuck me, Anastasia." I growl. "Fuck me hard and fast! Make me come." That's when she does something that even surprises me. She takes the excess chain from the ceiling and wraps it around each of her wrists where the cuffs are so that she can get a firmer grip on the chain to stabilize her upper body and allow more movement in her hips and legs.

Boy, did that work! She is riding my dick with friction, power and conviction!

"That's right, Baby. Fuck me!" I growl, my fingers digging deeper into her hips.

"Ah….ah….ah…..ah….ah…." Each moan is getting higher and higher and I'll know she'll be coming soon. I raise my hips to give her a deeper stroke. Fuck, this shit is good. They don't make _pornos_ that look like this!

"Yeah, Baby! Take it! Sssssss." I hiss as I feel my release coming. Her head is thrown back and I feel her begin to shake. I stroke deeper with her as I feel her begin to clench around me.

"Oh fuck, Baby, Yes! Yes!" It's right there, right there waiting for me. "Come, Anastasia. Now!" And there it is. She detonates into unashamed screams of passion, bouncing off the walls of my Playroom and floating over Elliot Bay and Puget Sound!

"Ah…Ah…ah fuck! Baby!" Three more thrusts and I empty violently into her and I collapse onto the bed to catch my breath! Fuck! That was one of the best sessions this room has seen in…I don't know…ever? Every other session had no meaning, no feeling…but this time, fucking hell! I raise my head to look at her and her head is hanging back while she hangs breathlessly suspended from the chains.

Oh shit! I have to get her down from there!

She whimpers as I lift her off of my flaccid member. I have to lift her a bit to untangle the chains from her hands and wrists. I unhook the restraints from the chains and her arms drop to her sides while her head lulls on my shoulder. I lay her gently on the bed. She is going to need a lot after that session. First, I release and remove the nipple clamps and she whines a bit from the release. The lips and tongue are still the best soothing for that discomfort, so I gently lick and suckle her nipples to give her a little relief.

"Roll over, Baby." I say, and she rolls the best that she can—nearly unable to move. When she makes it to her stomach, I get a better look at her beautiful ass—still pink from her spanking. She has mild striping here and there from the flogger. I remove the wrists restraints which, of course, left no marks, but she has some pretty brutal bruising from holding on to the chains. I remove her sexy shoes from her tiny feet. Size 5—yes, I will need that information. I unhook her stocking from her suspenders and gently roll them off her legs. The suspender is hook-and-eye in the back so I open it and her bra to examine the damage more closely. Not too bad and nothing permanent. I go to the en suite and get the Arnica cream and begin to massage her back, her behind, her thighs, and her shoulders. She moans appreciatively as I begin to sooth the pains in her muscles and her skin. I massage her feet and her legs and I can hear her breathing change. I know she is falling asleep. I grab the robe from the en suite to cover myself then I gather our clothes and put them in a pile to pick up later. I wrap my baby in the satin sheet and carry her downstairs to my room…_our_ room.

That feels strange…but…not.

I lay her on the bed and she just falls like a sack of potatoes. I quickly go to the kitchen to grab some Advil and a glass of juice. She really should take a bath, but she is completely rung out.

"Baby?" I gently rouse her from her sleep. "Baby?"

"Hmm?" She whimpers.

"I need you to take these or you're going to hurt in the morning." She's going to hurt anyway. She sits up as much as she can and I put the pills in her mouth. She sips a little juice to swallow the Advil and falls back down on the pillows. Shit! I forgot her hands. I go into the en suite for more Arnica cream and gently apply it to the bruises in her hands. I hope these don't bother her too much. I don't want her to not be able to use her hands. Once I'm done, I gently kiss each of her fingers. She just subbed for me…when I really needed it, she subbed for me. She's probably never subbed in her life, and she did it for me. I turn out the bedside light and lie next to her. She rolls over and snuggles her body into mine, her face in my chest.

My Butterfly.

I put my arms around her and hold her close to me. I gently unravel the braid in her hair and let it cascade beautifully over her pillow. I kiss her forehead and her hair. This is where she belongs. Here in my arms. Always.

"I love you, Anastasia." I say, right before I fall into a blissful sleep.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Oh hell! Hell, hell, hell, hell! I am so sore! I whimper as I try to move my arms. They are stiffer than I think they have ever been…_ever_! I have patients to see—I can be lying here unable to move! Good God, that was more of a workout than I thought it would be. I definitely do not welcome the sunshine this morning. No wonder his subs only did this shit on weekends. You need a whole damn day to recuperate! I'm never going to be able to keep up with this man. I make a mental note to have Marilyn make me another appointment with Luc—I've got to build my stamina up.

"Oh, God, help me." I whine as I try to push myself off the bed. I hear the bathroom door open and within moments, strong hands are helping me into a sitting position and rubbing my aching shoulders.

"Oho God…" I whimper as Christian starts to massage the kinks out of my shoulders. I look at my hands. There is slight bruising from when I was gripping the chains. The memory sends a chill down my spine and straight to my core.

"Too much?" He says, softly while gently kissing my back.

"I may need to pace myself a bit in some areas next time." I say, rolling my neck. He freezes for a moment. I look over my shoulder. "Christian…?"

"I wasn't sure how you would feel after your first experience…it's good to hear you say 'next time.'" He kisses my shoulder again. I turn around as much as I can and touch his cheek. Looking him lovingly in the eyes, I kiss him gently. He takes my hand in his and touches his forehead to mine. "How did you know?" He asked. I sighed heavily.

"I could hear it in your voice. I don't know what happened yesterday, but I knew you needed me…and you weren't going to ask." I replied. I winced as he gathered me into his arms and kissed me deeply.

"I knew you would be good for me," he said between kisses. "I _knew_ you would." He set me gently back down on the bed. "What's hurting, Butterfly?" I mentally survey the damage.

"My muscles hurt more than anything. That means I need to get back to the gym." He raise an eyebrow at me.

"Luc?" He says, tentatively.

"Yeah. He'll get his shit together and do his job if he knows what's good for him!" I snap. Christian laughs at me.

"Settle down, Killer." He says with mirth. I smile back. "My hands hurt a bit." I say.

"Yeah," he says opening my palm. "I saw them last night. I knew you might have some problems with them today." He picks up two Advil from the night table. "Open." I open my mouth and he puts the pills in then gives me some orange juice."What time is your first patient?"

"Ten o'clock." I say trying to stretch again.

"You have time for a bath. You should soak a bit." He coaxes.

"If I soak, I'll never get out of here." I protest.

"If you don't, you'll never make it though the day." He retorts. He's right. My muscles are way too sore to even get out of bed and my butt hurts, too. Oh, and my nipples are tender.

"Okay, but I may fall asleep in there." I say truthfully. He goes into the bathroom and fills the tub and I smell my Banbu lemongrass citrus bath oil. I know you have to order that especially from Wynn. When he comes back into the bedroom, I ask, "Christian, how did you know?"

"I pay attention." He says, sitting on the bed next to me and kissing my hand again. He pulls the covers down and looks at my body. "You don't have any bruising from the flogger. How do you feel?" I shiver again thinking about the gentle lashing from last night. He looks at me concerned.

"Was it too much, Baby? Really?" He asks.

"No, I…" I pause and drop my head. He puts his hand in my hair.

"Baby…please, tell me." He asks. I don't know why I'm so embarrassed by this.

"I…liked it, Christian." I say, shyly. I know my face is turning every shade of pink…

Maroon…  
Cupid…  
Wineberry…  
Fuschia…

_Hello World, I'm Ana and I'm a closet freak.  
_Yeah, I think that was _you_ I heard last night calling his name…  
_Uh…yeah._

Christian takes my head in his hands. "Oh, Baby…" he says with longing in his voice before he plants another dizzying mind-blowing kiss on my lips. His mouth travels down my neck and then to my tender nipples where his tongue gently massages them.

"Ah…Christian." I moan tangling my fingers in his hair. "We don't have time, Baby." I say, dropping my head back and getting lost in his sensual massage.

"I know, Baby." He says against my breast. "I know they're tender and I'm just trying to give you some relief." He's right, I am feeling some relief from the tenderness. He switches to the other nipple and I almost leap off the bed.

"Christian, please." I protest. I swear my nipples are so sensitive I might come any second. He has mercy on me and stops his massage, smiling knowingly at me.

"Better? A little at least?" He says.

"Better," I say, taking deep breaths to calm myself. I lifts me off the bed and carries me to the bathroom.

"I can walk, you know." I tease.

"I know," he says, smelling my hair before putting me down. "But I like carrying you."

"Why?" I ask. He shrugs.

"I don't know. I just do." He holds my hand as I step into the water. Whew! It's hot! Good God, this man must scald himself in the bathtub.

"I know it's hot, but you need it for your muscles. Is it _too_ hot?" He asks.

"No, I can take it." I say as I lower myself into the tub. Christian stays in the bathroom with me though he doesn't get into the tub with me. I guess he draws the line at going into the office smelling like lemongrass. He takes a glass from the sink and kneels by the tub.

"Hold your head back." He says. I hold my head back and he fills the glass with water from the tub to wet my hair. The hot water feels so good on my scalp.

"Mmmmm." I purr as he adds his shampoo and massages my scalp.

"Are there still any doubts?" he asks softly.

"Doubts about what?" I question.

"That we will know who needs to sub and who needs to dominate and when?" He says. I smile to myself.

* * *

It was very hard tearing myself away from Christian and that wonderful bath this morning, but I have responsibilities. I get to the office just in time to grab another coffee before my 10:00 gets there. It's a new patient since I have opened my waiting list to fill my newly opened Mondays and Thursdays. I still haven't completely filled the days, but it's a start. My new patient Melanie has been diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. It's a perfectly curable ailment with a survival rate of 85% if it is caught in time. In Melanie's case, it was not. She is now at stage IV and does not expect to live much longer. I normally don't do dignity therapy since it's not my specialty, but Melanie was very insistent that I came highly recommended and I was who she needed to see.

When she is wheeled into my office, she looks as if she doesn't have much time left at all. She is very pale and frail, easily not more than 100 pounds. Her clothes are bright and colorful and she has lost all of her hair due to the chemotherapy, even her eyebrows and her eyelashes. She doesn't bother wearing the customary scarf to cover her baldness. When I asked her why, she answered with mirth, "That scarf is to make others around me feel comfortable. I'm not comfortable. Why should they be?" I have to say that I like Melanie. She reminds me in more ways than one to remember what's important in life—to grab it with both hands, hold on tight and make the most of it. I can't help thinking about Ray and Christian while Melanie talks. I see flashbacks of the happy times in my life…

Allen and me jumping off the rocks into the water in the creek behind our house in Montesano…

Walking across the stage with my degree from U-Dub…

The great times I have with my friends…

Being with Christian…

Watching someone recap the events of their life has a way of making you truly think about your own.

I send Melanie out to make another appointment with Marilyn when her session is complete. I realize that my Saturday standing date with the gang will have to be cancelled due to the meeting of Christian's folks on Saturday, so I summon Siri on my iPhone to mass-text the partners in crime.

_****Food and libations tomorrow night. What do you say?****_

Within moments, I start to get responses from my familiar five.

_****No Saturday this week?**  
**__****My evening's free**  
**__****Short notice. Let me get back to you**  
**__****Sounds like a plan**  
**__****Stag or drag?****__**  
**_

That last statement made me think. I've spent every night this week with Christian. I have no desire to change anything, but he might. Granted, I fulfilled a definite need for him last night, but maybe he was looking for some time to himself. There's only one way to find out, right? I fire off a text to Christian. Easier to reject someone by text than in person, right?

_****Hey Babe. Thinking about doing one of my dinner parties tomorrow. Just me and my friends, do you mind?****_

I waited for a moment, thinking that he could be in a meeting or anything right now and I'm send him silly texts about dinner. He did respond:

_****Just your friends? No significant others?****_

Hmm…how do I take that?

_****Did you want to come?****_

There's a step out onto the plank. You know he's no good in groups, Steele. Why would you put him on the spot like that?

_****Would you like for me to come?****_

Is he leaving this up to me, now, or trying to get out of it? Fine—just put it out there.

_****Yes, I would. I know all of my friends' significant others but they don't know mine. If it's not too much trouble. I know about you and crowds****_

Ticky tock. Ticky tock. Ticky tock. Ticky tock. Ticky tock. Ticky tock…

_****How about my place? There's plenty of room****_

Am I seeing this correctly? Party at Christian's! Heeeeeeyyy!

_****Are you sure you don't mind? I would love that!****_

I barely hit send, I get a response.

_****Not at all. Just tell them to go easy on me. ;-)****_

I'm all giddy! I'm going to have a dinner party at Christian's fabulous penthouse! I will, that is, assuming I can rally the troops. I fire off another mass message:

_****Drag. Tomorrow night at Christian's penthouse** **_

Again, barely hit the send button when:

_****Oh, count me in!**  
**__****We'll be there, fa' sho'!**  
**__****Changing my plans…what's the address?**  
**__****Oh hell yes!****__**  
**_

* * *

_**GREY**_

Another dull day at the office. I spend most of the time thinking about Butterfly and the remarkable session that we had in my playroom last night. My hand still stings a bit from that masterful spanking she withstood and I have to adjust my pants thinking about her glorious ass all pink and beautiful for me. I still can't believe her very first time she just offered herself up to me…no coaxing, no convincing, no prep. And boy did I need it _bad_ yesterday. I just felt like my mo-jo was off and I just needed something to straighten it back out again. Thinking about what The Pedophile actually did to me has left a bad taste in my mouth for the really hard shit—the whips, the canes, the paddles, the belts—but I will admit that I still need _some_ of it. And Butterfly likes the flogger…

Down, Greystone!

I am lost in thoughts of a beautiful Butterfly fucking me relentlessly on my four-poster playroom bed when my blackberry goes off. Butterfly wants to see her friends tomorrow night, probably because of the Helping Hands meeting on Saturday. I can barely stand going the days without her, let alone the nights. If she hadn't ignored my request last night and stayed at home instead, I'd probably be climbing the damn walls by now. I can't keep her from her friends. The last thing I would want is for her to become a recluse like me…

A recluse like me…

She's taught me so much already. I wonder…

_****Just your friends? No significant others?****_

Damn! Did I just covertly invite myself out with Ana and her friends? What if she doesn't _want_ me to come?

_****Did you want to come?****_

Of course, I want to go! But I don't want to sound too eager:

_****Would you like for me to come?****_

Shit…that might not be eager enough. If we keep going back and forth, I'll let her off the hook.

_****Yes, I would. I know all of my friends' significant others but they don't know mine. If it's not too much trouble. I know about you and crowds****_

Why do I feel like the kid who just asked the most popular girl in school for a date to the prom and she said yes? Hell, I didn't even go to my prom. More of my life just lost because of that damn blonde woman. All the more reason to jump head first into life now:

_****How about my place? There's plenty of room****_

Home court advantage may be a little less intimidating for me. Hell, I'm a little scared, I'll admit it.

_****Are you sure you don't mind? I would love that!****_

And the fear just drifted away:

_****Not at all. Just tell them to go easy on me. ;-)****_

* * *

That night Butterfly and I went to an exclusive adult toy store in Bellevue and shopped for collars. She got to pick mine and I got to pick hers. We couldn't pick just one—so we each got five to test out. My favorites for her had to be the pearl glamorous choker collar (it has matching earrings) and aluminum link collar. I swear I almost nutted myself when I saw her wearing it. We also got her a pink one, a braided pearl one and a black leather one with white trim. For me, she picked a woven metal and leather collar (I think that's her favorite), a black leather and chrome collar (a close second), a black and blue collar (of course—blue is her favorite color), a wide black locking leather collar, and a black collar with hearts. I told her that the last one looked a little girlie. She disagrees. Hey, she has to look at it, not me.

At Butterfly's prompting, I also got the silk restraints, the deluxe door cuffs, and some liquid latex. As much as I would like to test some of our new toys, I really put Butterfly though the paces last night. So instead, I treat her to another hot bath and a hot oil massage to help with the aches. The massage knocked her right out pretty early. I took this moment to set a plan in motion that I had been thinking about for a couple of days. I pull the business card out of my wallet and dial the number.

"Hello, Allen?...This is Christian Grey…I'm good, how about you?...Yes, I'm looking forward to it, too…Listen, I have something that I want to do for Ana, but I need a little help…are you busy around lunchtime tomorrow?"

After I hang up the phone, I treat myself to Butterfly falling asleep in my arms yet again.

"Good morning, Gail." I speak as I am walking to the breakfast bar.

"Good morning, Mr. Grey." She says as she sits my breakfast in front of me. "Is Ms. Steele joining you?"

"In a moment, and it's okay, I know that she calls you Gail." I begin to eat my breakfast trying to ignore Gail's knowing smile. "We're going to be having guests tonight." I add. Now she's looking at _me_ like the beast with two heads.

"Guests? Is your family coming tonight, Mr. Grey?" She asks.

"No, friends of Ana's. It's a dinner party—she does it all the time. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind sticking around and helping for while. I know it's usually your night off and…" She is staring at me like I just hit her. "If you already have plans…" I continue. She blinks her eyes a few times.

"No…it's just…a _party_, Sir?" She says incredulously. "You've just never _had_ a party here, Sir."

"Well, apparently, that's about to change." I say as I continue to eat my breakfast, trying to hide my smile and my excitement. I look up to find Mrs. Jones smiling back at me.

"Yes, Sir," She says, "I'd be more than happy to stick around." She refills my coffee as Ana comes out of the bedroom.

"Good morning," she says kissing me on the cheek. "Good morning, Mrs. Jones."

"Good morning, Ana. We can drop it…he knows." Gail says to her. She looks at Gail and just laughs.

"Good!" She exclaims as she sits on the stool next to me.

"Your bagel is in the toaster. Coffee?" Gail offers.

"Please." She responds.

"Mr. Grey tells me that we are having a party this evening. Do you need me to go by the market for anything? I can start hors d'oeuvres before you get back if you like." Gail says, bringing Butterfly her coffee. She looks from me back to Gail.

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that. I do this alone all the time." Butterfly protests.

"Oh, I would love to help out. We've _never_ had a party here. It would be my pleasure." Gail assures her.

"If you're sure you don't mind…I mean, it's supposed to be your night off."

"Oh, no, I'd love to!" Gail says. Butterfly smiles.

"Well, I would really love the help!" She says finally.

"Good! Then it's settled." Gail says.

"Okay. I'll call you around 11 when I get a break and we'll map out a game plan. Today is my short day and I'll be off at 1." Shit! I forgot about Fridays being short days for Butterfly. I have to rework my plan.

After Butterfly finishes her bagel and coffee, she and Davenport head to her office. I quickly call Forsythe.

"Allen…change of plans…"

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Playroom song: Trey Songz—Inside, Pt 2**_

_**I will try to get the story right when I discuss Melanie and her illness. I'm not 100% familiar with it, but my little brother died of it, so I'm a little acquainted with it.**_

_**Please review- - I'm shaking in my knickers...**_


	27. Chapter 27: Tiger Lioness Leopard Cougar

_**I haven't gotten a chance to read my reviews - again. It's been an ugly week and I wanted to get your chapter to you. In my defense, 1) you all got three chapters this week and 2) this is probably the longest chapter you've ever gotten from me. I'm sorry it's late, but again - ugly week. I do thank all of my readers and reviewers for keeping me going. You guys mean a lot to me.**_

_**Having said that, I have three words for you guys—THE MASTER'S MUSE! You must, must, MUST go check out this fanfic by Anisurnois. Oh. My. God. She is a fabulous writer. Please go show her some love. She already has a huge following. So if you're not already reading it, I know you'll love it!**_

_****__****__****__**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

_Chapter 27—Tiger Lioness Leopard Cougar_

_**STEELE**_

I am as giddy as a teenager. Tonight I am having my first dinner party with Christian! And only a week after we have consummated our relationship. I know it seems fast—hell, it's a whirlwind—but I love him and I know without a doubt that this is where I want to be.

I'm trying to figure out my menu for the party tonight. I know that we will definitely have ten people in attendance and no concerns of do-drops at Escala—thank God. I usually have a menu planned well in advance, but since this is so spur of the moment, I have to come up with something quick, efficient, and delicious. Thank God for Gail—she is magnificent! I call her to discuss some meal ideas since we are pressed for time and between the two of us, we came up with:

Lemon chicken  
Lamb and shrimp kebabs  
Sun-dried tomato and ricotta bruschetta (you know I have to have my bruschetta)  
Deviled eggs with cilantro and curry  
Orzo salad with grape tomatoes, feta, and mint  
Asparagus and snow peas sautéed in a lime vinegarette  
Butter garlic cheesy crusted potatoes (of course)  
Honey-Vanilla ice cream sandwiches (which is just butter cookies and honey-vanilla ice cream)  
Caramelized plum pound cake  
Ginger Iced Tea topped with sparkling Moscato  
Carolina Peach Sangria  
And whatever libations are brought

I shut the office down at 1:00pm and Chuck and I went to the Marketplace to meet Gail. She is a joy to shop with—she knows that place like the back of her hand. She introduced me to her favorite spice stand that had exotic concoctions from all around the world. I didn't even know the stand was there, and I come to the Marketplace almost every weekend!

"Apparently, I'm to ask you for your recipe for butter garlic cheesy crusted potatoes." Gail says to me as we are picking the flowers for the centerpieces. I sink into myself a little. I remember that although it was a source of humor for me and Christian, it could also have been a slight point of contention for Taylor and Gail. She smiles kindly at me. "Don't worry, anything that I can do that keeps these men happy is fine by me. Do you mind sharing it with me?" I let out a breath I didn't know that I was holding.

"Of course, I'll share it with you, Gail." I said, returning her smile. "We'll be making it tonight. They're really easy…"

Gail and I get lost in our conversation about dinner and my crazy friends. She mentions that Christian has never had people over to the apartment _en masse_ like this—no one besides his family and that "awful woman" as Gail calls her. I find it strange that she can be best friends with his mother but no one else close to Christian seems to like her—no one _I've_ met anyway. It makes me question what I'm going to be facing tomorrow.

"Can you tell me anything about Christian's family?" I ask. "I'm going to be meeting them tomorrow and I just don't know what to expect. To be honest, I'm a little afraid. I mean, if Elena is any indication…" Gail smiles at me.

"I can't tell you much," she begins. "I can tell you that his parents are wonderful people and I am just as bewildered as you are that Mrs. Lincoln is a friend of the family. It just doesn't fit." She puts her hand on my back. "I wouldn't worry if I were you, Ana. Besides having to deal with that vulture, I think you'll do just fine tomorrow." Our conversation is interrupted by Chuck.

"Ana, I think we need to wrap things up here and leave." He says with urgency.

"Why?" I say with a frown. I am enjoying my outing with Gail and getting the supplies for our dinner party.

"I just received word from Manchester. He's David's new tail. David is somewhere in the Marketplace." Shit! Are you kidding me? Is he here for a purpose or is he still stalking me? This man had better leave me alone if he knows what's good for him. I do a quick scan of the general vicinity. No Edward. I sigh deeply.

"Chuck, you will protect me if Edward comes anywhere near me, correct?" I ask.

"Absolutely, Ana." He says, definitively.

"And I have my little friend." I say patting my purse. Chuck nods his acknowledgement.

"That's good to know." He states matter-of-factly.

"Okay, so Gail and I are going to finish our shopping. Please keep your eyes open as will I and call the police immediately if he violates the restraining order. Once the authorities have been contacted, do whatever you need to do to keep his ass away from me, because I _will_ lay him down. Are we in agreement?" I state.

"Total." He agrees.

Gail and I continue with our shopping while Chuck keeps a watchful eye on both of his bosses' most prized possessions. Once we have completed our perfectly delightful outing without incident, Gail heads back to Escala while Chuck and I head to my apartment so that I can pick my wardrobe for the weekend.

It's about 3:30 when I get to my apartment and I notice that Al's car is there. What the hell? Poor Al, he's so confused. I shake my head and warn Chuck not to panic as someone will be in my apartment. I open the door to find Al leisurely sitting on my sofa watching some dreary program on the news channel. He flicks it off when I enter. I walk over and hug him.

"Al. Baby." I begin, chastising. "_Way_ to early and wrong apartment." I say shaking my head.

"Oh no, Darling," he says, kissing me on the cheek. "I was summoned." He smiles. My head jerks back in surprise.

"Summoned!? By whom?" I yelp. He takes my hand.

"Come with me." He leads me back into my bedroom and into my walk-in closet. It has been revamped and rearranged—masterfully, I might add—to make room for what appears to be a white princess-style armoire.

"What is this?" I say, my voice squeaking with surprise.

"Open it." Al says, releasing my hand. I open the doors and immediately know who the culprit is that invaded my closet. I drop everything in my hand as they both fly up to my mouth and I gasp loudly. Shelf after shelf of red and tan soles are staring back at me. What looks to be a harmless armoire is really a floor to ceiling shoe closet filled with countless pairs of Louboutin stilettos. My heart nearly stopped!

"Girl, I don't know what you're doing to that man, but you _must_ teach me!" Al says and Chuck laughs. I look at him shaking my head, my eyes filling with tears as my adrenaline has shot off the Richter scale and there is no avoiding them.

"I said I wanted _a pair_ of Louboutins…" I say, my voice squeaking like a little girl, "and he bought me this!" I gesture to the work of art standing in front of me. Al laughs.

"Wow! I'm glad you didn't ask for a car! We may have had to clear out the parking garage!" He says facetiously. I laugh through my tears.

"So he enlisted you as his partner-in-crime?" I say, trying to ebb the water flow from my eyes.

"Hey, somebody had to let him in." Al says. "He really likes his shrine over there in your chair, too." I look over at the chair. I had forgotten that I had left his pin-striped suit where we had undressed him a few nights prior. I feel a tightening at the apex of my thighs remembering that night. I'm only too sure that Al and Chuck noticed the color change in my cheeks. Oh well, c'est la vie. I rush to Al and embrace him.

"Thank you, Al." I say, kissing him on his cheek.

"Hey, don't thank me. Thank you fairy godfather." He says with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I guess I better, huh?" I say as I pull out my phone and instruct Siri to call Christian.

"_Grey_." He answers in his normal brisk tone. I assume he didn't look at the caller ID.

"Christian Trevelyan Marcus Michael John Arnold Richard Matthew Grey!" I bark into the phone through my tears. He bursts into laughter.

_"When did I get all of _those_ names!?"_ He says through his own laughter.

"It's a quirk of mine it happens sometimes!" I nearly yell all in one breath. "I ask for _A_ pair of Louboutins…_a_ pair!" I stress the word "a" both times.

"_Ah, ah, ah…I beg to differ. Your exact words were 'I would love _some_ of those Louboutins platform stilettos.' That is what you said, Ms. Steele." _He says finitely. I replay the conversation in my head. I don't know if that's what I said.

"You know what I meant," I said, weakly, wiping away my tears and admiring the gorgeous collection of shoes in front of me.

"_Yes, I know what you meant. Then I took what you _said_ and did what I wanted."_ He said softly. I take out a pair of strappy purple bandage sandals. I know just what to wear these with—it will be perfect.

"They're exquisite, Christian. I could wear a pair every day for a month and still not run out. I don't know how to thank you." I say my voice full of gratitude.

"_Try _three_ months, and I can think of a few ways you could thank me." _He says, seductively.

"Make a list." I say back, just as seductively. I hear a sharp intake of breath and Christian gets quiet for a moment.

"_Are you _trying_ to make me come in the middle of my office?"_ He says, his voice strained.

"In the middle of your office…hmmm. I hadn't thought about it, but that's an idea." I purr.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Other people in the room here!" Al waves his hands maniacally. I have to admit—I did forget there were other people in the room. For a moment, it was just me and my two Christians—Grey and Louboutin.

"I'm sorry, you guys." I look from Al to Chuck. "I get carried away sometimes."

"Yeah, I love you, Jewel, but that's a picture that I don't need in my head."

"Honestly, me either." Chuck adds. I raise my eyebrow at him and Christian questions what he said. "Hey, you guys are my bosses! I know what you do but don't need that visual!" He defends and Christian laughs.

"_Okay, I'll let them off the hook. What time will you be back at my place?"_ Christian asks. I look at my watch.

"Within the hour. I just need to grab a few things from here and I should be on my way." I answer.

"_Okay. I should be leaving here shortly. No more than 90 minutes, I promise."_

"Okay, Baby. I see you later then. Love you."

"_I love you, too, Butterfly."_ I end the call and look back at the shoe closet.

"Can you believe this?" I say to Al, gesturing to the closet. "Does this happen in real life!?"

"Hey, I was here for the assembly." He jests, taking a pair of jeweled heeled tan-soled Louboutins out of the clothes.

"Oooo, I'll wear those tomorrow!" I exclaim. "I'm going to meet his family." Al eyes me carefully.

"So soon, Jewel?" He says, his voice dripping with caution. I take his hand.

"I know." I answer, understanding. "But no, it's not too soon. This is the real thing, Al. It really is." I say with certainty. He smiles at me.

"Well, he can't be too bad. Watch your step, I might snatch him from you." He laughs.

"Sorry, Babe. As irresistible as you are, you don't have the equipment." We laugh.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Luckily the Algona situation was handled without too much fanfare and I haven't heard anything from the Pedophile in a couple of days. Welch hasn't found anything definitive on her yet, but he has put a tail on her nonetheless in the hopes that we will find something out from her comings and goings. I have a few small things to handle, then I can go home to this dinner party that we have planned. I'm a little nervous. The boardroom, I can handle. Large charity events with nameless, faceless crowds, no problem. Little intimate soirees with eight people who are all coming to "get to know" me…scares me shitless. I'll be taking cues from Butterfly tonight and doing my best to acclimate instead of being the usual recluse I have become. Step one of my transformation…or is it step two? Step three? Twelve? Who knows?

My thoughts are interrupted by my ringing blackberry. I answer it without looking at it and I am greeted with a string of strange names—and I think I heard mine _somewhere_ in there. I can't contain my laughter _or_ my surprise.

"When did I get all of those names!?" I ask. Butterfly can barely string together a coherent sentence. She got the shoes. Good. I wish I could have been there to see here face when she opened the shoe closet, but that would have ruined the surprise. She protested only slightly until I explained that 90 pairs of Louboutins is my idea of "some." After some of our usual sexual banter and a heart-felt "thank you" from the most beautiful woman in the world, we ended the call and I went back to finishing my workday with a smile.

I enter my apartment—or what I think is my apartment—a couple of hours and later and I am completely surprised. It has never _felt_ like this. A fire is going in the fireplace—I expected that. The balcony doors are open and there are various candles and lanterns strategically placed inside and out. There are two arrangements of wild flowers—one on the dining room table and one on the coffee table in the great room. There is the distinct smell of citrus and jasmine in the air along with the delectable fragrances emanating from the kitchen. Gail and Butterfly are laughing and interacting there like two old friends and they don't even notice our arrival.

"She's making those potatoes, Sir. I can smell them." Taylor says quietly.

"I know, so can I." I say almost nostalgically. We watch as Butterfly instructs Gail to remove the potatoes from the oven and place them on the cooling rack on the counter.

"Beautifully done, Gail," Butterfly praises. "They look perfect. We'll let them cool and see how you did."

I look over at Taylor who smiles slightly knowing that his girlfriend now knows how to make the coveted cheesy potatoes. There are various attractive dishes spread across the breakfast bar and some on the dining room table. There are about four wine buckets filled with ice as well as the beer bucket on the balcony—again, only ice. I see wine in the cooler, so this confuses me a bit.

"Honeys, we're home." I announce our arrival to the two oblivious women in the kitchen. Butterfly emerges, still in her work clothes and stilettos, wearing her chef's apron.

"There's my Santa Claus," she says wrapping her arms around my waist and kissing me gently on the lips.

"Santa Claus, huh?" I say, enveloping her in my arms and brushing my lips against her cheek.

"A tiara and the shoes? Yeah, Santa Claus…what is that tiara made of anyway?" She asks.

"Platinum and diamonds." I answer. Her mouth falls open and her eyes almost pop out. I put my finger on her chin and push up. "Close your mouth, Baby."

"Platinum and diamonds? Where in the world can I wear that?" She asks.

"Oh, I can't think of few places." I say, but I won't elaborate right now. "I'll make the suggestions when the time comes." I kiss her gently. "You haven't changed yet. Should I wear this?" I gesture to my suit.

"Absolutely not! You'll scare my guests away with that CEO garb!" She chastises. "I never change until Al gets here. He's my alarm and he allows me to work until the last minute while he greets the guests. Although with you here, I may not need Al." She squeezes me closer.

"Oh, no, we need Allen. I'm new at this remember?" I protest.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Well, Al will be here shortly and Gail has saved me an immense amount of time! I never would have gotten all of this done on such short notice without her." Butterfly smiles at Gail.

"Happy to be of service, M'lady." Gail curtsies.

"Madam." Butterfly returns the curtsy before they burst into giggles. Like I said, Butterfly is quite personable.

"I smell those potatoes, don't I?" I ask.

"Yes, you do." Butterfly announces. "But Gail made them this time. Why don't we see how she did?" She winks at Gail.

"Yes, I'm so anxious to see if they measure up," Gail says. "And don't sugarcoat it—I want the truth, you two." Gail shakes her finger at Taylor who holds his hands up in surrender. Butterfly goes over to the cooling potatoes and puts a small amount on a little plate. She takes a fork and gives a fork to Gail. They each take a small amount of the potatoes to taste for themselves.

"These are very good." Gail says, proudly. Butterfly closes her eyes to savor the flavor.

"Gail, they are perfection." She says, as she takes a forkful and gives it to me. She's right. They are delicious. Taylor takes a taste from Gail's fork and mimics the face Butterfly made before kissing Gail reverently on the cheek. I'd say the potatoes are a hit. Butterfly informs me that we have about twenty minutes before Allen gets here, so that gives me time to take a quick shower and freshen up before I go into "host training."

As I come out of the shower, Butterfly is in the bedroom taking two dresses out of a garment bag and hanging one in the closet.

"I'm going to have to make some room for you to put some things in my closet, aren't I?" I say coming up behind her and putting my arms around her. She stiffens a bit and turns around to face me.

"Do you want to do that?" She says softly. "I don't want to appear to be invading your space."

"I absolutely want to do that, Butterfly," I say. "I see that my blue Anderson Sheppard has taken up permanent residence in your bedroom." She blushes.

"I like having it there…and your shirts…" She pauses. "I guess that means I should make some room for you, too, huh?"

"Only if you want to." I say, my voice a little more hopeful than I wanted to portray.

"I absolutely want to do that." She repeats my words to me, her eyes ocean blue and longing.

"Don't look at me like that, Butterfly, or we'll never get to our guests." I say, gently pulling her against me and closing the space between us.

"Okay," she says wistfully before closing her eyes. I take her mouth with mine and savor her flavor. My Ana. My Butterfly. I could never get enough of her. Our kiss goes from touching to yearning and lustful as she tangles her fingers in my hair and moans into my mouth. I clutch her tightly—possessively.

_My Ana._

I run my hands down to her ass and forcefully push her against me.

_Mine!_

I reluctantly break our passionate exchange and pepper her lips with tender kisses. "I would love to bury myself in you, but we have guests coming and I assume by your presence here that Allen has already arrived." She reluctantly pulls away from me.

"Yes, you are correct." She says. "I'll try to control myself." She adds with a smile.

"What should I wear for this event, Ms. Steele?" I ask. She puts her hand on her chin and eyes me carefully, then goes to my closet. I trust her completely—her taste is impeccable. She returns with my Ralph Lauren black label long-sleeved cotton jersey button down shirt and my Boss Dr Hook tan pleated trousers with my Salvatore Ferragamo Faraone black leather dress shoes and matching Salvatore Ferragamo Italian leather Plaque belt. I'm glad she picked for me. I would have gone for something more dressy and ended up overdressed.

"This will do nicely, Mr. Grey." She says seductively.

"Cut it out with that Mr. Grey shit. It's taking everything in me not to take you right now, Woman." I threaten and she raises and eyebrow.

"Fair enough," she says as she pulls some jewelry from a travel case and one of the Louboutin boxes left behind for just such an emergency. "Oh, I asked Gail and Taylor to join us for dinner. She did so much work helping me with the dinner and she was so excited that you were having people over that it just seemed criminal not to ask them to stick around. I hope you don't mind." She added.

"Well, I'm new to this whole thing myself, but I can't say that I care one way or the other if they join us. They may not feel the same, though. Gail has always been so professional…" I say.

"You doubt my powers of persuasion, Mr. Grey?" She says before sauntering into the en suite. I lick my lips after her.

"Not at all, Ms. Steele," I say to myself. "Not at all."

* * *

Allen is sitting on the sofa in the great room when I return. Alex Bugnon is playing from the sound system. My girl has great taste in music.

"Allen." I extend my hand to him.

"Christian." He shakes my hand rising from the sofa. "Lovely place you have here. Quite over the top, I must say."

"Yes, I know." I say. "I have to admit, I'm a little out of my element. I've never entertained before now…well, not more than one person at a time anyway…so I'm kind of being thrown into the deep end of the pool here."

"I got you. Well, social skills are something that you just have to let grab you. I have the advantage of knowing everyone that's going to be here tonight. You know no one, so yeah, you'll have to play it by ear. All of our friends are laid back and relaxed. The stuffiest amongst us is probably my James, and even he's pretty laid back by most people's standards. Just loosen up, relax. Try to enjoy yourself. Open up as much as is comfortable for you. You'll be fine." I hear the phone ring in the kitchen and I know it's Marc. He's probably shell-shocked from the amount of new faces he's seen just in the last week and it's only just begun.

"Grey."

_"Mr. Grey, it's Marc at the front desk. There are some people here that say they are expected."_

"Just a moment, Marc. Allen, can you come and talk to my doorman, please?" I hand him the phone. As he talks to Marc, I notice that the beer bucket on the balcony is now full and one of the wine buckets has a bottle of Cabernet chilling inside.

"You first guests arriving, Mr. Grey." Allen says.

"Allen, I have to ask, what's with all the buckets and ice? I have plenty of wine." I ask. He smiles at me.

"Jewel didn't explain _Food and Libations_ to you?" He asks.

"No," I say crinkling my eyebrows.

"She supplies us with a fabulous meal, we all must bring libations—either to be consumed tonight or at a later date. She has a guest bedroom in case anybody drinks too much and we do the dishes so she doesn't have to." Allen responds.

"Not in my kitchen!" Gail announces facetiously as she and Taylor return from changing. Gail is wearing a beautiful blue A-line flowy tea-length short sleeved dress with nude sandals, her hair pulled neatly into a bun. Taylor has changed into a simple dress shirt and some black slacks. I don't think I've ever seen the two of them look so…_normal_.

"Sir, Ms. Steele insisted…_profusely_!" Taylor defended.

"It's okay, Taylor. Could you please help Allen here make sure that no riff-raff get into our little party?" I say with a smile. I think I have shocked my head of private security. "I'm trying, okay?" I add. He smiles at me and heads off towards Allen. "For her, I'm trying…"

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I immerge from the bedroom in my Herve Leger purple and silver bandage dress with matching jewelry and of course my brand new purple Louboutin Tinazata suede strappy stiletto peep-toe ankle boots. I am frozen in my steps by the picture of Christian with a beer in his hand sitting with Taylor, James, and Phil having a heated discussion about the terrible season the Mariners are having.

"You're crazy, man. Hernandez hasn't done anything for that team. They have never been to the World Series and this year is no different." He says very animated to Phil.

"Come on, you're not even considering Ackley and Ichiro. Something's gotta give this year, Chris." _Chris!?_ "Season tickets cost a fortune and I have to get my money's worth sooner or later."

"Well, I hate to tell you, but you just threw your money down the drain! They won't even make the playoffs." Christian says before swigging his beer and sending the other two men into laughter. I turn and look at Al who just shrugs. I walk over to the girls, my presence clearly not needed to assist dear "Chris!"

It is well into the evening and I am on the balcony talking to Gail, Val and Maxie before Christian comes looking for me.

"How're you ladies doing out here?" He says like the quintessential host. I'm impressed.

"Just fine, Christian. You have a very lovely home here." Val says.

"Thank you." Christian replies. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I just wanted to steal a kiss from my girlfriend." He says as he bends down and plants a chaste kiss on my lips. I flutter my eyelashes at him and he smiles and goes back inside.

"Oh my God, Ana. How do you resist him?" Maxie says.

"It's not easy!" I exclaim. "He is sex on a stick, but I manage to refrain from jumping his bones ALL the time." I laugh.

"Where is Bethany? Why hasn't she come out here with us?" Maxie adds. "Is she attached to Gary by the hip?"

"I guess so." Val responds.

"She seems like a lovely girl for the most part," Gail adds. "How long have you all known her?"

"Not long actually. We only met her a couple of weeks ago when Gary brought her to one of our get-togethers. He is completely stricken with her, though." I respond. Gail makes a face.

"Oh, okay. Excuse me for a moment, Ladies. Ana, Dear, can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?" She rises and goes to the kitchen. I shrug at Maxie and Val and follow Gail to the kitchen.

"Is everything okay, Gail?" I ask with concern.

"It could be nothing, but I just thought you should know. Your friend, Bethany, has not stopped looking at Mr. Grey for more than five seconds all night. Now I am certain that he has gone to the wine room for more Bollinger because I saw him headed that way. Your friend Bethany has gone in that direction as well." She says. I frown. "I don't doubt Mr. Grey's commitment to you one bit, Ana. He is a completely different man in one week than I have ever seen and I've worked for him for six years. But since none of you really know this Bethany girl, I think you should really go to the wine room." She points me in the direction. I nod at her and head towards the wine room.

The door to the wine room is slightly ajar. Sure enough I stand on the wall between the kitchen and the wine room and I can hear their voices.

"No one would know," she says. "It would just be me and you, a cozy private hotel room somewhere..."

"And what about your boyfriend?" Christian says. _What_? Is this really happening? My heart starts pounding hard in my chest, so hard I'm sure they can hear it and will come out any second. Thank God the wall is holding me up or I would be on the floor by now. Christian is at _my_ dinner party negotiating a rendezvous with another woman. This cannot be happening!

"Don't worry about him. He believes anything I tell him. I have him wrapped around my little finger." She says seductively and laughs. Christian laughs with her.

"How fortunate for you, Ms. Shepherd." He says, smoothly. Fucking bastard.

"Bethany." She coos.

"Bethany," he repeats. I am just about to end this cozy little exchange when he says, "Here's the thing. You say nobody would know, right?"

"Absolutely," she purrs.

"But _I_ would know, Ms. Shepherd!" He says, his voice now cold and piercing. "I would know that I reduced myself to being seduced by a woman—and I use that term _loosely_—who was invited by her boyfriend to the party of one of his closest friends, only to come on to that friend's boyfriend. First of all, do you think I would stoop that low to sleep with someone who has such deplorable moral character? I've done some pretty dirty things in my life but that would be pretty detestable." He says in that CEO voice that can cut anyone down to size.

...and now I feel like shit.  
_It was reasonable. You had to hear the rest.  
_Yeah, I know, but I shouldn't have doubted him._  
_

"What makes you think you're so high and mighty?" She says, affronted.

"You mean besides the fact that I'm a billionaire and you're currently standing in my multi-million-dollar penthouse propositioning me and drinking my expensive champagne from crystal stemware? Well besides that, the fact that I'm turning you down. You're a very attractive woman, Ms. Shepherd, and I don't know why you're offering yourself like a dress on the sales rack, but I'm not buying. Why would I want you? Do you see what I have? That woman is exceptional! She's everything that you should strive to be! Her beauty, kindness, and intelligence are unparalleled, and her bedroom skills would make you _blush_. Why in the world would you believe for one second that I would invite her closest friends to my home and then try to sneak off with one of you? Are you insane?"

"We're not friends!" She snaps as if that makes it any better.

"Well, that explains it. I regret even letting you in my home, and I'd like for you to leave!" He snaps and she gasps.

"Stuck up Asshole!"She exclaims as she walks out of the wine room and runs face-to-face into me. At first, she is pretty expressionless, but then becomes horrified by something behind me. I turn to see Gary standing there.

Shit!

I don't know how long he's been there, but his face is completely impassive.

"Gary, I can explain everything." She begins, her voice shaking.

"I'm sure you can," Gary says impassively. Christian comes out of the wine room and his face goes pale. He knows how this looks, but he doesn't know that Gary and I heard the whole exchange - or at least enough of it.

"I think I'll be going now." Gary says calmly. Fuck, he's hurt. I know this voice. I can't let him leave like this. He walks around Bethany and me to Christian, who straightens—apparently preparing for a confrontation. "It's been pleasure, Chris. I hope to see you again soon. You have a very lovely home." He proffers his hand to Christian who takes it, bemused.

"Don't mention it. I hope to see you again soon as well." Christian responds.

"I'm sorry about _that_!" Gary spits, gesturing his head towards Bethany. "Had I known…"

"Don't worry about it." Christian says. "I understand completely." Gary nods and comes over to me without acknowledging Bethany.

"I'm really sorry, Ana." He says, contritely. "I never would have brought her if…"

"I know, Gary." I say taking his hand. "Would you do me a favor?" I ask.

"Anything." He says with a smile.

"Would you go out on the balcony with Val and Maxie for a moment? Don't leave yet." He looks at me for a minute then nods.

"Sure." He squeezes my hand and goes to the balcony. I turn my attention to this Bitch Bethany.

"I believe _my man_ told you to leave!" I spit between clenched teeth.

"Of course he did after I sucked his dick!" She snapped. Before I could think, my hand flew so fast and hard across her face that she yelped in surprise and dropped Christian's crystal champagne glass. It shattered into pieces on the marble floor.

"How do I taste?" I hiss, leaning into her face and daring her to say another word. She is holding her cheek, pure fear in her eyes. "Since your ride will be staying, I suggest you go and find a taxi—_now_!" I growl. She runs around me and heads straight for the door. I don't know if she had a purse, but if she did, she left it behind on her way out. I turn to Christian and jump into his arms, kissing him feverishly. He holds onto me like I am his life's breath, devouring my lips just as earnestly—my feet dangling from the ground.

"I'll replace your champagne glass." I say breathlessly between kisses.

"Don't you dare!" He responds.

"I love you!" I say, continuing my oral onslaught.

"I love you, too, Baby." He says, pressing his lips harder into mine.

* * *

**_GREY_**

I wish I could say that the party went off without a hitch, but apparently there were some wolves in with the sheep. I thought my life was ending when I stepped out the wine room and saw Butterfly and Garrett standing there facing off against this little blonde bimbo that had propositioned me moments before. How did she know we were back here? Has my redemption ended before it even began? I feel all of the blood leave my face and I am ill.

My fears are soon calmed by Garrett's words to me and Butterfly. Apparently, they heard the whole thing. Thank God for that! Ana convinces Garrett to stay but continues with my efforts to remove the bimbo. Then the little bitch made the mistake of trying to say that something had happened between us. Oh…you're dealing with the Tiger…

Wrong move! Duck! Run, Bitch, run! Oh, too late.

The wrath of the Butterfly sends one blonde bimbo running to the door with a sore face and one Mikasa crystal champagne glass broken on the floor. Thank God it wasn't the Waterford.

After an impromptu make-out session by the wine room, Ana and I go to the balcony to have a talk with Garrett. Thankfully, their relationship had only just begun. He admitted that he was fond of her, but not in love with her, and very happy that he saw this side of her before it got to be too late. Once we said our goodbyes to everyone later that evening, I offered the guestroom to Garrett just in case, but he assured me that he was fine and drove home instead. Except for the one fox in the hen house, I would say the night went pretty well.

Saturday was now upon us and it was time to meet the family. I'm wearing black Canali pants with a navy blue Tilford Samuelsohn Herringbone blazer and a lightweight cashmere sweater underneath. I found my Butterfly in my room wearing a basic black dress that hugged her curves perfectly with a pair of sky high Louboutin stilettos—black suede with rhinestone encrusted heels. She's wearing silver flower earrings and a matching silver medallion. Her black clutch purse has the same silver flowers on it and she is topping the ensemble off with a stylish short white fitted jacket. Her hair is in a twisted chignon style that I have no idea how she did on her own. She looks stunning. Any man would be proud to take her home to meet Mom and Dad.

"Are you ready to meet the folks?" I say as we pull up to my parents' house.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Butterfly responds.

"Last chance to back out." I say kissing her hands. She smiles sweetly at me.

"Not a chance." I let go of her hand and get out of the car rushing to her side to open her door. To my dismay, I see the Pedophile's Ashton Martin is already here. I smile at Ana and take her hand as we walk to the door.

"Chri—" My mother stops short after she opens the door and looks at me like I have two heads. I can only guess she is astounded by the fact that I have brought someone with me. Remembering herself she proceeds, "Christian. It's good to see you, Son." She says sincerely as she kisses me on the cheek.

"Hello Mother." I greet. "It's good to see you, too."

"And who is this lovely flower?" Actually, she's a butterfly, Mom, but I'll let it slide.

"Mother, this is Dr. Anastasia Steele. Anastasia, this is my mother, Dr. Grace Trevelyan Grey." Mom takes Butterfly's hand and smiles widely.

"It's so good to meet you, Dr. Steele." She says sweetly.

"Please, call me Ana. It's wonderful to meet you, too. Dr. Grey." She responds.

"Now, if I'm to call you Ana, then you're to call me Grace." Ana smiles.

"By all means, Grace." Mom leads us into the living room where everyone is seated and my baby is ready to face the firing squad.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Christian gave me one last chance to make a run for it before we got to his parents' doorstep, but like hell am I going to let She-Thing prevent me from meeting his parents. I was almost scared back to the car when Christian's mother stood gawking at me momentarily. Is there something stuck in my teeth? She snaps out of her thoughts and greeted Christian and me, insisting that I call her Grace as I insisted she calls me Ana.

"I'm sorry…crash course in 15 seconds." What the hell? "I've never brought a girl home to meet my family so they may look at you like an anomaly." Now why didn't I figure that out for myself? He's only had subs before me. Of course none of them would meet his folks.

I walk into the living room and do a quick scan. There are a few women scattered about; some are clearly mother and daughter. The daughters (and some of the mothers) are glaring at me like I am an extraterrestrial being come to suck out their souls. I see only a few other gentlemen present and of course, She-Thing is sitting on one of the love seats. She doesn't show any signs that we were in a fight five days ago, but I smirk at the thought anyway. Most of the younger women are looking at me like a leper, but one in particular is clinging to the attractive blonde guy and looking at me very distastefully. I don't know who she is, but already she rubs me the wrong way and I haven't even met her yet.

One of the gentlemen comes over and shakes Christian's hand—gorgeous older gentleman, tall and handsome, impeccably dressed in summer linen with salt and pepper hair - mostly pepper.

"Son, glad you could make it!" He says.

"Ana, this is my father, Carrick Grey. Father, this is Dr. Anastasia Steele…my girlfriend." There's the magic word that makes whole room fall silent. Even Grace pauses for a moment.

"Methinks you have the floor now," I whisper loudly to Christian, causing a few chuckles here and there. The handsome blonde leaves his little blonde bracelet on the sofa and makes a bee-line to Christian, Carrick and me.

"Dr. Steele, you're a lovely girl." Carrick takes my hand like a gentleman. "Do you prefer Dr. Steele or Anastasia?" He asks.

"Actually, Ana, please." I return his genuine smile.

"Ana, then. And please call me Carrick."

"Wonderful to meet you, Carrick." So far, so good.

"Bro!" The handsome blonde says. "You snagged a doctor! How did you manage that?"

"Fuck off, Elliot!" Christian says, softly. Elliot punches him lightly in the arm and I immediately recognize the brotherly banter.

"I'm Elliot." He says taking my hand, "Christian's older and much more attractive brother."

"I'd have to disagree with you on that one, Elliot, but it's lovely to meet you." I say. Christian slips his arm around my waist at that statement. I think I did him proud. I guess Elliot's blonde bracelet did not appreciate being left on the couch so she bounces up and quickly latches onto his arm. She is wearing a lovely leopard print silk halter dress. It has a sweetheart neckline trimmed in cream satin that continues up around the neck into cream straps, mid-calf with a split in the back. She is also wearing cream Louboutin peeptoe stilettos. Her hair is pulled back in a style like Princess Grace Kelly. She's wearing _way_ too much foundation and blush and her lips are _way_ too red for a family function. I'll say this for her, though. The girl has great taste in clothes. Christian immediately tenses and Elliot does the introductions. "Ana, this is _my_ girl, Katherine Kavanaugh. Kate, Ana." I proffer my hand, and she takes my hand with her three fingers as if she were offering her hand to me to be kissed.

"Enchanté," she says, lacking any sincerity and promptly snatches her hand away from mine. I shot a look over to Christian and then back over to Kate who is smiling smugly and still clinging to Elliot's arm. Oh, you want to play, huh? Okay, let's play. I looked at my hand as if I had something nasty on it and wiped it on my dress. Christian cleared his throat and Kate looks clearly affronted.

"Enchanté? Elle ne me semble pas enchanté." I say to Christian. Pull my language out on me, Bitch…

"Ne t'inquiète pas. Personne ne se soucie vraiment ce qu'elle pense." He responds. I look over at her and she is a bit flushed now.

"Je comprend pourquoi. C'est une vraie salope!" I snap. Christian chuckles a bit.

"You know, it's rude to speak in a different language around other people. They _might_ think you were talking about them." She snaps. My head whips around to her.

"You probably should have thought of that before you greeted me in French." I say calmly. Trying to save face, she says,

"It's an expression!" Who does she think she's talking to?

"Yes! _In France_! What you probably meant to say is _enchanted_, which is the English translation for _enchanté_. 'How do you do,' 'hello,' and 'nice to meet you' would have all worked as well." I say matter-of-factly. Duly chastised, Ms. Kavanaugh turns her attention to Christian.

"Grey." She says in a haughty, unwelcoming voice.

"Kavanaugh." He responds. These two can barely tolerate each other, it seems. I look from Kate to Christian and start laughing. Christian is looking at me strangely and I say, "You affect everybody that way, huh?"

"Affect everybody what way?" Elliot pipes in.

"Well, when I first met Christian, he insisted that I just call him 'Grey.' That soon turned to 'Mr. Grey.' Then when we started fighting, it went back to 'Grey.' We had this whole battle of wills going on for a few weeks. So when your girlfriend…"

"Oh, no, Hon." Kate interrupted me. "_You're_ a girlfriend. _I'm_ a fiancée." She says very nasty. I glare at her. Christian takes my hand because he sees the look on my face. I look gently over my shoulder and put my hand up to him so that he knows I have control and he releases my hand. I lean in to Kate and I say between clenched teeth with all the ferocity I can muster without making a scene:

"_Don't_. Call me Hon. We are not. Friends…_fiancée_!" I spit the last word hard at her. She is now glaring back to me. Challenge me if you want to, Bitch. You will lose. I turn my attention back to Elliot.

"So when _she_…" I spit "…called him Grey that's when I said 'You affect everybody that way, huh?' Now I realize that in this case, however, it may not be his fault." I finish looking Kate up and down and turning my back on her to go find a drink of some kind.

"Elliot," I hear Christian say behind me.

"Christian." Elliot responds and Christian is by my side in moments. Just then, I heard Carrick's voice sarcastically say, "Looks like Kate's made another friend."

I'm already exhausted and the night is just getting started. Cougar-from-hell-She-Bitch's presence makes my skin crawl and now Christian's brother's _fiancée_ turns out to be a leopard-clad socialite who hates me already for no apparent reason. He catches me and escorts me into the kitchen. There we find a few staff and yet another woman around my age throwing the evil eye at me while smiling lovingly at Christian.

"Christian!" The older lady in the apron calls to him. "It's good to see you. How have you been?"

"I should be asking _you_ that, Mrs. Thompson." He says, taking her hand. "I take it that your husband's surgery went well?"

"Oh yes. He's doing much better, thank you for asking. And who is this lovely young thing?" She says, gesturing to me and causing me to blush a little.

"This is Ana Steele, Mrs. Thompson. She's my girlfriend." The blonde in the corner gasped and turned away from us. Now, what was _that_ all about?

"It's lovely to meet you, Ana. Christian never brings ladies home to meet his family. This is a real treat."

"I'm getting that impression, Mrs. Thompson." I say looking at the blonde in the corner who appears to be having a nervous breakdown. "Is she okay?" I ask.

"She's fine, Dear." Mrs. Thompson says. "She just needs a few moments to swallow a pill." Christian clears his throat again and I now identify it as his attempt not to laugh.

"Ah, I've made another friend." I say under my breath. Mrs. Thompson looks puzzled from me to Christian who informs her, "She just met Katherine." Realization dawns on her face as she says,

"Oh mon pauvre chose! Quelle tragedie pour vous!" Another one?

"Oui! Oui! Tres tragique!" I exclaim, my voice dripping with mock despair. Mrs. Thompson laughs heartily.

"I like her!" She says to Christian, patting me on the back. "You hold onto her. She's good people."

"I intend to, Ma'am." Christian says, taking my hand. "Please excuse us." He smiles as he leads me to the dining room. I let out a huge sigh as I lean against the wall.

"Exactly how many of the women currently in this house had their sights set on you?" I ask defensively. "I feel like I've been thrown into the lion's den!"

"I'm sorry, Baby." He says putting his arms around me. "I didn't think it would be this bad. I mean Kate's always catty, but I've never shown any interest in any of those women whatsoever, including Liona." I look at him confused. "The blonde in the corner swallowing the 'girlfriend' pill."

"Oh. " I nod.

"We can come up with a headache and leave right now if you want. Heaven knows being around Kavanaugh is enough to make _anyone_ physically ill." I want to take him up on his offer so badly. I want to just take him home and make love until we fall into a coma-like sleep, then wake up in the morning and do it again. But I won't be selfish.

"No, I can stand one dinner with a few harpies. I just don't know how many more of these I can stand in the future." I state looking up at him through my eyelashes with exhausted eyes.

"I will try to be more informed on the guest list in the future. I have spent so much time ignoring them, I didn't consider how it might affect you. Forgive me?" He says sincerely.

"Of course I do. I know you didn't _plan_ this."

"No, I didn't. I didn't even know there would be this many people here." He states. I am so ready to go home. Instead, I let him peck me on the cheek and lead me back to the living room. Grace hands me a glass of wine when she sees me and smiles sympathetically. Carrick must have been talking to her when he mentioned that Kate had made another _friend_. She-Bitch makes her rounds in the room but is careful to avoid Christian and me. She's talking to the women in the room who subsequently throw a look at me. I know they are all talking shit about me—especially her—but this is not my circle of people, so I really don't care. I mean, I care what his parents think but that's about it. I decide to piss off every yearning female and hopeful mother in the room. I look lovingly into Christian's eyes, silently letting him know that I plan on focusing solely on him the entire night unless someone says something nice to me. Almost on cue, Carrick says, "So, Ana, what's your specialization?"

"I'm a psychologist." He nods.

"Strong practice?" He asked. Why does Carrick look familiar to me?

"Very strong. I've done pretty well for myself. I own a condo overlooking Elliot Bay…no pun intended, Elliot…" He laughs, Kate sneers. "I have a practice downtown. I was doing part-time, but I've recently gone back to full time to accommodate patients on my waiting list."

"Why were you part-time if you don't mind my asking? Continuing education?" He asks. Kate seems to be getting increasingly uncomfortable with this conversation. What is her fucking problem?

"So to speak," I answer. "I was doing volunteer work for a while, but it turned out not to be my forte."

"What kind of volunteer work?" He asks. He's nice for engaging me in conversation.

"Group counseling at the international community center." Carrick nods, then realization shows on his face. He points to me and looks at Christian. I look over at Christian who is nodding his head. I put the confused look on and Carrick breaks out laughing. I know where I saw him now! At the courthouse on the stairs talking to Christian.

"I guess that worked out for you, huh, Son?" Carrick says, raising his glass to Christian.

"It did indeed." Christian replies.

"The Courthouse." I say. Christian and Carrick both look at me. "That's where I saw you." I said pointing to Carrick.

"Most likely." Carrick responds.

"He _is_ a lawyer." Kate says almost under her breath and Elliot nudges her slightly. I ignore her.

"You were there, too." I point to Christian. At first confusion shows on his face, then realization.

"You _were_ there." He says. "I thought I was seeing things."

"Nope. I was there." I laughed.

"I knew I wasn't crazy." He states.

"Well, yes you are…but not in this case." His eyes shift…playful Christian is lurking behind them.

"Oh you are so going to pay for that later." He vows.

"I look forward to it." I retort.

"Oh please…" Kate just keeps them coming…only loud enough for me to hear.

"So Elliot, what do you do?" I ask. Before he gets to say anything, Kate answers proudly, "He's an architect."

Acknowledging her words but not her presence, I continue, "An architect. Impressive." I nod at Christian and he nods back. "So what firm are you with?" Again, Kate pipes in.

"He owns his own company." She answers for him.

"Entrepreneur! Even more impressive. Good for you."

"Thank you." Elliot says a little sharply, directing it at Kate who isn't paying any attention to him. Let's see how far she's willing to go.

"How long have you been in business, Elliot?" I ask.

"Grey Construction has been in business for seven years." Kate shoots off again.

"Elliot, do you need a PR person?" I question.

"Why would he need a PR person? He's in construction!" Kate snaps, as if the answer is obvious—which it is.

"Because you keep answering all of his questions for him." I shoot back. "Are you his representative?" She's glaring at me again, but won't answer. "Elliot, do you need an interpreter?"

"No. I do _not_." Elliot answers even more sharply at Kate, now gaining her attention.

"Good. So what's your latest project? Did you work on any of the restorations in the historical district or is your specialty smaller, more intimate projects?"

Elliot and I are finally able to speak without interruption and he tells me all about his business and how he got started. I'm a psychologist, so I am trained to engage the speaker. Christian knows exactly what I'm doing and he graciously lets me have the floor for about 25 minutes to talk to Elliot and get to know him. He's a really good guy. I wonder how he ended up with a barracuda like Kate? He's got a cute but twisted sense of humor and I really like that. If he wasn't engaged to Kate, I could see couples dates in our future. Unfortunately, I don't want to be around this harpy any more than absolutely necessary! And I know that Christian would agree with me. So that's out!

"Ana, if I may ask," Grace joins the group on the family side of the large living room. "Where did you study?"

"Well, I started at Bates, but then I got a full-ride scholarship to U-Dub. So I finished there and did my internship at the Center for Child and Family Well-Being while I was in grad school." Graces face lit up.

"Did you like it there?" She asked. Kate is again getting the look like she ate something bad.

"I loved it there! I made most of my friends in college except for my best friend whom I have known for 14 years. It was a good experience. But I think the best experience was CCFW."

"What makes you say that, Dear?" Grace asks. Christian perks up next to me as does Elliot, who looks over at Kate who is rolling her eyes. This girl needs an attitude transplant.

"It's hard to explain, Grace." I cross my legs and turn my attention to her. "I had some difficulty of my own as a child. So I wanted very much to not only handle my own issues, but to help other people handle theirs, too. My problem is that I expected everyone to be like the people who came to CCFW - people who really needed help. They had real problems that needed real solutions. When I got into the real world, not so much."

"Do you take joy in other people's calamity?" Kate says snidely.

"No, Katherine. Do you?" I say just as snidely. Again, she has been temporarily shut down. Grace takes this opportunity to continue our conversation.

"Your name just seems so familiar to me. I'm sure I've heard it somewhere." Grace said.

"America's Most Wanted?" Kate zings again under her breath. That's it. I've had enough of this shit.

"Do you have a problem with me, Ms. Kavanaugh?" Using her last name got her attention.

"Whatever do you mean, Anastasia?" She asks, a very bad attempt at faking innocence.

"She means all the snide remarks you make every time she says something." Christian adds. "You think nobody can hear you?"

"I don't know what you mean." She contends.

"Well, maybe you'll know what_ I_ mean." Elliot pipes in. "You're embarrassing me in front of my family. Stop it!" She looks at Elliot completely aghast, stands up and storms out of the room. I fully expected Elliot to follow her, but he doesn't make a move. Grace puts her hand gently on his shoulder and he takes her hand in his with a smile.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause any trouble." I say looking at each of the Greys.

"Nonsense!" Carrick says. "It's clear that you were not the one causing the trouble."

"Maybe I should just go. I don't know why I'm making her so uncomfortable." I say.

"You will do no such thing!" Grace said. "You are my son's girlfriend and you have just as much right to be here as _she_ does." The poise that Grace has exhibited throughout the evening has been pulled back and the mother lioness has her claws out ready to strike. Does Kate bring out the worst in everybody? And how long is she going to hover wherever she's hovering before she realizes that Elliot is not going to follow her?

"Grace, dear. We've just about wrapped things up for the planning of the fundraiser. We just need your input on a few things." Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard.

"Of course, Elena. I'll be there in a moment." Grace answers. Christian suddenly stiffens next to me. I look over and see two manicured hands with long red nails rubbing his shoulders and traveling down his chest.

"Christian, Dear. How have you been?" She purrs. Elliot looks on in disgust while Christian's parents are simply confused.

"Mrs. Lincoln. You've been friends with my mother for a long time." He is speaking through clenched teeth. "I am sure she has told you about my dislike for being touched."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Christian." She coos insincerely. "It's just that I saw Anabelle here put her hands all over you and I thought you had been cured." Without turning to look at her, he says,

"First, I can understand how, at your age, you may be prone to forgetfulness, but her name is Anastasia." I could tell that statement cut her to the quick. "Secondly, I owe you no explanation. Get. Your hands. Off. Of me!"

"I don't understand what the issue is. Only Apalachia can touch you? No one else? Not even your dear mother?" She trying to push him—to touch him as long as possible and hopefully break him down.

"Mother?" Christian says flatly, asking the assistance of his mother to remove this parasite from his shoulder.

"Elena. You've known for years that Christian doesn't like to be touched. Please get your hands off of him." Grace says in a commanding tone.

"I don't see what the problem is." She-Thing protests. "I've known him most of his life. If Alameda can touch him, why can't I?" Christian's breathing is labored. I have to do something. I stand up in front of Christian facing She-Thing, who is wearing a victorious smirk.

"Get. Your hands. Off of him. _Now_!" I snap. The room has gone so silent again, you can hear a mouse pissing on cotton.

"Listen, Alexandra…" She starts.

"I don't care what you call me! Get. Your hands. Off of him!" I warn again. She stands there smiling at me. Christian is basically immobile. He lets no one touch him that way but me, and if he were anywhere but at his parent's house, he would have decked her by now and she knows it. And she's using it against him. Sorry, Grace and Carrick, but this is my man. I take off my jacket and lay it on the sofa. I wouldn't want to get any blood on it. Noting that there is only a wall behind her, I start counting.

"One." I never break eye contact with her.

"What is she doing?" I hear someone whisper to my left.

"Two." I'm still glaring at her.

"What are you supposed to be doing?" She-Thing sneers. Christian is starting to sweat, tendrils of hair sticking to his face.

"Three…don't let me get to ten."

"Somebody better put a leash on this rabid dog!" She shoots. Behind me, I hear that Kate has come back into the room and is now snickering at this comment. FLAME ON!

"TEN!" I push that bitch with so much force, I don't think her feet touch the ground before she hit the wall. Some of the women jump from their seats and I hear Kate gasp behind me.

"So unladylike!" She exclaims.

"Don't you start!" I whip around and point in Kate's direction. She silences immediately. Christian lets go of a breath he was holding, and now he's gasping for air. I hear Elliot explaining to the Barbie bitch that Christian has a phobia to being touched a certain way because of his childhood, but he doesn't go into any details. I kneel in front of my man who is grasping at his collar to get air.

"Baby? Baby? Baby, listen to me." I'm trying to get to him but he is panicking. I put my mouth right next to his ear. "Listen to me, Baby. You're fine now. You're fine now. You're safe, okay?"

"Ana…" his voice is raspy.

"Yes, Baby. I'm here." Carrick and Grace watch in awe while the rest of the parties in the living room aren't sure what to do.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice hoarse. "I froze."

"I know, Baby." I said, holding his face in my hands while I wipe the sweat off his forehead. "You're fine now, okay? I'm here." He grabs me fiercely and pulls me to him, holding on for dear life. What is amazing is that not one person in the room went to She-Thing's aid. I don't know if she hit her head on the wall and passed out or what, but it took her a long time to get up.

"I wanted to hit her," He says softly in my ear, "but I couldn't, not in my parents' house…"

"I know, I know." I say stroking his hair and rubbing his back.

"Christian!" Grace gasps, but he just clenches tighter to me.

"He's fine, Grace. He's going to be fine." I say, trying to comfort his mother. I'm fighting back the adrenaline tears and my voice is cracking a bit. The tears dry up like the desert when I see She-Thing rise up like a zombie from the grave and reach out for Christian.

"Are you reaching out to touch my man?" I growl at her, aiming every molecule of hatred at her that I can muster in my body. I must have gotten through to her because she froze in her tracks. As if he could hold me any tighter, Christian squeezes harder. I have to take care of him. He is mine. MINE, Bitch! And I have to take care of him. I am cradling his head in my arms in the protective hold that he has become accustomed to, and he rests his head on my shoulders. I am looking at this predator with pure venom in my eyes. I want to kill her. I want to rip her apart with my bare hands. She hasn't moved from her spot, still poised to touch my man.

"Go ahead. Touch him. I _dare_ you. I _dare_ you to touch him. One. More. Time!" I growl. There's nobody else in the room right now but the Tiger and the Cougar…and the cub that I'm protecting…and I will rip her to shreds.

"Christian," She whimpers.

"He can't hear you!" I snap. "You touched him in his no-go zone, and he can't hear you now!"

"Why is it that you can touch him and I can't?" She cries.

"Go ahead." I say fiendishly. "Touch him. Go ahead and touch him. And when you do, I will beat you into next week." I spit. "I will beat you until I get tired, and then I will lay down, take a break, get up and beat you some more!" I hear Elliot snicker behind me, but he stops abruptly. I think Grace or Carrick must have shot a look at him to make him stop. She-Thing's hand is still poised for action, and Christian's breathing is becoming more regulated. I can't let her near him. I can't let her touch him.

"Elena Lincoln!" The next voice I hear is Grace's. "What is _wrong_ with you? Do you have some kind of unhealthy infatuation with my son?" Lady, if you only knew. I know Christian is hearing this unfold before him, but he still clings to me for comfort. She-Thing does not answer Grace, but stares at her in horror, not knowing what to say, I'm sure. "Meeting is adjourned. Everybody out!" Nobody moves. "Everybody out!" She screams. "I need to be alone with my family!"

"Ana!" Kate says sarcastically, denoting that I am not part of the family. Bitch, you may be wearing a ring, but you're not a Grey yet. Get a fucking grip. I reach back without moving my head and flip her the bird.

"I've had about all I'm going to take from you tonight, Katherine!" Grace snaps.

Gracious Grace has left the building.

An astonished and embarrassed Katherine Kavanaugh falls completely silent. Carrick comes back into the living room and announces that everyone is gone. Grace turns her attention to me and Christian, who is shaking in my arms now. She kneels on the other side of him, feeling helpless that she can't comfort her baby boy. She looks at me and I nod slowly. He needs his mother's touch; he never really had it. "Christian?" she said, her voice thick with tears and reaching out to touch his face. As if he heard my thoughts, he releases one of his arms from me and snatches Grace into his grasp. Everybody in the room except for Kate gasps…and Grace begins to weep. I can only imagine that this is the first time her son has held her like this. Her hand is flailing behind him because she doesn't know what to do with it. So I grab it and lay it flat on his back and put my hand on top of it. She wraps her other arm around me and she just loses it. This woman is crying from her soul. I soon lose my battle with the adrenaline tears. The last time I kept it in, it exhausted me—so I'm going to let them out this time.

So here we all sit, clustered together, holding each other, crying. The Lioness, the Tiger, and the cub.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**French Translation (as close as I could get with my French):**_

_**Ana: "Enchanté? Elle ne me semble pas enchanté." - "Enchanted? She did not seem enchanted to me."**_

_**Christian: "Ne t'inquiète pas. Personne ne se soucie vraiment ce qu'elle pense." - "Do not worry. Nobody really cares what she thinks."**_

_**Ana: "Je comprend pourquoi. C'est une vraie salope!" - "I can see why. She's a real bitch!"**_

_**Mrs. Thompson: "Oh mon pauvre chose! Quelle tragedie pour vous!" - "Oh, poor thing, what a tragedy for you!"**_

_**Ana: "Oui! Oui! Tres tragique!" - "Yes! Yes! Very tragic!"**_

_**There is LOTS to see on the pinterest page this time! I only just discovered that Louboutin has shoes that **_**don't**_** have the red soles. I picked the shoes for Ana's outfit to meet the folks and didn't even know that they were Louboutins—how about that? I have great taste. ;-) Shoe and clothes of course can be found on my Pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**This chapter was a lot of work for me. I really hope you enjoyed it. Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs,  
Lynn x**_


	28. Chapter 28: Family Ties

_**LONG ASS A/N—If you don't want to see the blasting that is about to occur, skip to the 8th paragraph. If however you would like to stick around for the smackdown, please continue reading...**_

_** Let me say that I really appreciate that you guys love my story. But I had a guest reviewer LITERALLY CURSE ME OUT because my Saturday chapter didn't post at 3pm. It actually posted at 7pm, but they didn't know that the chapter was posting late. So they literally cursed me out for not posting a Saturday chapter. Ladies and gentlemen, the gloves are off! (Get the F-bomb drinking game out, People, because here it comes!)**_

_**To the fucking guest reviewer whose last words were "bonus my ass," (you fucking know who you are and I KNOW that you're reading this) you're right! I'm about to hand you your fucking ass!**_

_**Wouldn't you really feel like shit right now if I told you that I had a death in my family that day? Or wouldn't you really feel like shit if told you that something was wrong with one of my children, my husband, or heaven forbid, with me!? Or would you still feel selfish enough to say that no matter what the fuck was going on in my life, I still needed to post a fucking chapter for your ass? **_

_**Luckily for me, none of those things happened, but you know what? Your stupid ass didn't know that. All your stupid ass knew was that I didn't post a chapter on Saturday—and you were even wrong there. You know what else? I'm a grown ass fucking woman and I don't owe you any fucking explanation! You want to know why you didn't get a chapter when you FELT like you should have gotten one? Because I have a fucking LIFE—have you ever heard of one of those? Apparently you haven't—that's that thing that changes from time to time that causes you to rearrange your schedule. Why don't you get up and go try to find one, Asshole?**_

_**Here's a thought. I'm a reader AND a writer, so when my favorite writers don't post, I assume that they, like me, have a REAL LIFE—LIFE being the operative word here. So you know what I do? I go read another story! (Egad! Another story you say? Why, yes! I do!) OR I go up and do something in REAL LIFE and check back with them at a later date. If too much time passes, I may send them a PM asking "Hey, are you okay? Is everything alright?" That's called general human kindness and selflessness—concepts that you have proven you are unfamiliar with—so GOOGLE THEM! **_

_**What I WON'T do is send them some cruel, mean, heartless guest review cursing them out and insulting them because they didn't post when I wanted them to post. Didn't your mother or some maternal figure in your life teach you ANYTHING? Were you raised in a barn? By wolves? It's amazing to me how people can say stuff without any consideration for other people's feelings whatsoever. So since you have no consideration for my feelings, I have no consideration for yours, you rude, crude, classless, tasteless, no-life having, lonely on a Saturday night, crass, uncivil, cowardly, chicken-shit, lily-livered, nameless, faceless, soulless, selfish bitch! That is all—you're dismissed!**_

_**There was another guest who referred to Christian as "socially retarded" in lieu of "socially handicapped." You will notice that I DID let your review post and that is because you had a valid question and I am going to answer it. First, I have a problem with that word "retarded." I feel like it is a derogatory word and I view it the same way as I view "faggot." However, you have chosen to disagree with me—and that is your right. But you did it in a way where you didn't insult me. That's why your review posted. **_

_**If someone chooses to be blatantly hurtful or disrespectful to me or my writing and then cowardly hide behind a guest review while doing it, FUCK NO they are not getting posted to my review page and FUCK YES I'm going to SHAMELESSLY pick them apart like vultures on a carcass! Again, I have no problem with guest reviewers—I thank them in every chapter. Last week, I even thanked one that blessed me out! But if they want to say something crass and horrible about me, let them sign in so that my readers can chop them up for me. **_

_**And I respectfully beg to differ with your analysis that I only post reviews that praise me. Although the praise highly outweighs the criticism—literally like 100 to 1—there are reviews posted where people RESPECTFULLY have warned me about Christian possibly sleeping with a sub, where people have RESPECTFULLY chastised me about Ana's potty-mouth, and where people have RESPECTFULLY chastised me about Ana's use of violence. So again, I RESPECTFULLY disagree with your analysis, but I also appreciate that you presented your view without figuratively slamming me against the wall—because if you HAD slammed me against the wall, you're right, your review would have disappeared.**_

_**So, I spent 9 paragraphs handling controversy. How about I handle some nicer stuff now? Thanks again to ALL of my reviewers - regulars, guests, assholes and otherwise - for taking the time to read and/or review my work. Because I couldn't thank you in PM, thank you to Ana, Anailuj, Ash, Carol, Celestialstar 12, CG Girl (welcome and thank you...catch your breath and dry off, lol), CJ (thanks for joining me!), Christian618 (got me blushing), Dorian (IKR!), Eudora, Fifty Brilliants, Jean Murphy (I was shaking in my knickers because I wasn't sure if the playroom scene would be realistic enough), Jaimini, JN, Laney, Leah, Lizzie (OMG to lady health warnings and deboning coochie boners - too funny!), Marissa, Morgan 5909, MysticWriter, Mystic writer 3018, Mzzchica (thank you, Hon, but I SO love zingers!), Nikki, Rachel from Boston (That was GOOD "use" of my story - no worries, Darling. I'm glad they caught the bastard and I really like you!), Rauguste, Rock harpist 89 (OMG, you made me blush), Sam, Sonnie, Tempress (girl, you are too much -and thank you for your condolences), TeresaRomance (ALL reviews are important to me, Love - yes, yours, too!), The One (you are so right about sexual tension!), Tik, TJ, Valentine and to all of my other guests that reviewed as well. **_

_**Only one reviewer (and one person in my Facebook group) recognized that Elliot is a bit of a player even though he's engaged (remember going to the club with Christian and scoping out the daughters last week at Bellevue?). Anywho, that behavior will be explained in a later chapter when that whole thing hits the fan (ominous music playing).**_

_****__****__****__****__**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

Chapter 28—Family Ties

_**GREY**_

_I'm frozen. I'm frozen to the spot. And she's touching me. Her hands are on my shoulders and she's moving them down to my chest. "Get away from me, you bitch!" But she won't. She won't let go. There is blood coming from my shoulders and chest where she is touching me. The pain is excruciating. I want to hit her—to hit her so hard that she never wants to touch me again. Please…help me…please, someone…help me._

"_I'm here, Christian." I hear her voice. Butterfly! Please save me! Save me Butterfly. _

"_Come to me, Christian. I'm here." She coaxes gently, but I can't find her. _

"_Ana! Ana!" I call to her. I have to find her…but I can't move. "Ana, help me!" _

"_Christian, can you hear me?" She says softly. _

"_Yes. Please help me!"_

"_I'm right here, Christian. Wake up!" _

I wake up drenched in sweat, lying in my childhood bed with my t-shirt and pajama pants sticking to my body and Ana—my Ana—looking down on me with loving, caring, concerned eyes.

"I'm here, Christian." She says as she strokes my sweat drenched face. She saved me! She came into my nightmare and got me! She pulled me out—like a lifeguard saving a drowning man. I have had people _wake_ me from my night terrors, but nobody every came into the dream and _got_ me. No one has ever come in and pulled me out.

"Oh, Ana. Don't ever leave me, please." I beg gathering her in my arms.

"Why would I ever leave you, Christian?" She asked incredulously. Because I'm a sick, sadistic fuck who beats brunette women to get back at my crack whore mother.

But do you still do that, Grey? Ana has transformed you, and you don't do it anymore. The acts now are strictly for your and her enjoyment.

Can I live with that rationalization? No, I know its bullshit. I will tell Ana the truth one day. I just hope she doesn't leave me.

She gets up from the bed and goes to the en suite. I hear the faucet, and she returns with a cool face cloth and a glass of water. The face towel is soothing on my over-heated skin. I drink the water like a good boy. She takes my glass and sets it down on the nightstand. Butterfly props herself up on the pillows and draws me to her. I lay my head on her chest and she strokes my hair. It would have put me to sleep under normal circumstances, but now, I'm wide awake. After several minutes, I ask, "Butterfly?"

"Yes?" She answers softly.

"Are you awake?" She laughs lightly.

"No, I'm sleeping. This is unconscious Ana speaking, how can I help you?" That smart mouth. That smart, talented mouth…

"You are beautiful and magnificent and way too good for me." I proclaim.

"I know, but it's too late. I love you already." She answers. God, I love this woman. I take her face in my hands and kiss her gently, finishing with a brush of my nose against hers.

"I want to show you something." I say getting out of the bed and taking her hand. She is wearing a set of blue silk pajamas that my mom bought me back in high school but she never knew that I didn't wear them. Ana looks like a child dressed in Daddy's clothes. I take her downstairs to the library where my mother's grand piano resides. This is something that I want to share with my Butterfly. I've never shared it with anyone outside of my family unless one of my subs dared to interrupt one of my nighttime sonatas - and that usually didn't turn out well for them.

Another first.

We sit on the bench together. Normally I would want to play something maudlin or forlorn on these nights when I am awake and battling my demons. But tonight, I can only think of the beautiful woman sitting next to me. The first song that comes to me is _Truly_ by Lionel Ritchie. Ana's face lights up as I begin to strike the keys. I don't know if I ever told her that I could play, so this is a surprise for her. The motion of my fingers over the instrument always tends to calm my mind, while the terrestrial combination of notes serves to sooth my soul. Butterfly eventually lays her head on my shoulder as I continue to serenade her with an old school love song. As I strike the final note of the song, I look down at her and tears are streaming from her eyes.

"Will you play another one?" She asks, her voice cracking. How could I say no? I strike up the ivories again and play _One and Only_ by Adele. The tune wraps us both in comfort and I soon feel my Butterfly getting heavy on my arm. It's late and she needs her rest after the night we've had. Meeting my family sure could have gone a hell of a lot better, and she hasn't even met Mia yet! But Ana handled it like a pro—all the way down to knocking the Pedophile on her ass…again! And she really took the wind out of Kavanaugh's sails. I finish the tune and look over at her again. She's fighting the good fight but I know she's tired.

"I love you, Christian." She says softly, in her sleepy voice.

"I love you, too, Anastasia." I say before scooping her into my arms to carry her back to my room. As I clear the library door, I see someone standing in the shadows. I shift a bit to find a timid Mia looking back at me. I look over and Butterfly has instantly fallen asleep in my arms.

"Cwis." Mia greets me with a delicate smile.

"Meelo." I greet back with a wink and take my girl to bed.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

What a fucking disaster! I turned into Sha-Za Queen of the Fucking Amazons in front of Christian's parents. I am so unbelievably humiliated that I can't even speak. I just sit there holding Christian and his mother, crying.

I want to go home. I want to crawl up under the covers and hide for three days and pretend this whole thing never happened, but Christian lifts his head and he's been crying, too. He looks utterly exhausted and I don't think anyone can take anymore _merriment_ for the night. Grace had the cooks prepare a huge meal for dinner that no one ate, and Christian looks like he's going to just roll off the sofa in a mound.

"Why don't you stay the night?" Grace suggested, as she delicately stroked tendrils of hair out of her son's face. I heard Kate gasp behind me, again. She's been doing a lot of gasping and bitter-looking tonight. Well, she might as well get used to it, because I'm not going anywhere, thank you very much!

Grace leads us up to Christian's old bedroom and I send him in to the en suite to take a shower. I am sitting on his bed, my head in my hands when Grace comes into the room.

"Ana? Here's some fresh linen for you two and some of Christian's old pajamas. They might be a bit large for you but they've never been worn. He doesn't know that I know." She smiles.

"Thank you, Grace. That's very kind." She turns to leave. "Grace?" She turns back around.

"Yes, Dear?" Her kindness brings me to tears again. If she only knew how I wanted to hide my face under a rock right now. Will she ever invite me to anything at her home again?

"I'm sorry," I say through my tears. "My behavior was deplorable! You must be mortified!" She sits down next to me.

"You dry those tears, now." She said, putting her arm around my shoulder. "All I saw was a young lady that I just met trying to protect my son. What I don't understand is why _Elena_ behaved that way." Uh oh, Pandora is peeking out of her box. I wipe my face and straighten up.

"Grace, I'll be honest. I was getting dirty looks all night—from the girls, from their mothers, even from one of the kitchen staff. And Kate…ugh! What was _that_ all about?" Grace just shook her head.

"It's obviously no secret that many of them had their sights set on Christian. Some thought he was gay and hoped for the chance to convert him. As long as no other girl came around, they always had hope. And then you showed up and…well you know the rest. As for Katherine," Grace rises to close Christian's door. "I can't tell you what her problem is," Grace says, sitting back on the bed next to me. "She comes from one of the best families…if you really care about that kind of thing. I only say that because I can't see anything in her life that would make her so eternally bitter. She's not pleasant to be around and I hold my tongue for Elliot's sake, but I can't for the life of me see what he sees in her. She's not a nice person. She doesn't seem happy. Everything is about _status_ to her. Oh, she puts on a good show and she's poised and elegant when the situation calls for it, but I just don't take to her well." I'm amazed that Grace is sharing this information with me and she's only known me for about five hours. "She and Elliot met because her brother Ethan has been dating my daughter Mia for about three years now. They met while they were both on a trip abroad and, as luck would have it, were both from the Seattle area. Ethan is a nice enough young man—nothing like Katherine. I get the feeling that he would rather not be around her most of the time. You know how you love someone but you don't necessarily like them?"

Yep, I felt that through my last two years of high school. I nod.

"Katherine came along when we had invited Ethan and their parents to dinner. Elliot was stricken right away. That brings us to here."

"Could it have anything to do with her parents' outlook? You know how it is living in a class-based society. Most rich parents want their children to marry up or at the very least, laterally." She shook her head.

"No, her parents are lovely people. I think Katherine has just been around too many snobs in her life and it has rubbed off on her. She has attempted several times to get into my good graces—no pun intended—but we just don't meld well. Her spirit is all wrong. She makes you ill when she enters the room and her voice irritates your eardrums." In other words, another She-Thing.

"What does she do?" I asked.

"She's a journalist, and a pretty good one . She works for her father's company, Kavanaugh Media…"

"Ugh…she's one of those Kavanaughs?" I ask, my voice dripping with dread.

"Yes, do you know them?" Grace asked.

"No, not at all. But I first-hand watched one if their reporters wrongly obliterate a client of mine who eventually ended up committing suicide. It's a very sad story and unfortunately, a testament to the power of the press—for good _and_ for evil." I say.

"Oh, Dear. I'm so sorry to hear that." Grace says. "I'll tell you this, though. After tonight, I have had all that I am going to take from that self-absorbed kewpie doll. She is going to act with some decorum and treat my guests with respect or she will no longer be allowed in my home. Elliot can either put her on a leash or send her outside to run with the rest of the dogs!" Boy, when this woman gets mad, she lets them rip!

"Remind me never to piss you off." I say playfully, and we laugh.

"After tonight, I don't think that's possible, Dear." Grace said, kindly. She stands and smiles at me, then walks to the door. "Goodnight, Ana."

"Goodnight, Grace."

* * *

"Get away from me…" I'm roused from my sleep by Christian's tortured voice. "Somebody, please…" He has rolled to the edge of the bed and is thrashing about in what looks like a very violent dream. I know that he can injure himself or me if I try to jolt him out of it, so I begin to stroke his arms and his face.

"I'm here, Christian." I say softly. He is still thrashing around. "Come to me, Christian. I'm here."

"Ana! Ana! Ana, help me!" He cries.

"Christian, can you hear me?" I call to break through his night terror.

"Yes. Please help me!" He begs. I've got him.

"I'm right here, Christian. Wake up!" I command.

Christian bolts out of his sleep, terrified gray eyes searching around the room and trying to identify his surroundings. He looks up at me like a frightened child.

"Oh, Ana. Don't ever leave me, please!" He pleads, crushing me in his arms. Damn, that must've been some dream! Where would he ever get an idea like that?

"Why would I ever leave you, Christian?" I comfort him. He stiffens a bit but continues to hold me. I release his grip and go to the bathroom for some water and a cool towel to help relax him. I hold him for a while then after a very short tete-e-tete, he takes me down to the library where there a is beautiful black grand piano. It's easily 2am as Christian guides me to the bench to sit beside him. His long fingers masterfully glide across the ebony and ivory keys and I am in awe. I had no idea he could play! And he's so good! I recognize the song as _Truly_ almost immediately. As the music swells into a crescendo where Lionel would hold the high note, I hear the words in my head being translated through Christian's fingers. My heart swells with love and my eyes burst with the tears again.

_Damn it, Steele, you're really going to have to get a grip!  
_I know, but it's so beautiful.  
_Yeah, yeah, it's beautiful…now WOMAN UP!_

She's right…again. This constant crying shit is _so_ not me!

When Christian finishes his song and looks at me, I ask him to play another one. So he starts to play _One and Only_, another beautiful song. I let the melody and his expert technique lull me into comfort. When he's done with his instrumental serenade, I feel him lift me into his arms. I'm too tired to protest.

We wake to the sun shining through Christian's window. Christian is wrapped around me, my back to his front, his face buried in my hair. He has taken the role of protector now. He was right—we will know exactly when to switch roles.

A few moments later, there is a soft knock at the door. I assume that it's Grace. "Come in." I say, sleepily. Christian stirs a bit but doesn't wake. I see hair before I see the person. Raven black and gorgeous!

"Are you decent?" The peppy little soft voice calls out.

"Yes," I answer with uncertainty. Does she have the wrong room? She steps into the room and I swear she looks like a fashion model—gorgeous, tall, slender, striking features, designer clothes, beautiful smile. She and Val could be sisters.

"Hi. Ana right?" She smiles. Friendly. Good start.

"Yes," and say still groggy, "and you are…?"

"I'm Mia. It's nice to meet you!" She says proffering her hand. I shake her hand.

"It's nice to meet you too, Mia." I said, trying to sit up, Christian has me in a vice grip.

"I would sit up, but it appears my boyfriend has me on lockdown." I say with a yawn, rubbing my eyes.

"I do not. Have you. On lockdown." Christian protests, his head buried in my hair.

"Then let me up. Your sister's here." I say. Without moving too much, Christian says, "Meelo."

"Cwis." Mia answers. It's the cutest thing I've ever seen.

"Oooh-ho!" I exclaim. "That is so cute!"

"Kate thinks it's juvenile." Mia says with a frown.

"It's supposed to be juvenile!" I declare. "Weren't you children when you came up with the names?"

"Well, yes." Mia says.

"Well, then the next time that cow says something about it being juvenile, look her in the eye and say 'damn straight!'" Mia and Christian both laugh.

"So you've met her I see?" Mia says.

"Boy, have I!" I lament. "She had the nerve to give me that phony Beverly Hills three-finger handshake…' enchanté!'" I mimic in the worst, pretentious voice that I could muster. Mia laughed. "Oh, but it gets better. She greeted me in French, but then got pissed at me for _speaking_ French. What kind of logic is that?"

"She was just bitchy because she can't speak the language," Mia announced.

"Well then don't throw the words!" I state. Mia smiles

"Parle-tu français?" Mia asked.

"Oui, oui, belle dame." I respond.

"Whoa, no!" Christian sits up slicing the air between Mia and me. "It's too damn early in the morning for that shit!" Mia and I laugh.

"Il est grincheux." Mia says.

"Oui, sans doute il a faim." I concur.

"I am not cranky." He says, pulling the covers off of both of us. "But you're right about the hungry part. So get your ass up so we can eat!"

"Oui, monsieur." I say sweetly. Christian's pupils dilate and his eyes droop a bit. "Was it something I said?" I say innocently.

"Oh, Ms. Steele." He says shaking his head as he goes to the bathroom. Mia and I laugh some more.

"Well, I got sidetracked but the reason I came in was because Mom suggested I bring you some clothes since you didn't bring anything to wear, so I brought you a few choices." She lays some outfits out on the bed. Oh, my—a girl with fashion sense that lets me borrow clothes! I'm in heaven.

"Thanks, Mia. That's really sweet of you." I say.

"Don't mention it. Just you and my brother come on down to breakfast so that we can eat!" She says as she trots out of the room. Christian comes out of the bathroom with toothbrush in hand.

"I'm going to take a quick shower, Babe." I say and he nods. I grab two of the clean towels that Grace left and get in a hot shower. Oh, I love hot showers—they wash away all of the trouble of the day! I have lathered up and I am rinsing the last of Christian's shampoo from my hair when I feel a cold draft and then strong hands turning me around and pushing me against the shower wall.

"Christian!" I gasp. He is standing there in all of his naked glory, his member at full attention.

"Oui, monsieur?" He says in _that_ voice. Why would he use that voice with me in _here_? I'm a cornered rat, my knees are getting weak, and there's nowhere to sit!

"Oui, monsieur." I breathed and he pounced before I got the words out of my mouth.

Christian lovingly dried my hair when our morning tryst was complete and put it in a ponytail for me. I opted for an Ali & Kris stud collar chiffon white swing shirt with teal Capri jeans with zippers on the calf and a pair of Michael Kors black crinkled patent leather zipper heels. Mia and I turned out to be a perfect fit down to the shoes, even though she has to be half a foot taller than me.

We join the family in the dining room and speak to everyone. Kate has the guns loaded first thing in the morning.

"So glad you could join us." She says in her normal snide way. I look at her as if to say _Already_? I haven't even gotten a piece of toast in my mouth yet!

_You're going to have to put her in her place. You know that right?  
_Girl, yeah. But let's try not to have any more scenes at Christian's parents' house, okay?  
_I'll try, but I'm stacking up the zingers in case her mouth gets going.  
_Stack away, Baby._  
_

"Well, you look fresh as a daisy this morning, Ana." Carrick says. I smile.

"Thank you, Carrick. A good shower does wonders for you." _If they only knew._ "And then Mia let me borrow this beautiful ensemble." Kate tenses up again. Is she constipated!? "By the way, where is Mia?"

"Right behind you, Anakins." She comes into the dining room and looks me over. "Ho-ho-ho! Très magnifique!"

"Merci, chérie. Je n'aurais pas pu le faire sans toi." I say and we break into giggles like schoolgirls.

"Ugh…I thought we had this conversation about speaking a common language last night." Kate snaps.

"Sorry, Kate," Mia says walking to her parents, "but I don't think anybody else at the table speaks _Piglatin_." Three points for Mia. She kisses Grace on the cheek. "Hi Mom." She hugs Carrick's shoulders. "Hi Dad."

We sit down to breakfast and normal conversation is going around the table. Mia is telling me about her and Ethan's plans for the next few months. They are considering moving in together. He sounds like a really nice guy. Maybe all the nice genes went to him and there were none left for Katherine.

"That's it!" Grace exclaimed out of nowhere. Everyone at the table jumped and looked at each other.

"What is it, Mom?" Elliot asked.

"CCFW—I knew I recognized her name from somewhere. Anastasia Steele. Ana Steele." I look at her expecting. Kate expression is clearly hoping a shoe is about to drop. "One of my Helping Hands families dealt with you at CCFW." Sorry, Kate.

"What's the name?" I ask Grace.

"Murphy." She answers. I think for a moment.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "Bonnie and her kids, um…Rachel and…Vicky!"

"Yes! Yes!" Grace is clapping like she just won on a game show. "Bonnie was constantly going on and on about how wonderful and helpful you were to her and her children! And now I get to meet you. What's more, you're dating my son! This is wonderful!" Kate's face is the color of my pants. I swear she looks like she has gangrene.

"Oh my God! How are they doing?" I ask. "I haven't heard from them for so long, which is good because if I don't hear from them then I know they're doing well." Grace and I take off in our own conversation about the families at Helping Hands. Since we didn't really have a chance to discuss it last night in the fundraiser meeting, I asked Grace exactly what Helping Hands does. Grace was off again, talking about all of the battered wives and abused children helped by the program. I think it's a wonderful thing. It's exactly why I became a psychologist.

"Is there anything I can do to help, Grace, in a personal or professional capacity?" I ask. In a not-so-subtle voice, I hear Kate say, "Suck up."

Grace closed her eyes and her face changed. I thought she was in pain. Carrick looks at his wife and he knows what's about to happen. He looks over at Elliot who simply rolls his eyes and drops his head. I look over at Christian for some kind of clue, and he just puts his arm around the back of my chair and drops his head as well. Kate and I are truly both clueless—probably the only thing we have in common right now—except for the whole "pussy" thing. Mia, who is seated on the other side of me, softly says "Here it comes…" and drops her head, too.

Here what comes?

Grace slams her fork onto her plate and I jump again. "Katherine, I don't know how they do things where _you_ come from, but in my home, we treat people with respect. If you are unable to do that, you are welcome to _leave_!" Grace spits vehemently. Kate gawks at her, eye wide and totally appalled. "And wipe that phony doe-eyed look off your face! You have deplorable manners, no tact whatsoever, a wretched attitude, and if I hadn't met your parents and your brother, I would believe you were raised by wolves!"

Holy. Cow. Batman. Grace is on a rampage, and nobody dare stop her. All of her children have dropped their heads like they are the ones being chastised. I think they know this stance well. I drop my head, too, because I feel conspicuous sitting up. Kate is still glaring at Grace in disbelief.

"I have sat and listened to you throw snide, nasty, insinuating, derogatory remarks at Ana repeatedly! And you have the nerve to imply that _she's_ not a lady for defending my son last night!? You have no clue what it means to be a lady, Katherine! If you do, I haven't seen it. Your mother is the picture of decorum, but you have about as much class as a sow's ear!"

_Whoa! We don't need any zingers! Grace has them all!  
_Yeah, girl. But keep stacking because I might need them later.  
_You got it._

"Elliot…" Kate whines a bit, seeking some assistance from her fiancée.

"Don't look at me." Elliot says softly. "I keep telling you to cut that shit out, and you won't listen. Now if you think I'm going to check my Mom in her house at her table, you are _seriously_ mistaken." When Elliot is done, Grace takes off on her again.

"My son clearly loves you. Why, I'll never know. But don't think for one second that that gives you the right to act superior to everyone. I don't know why you have your nose so high in the air anyway. You're a physical beautiful girl but your attitude is _ugly_!" She snaps. Kate is gasping…again.

"I don't have to sit here and be insulted like this." She says, near tears—crocodile tears, that is.

"Oh no? You don't? But you can sit here and insult everybody else? You can dish it out but you can't take it? That's okay, Katherine. You're right. You do _not_ have to sit here and be insulted. You can leave and do not return to my home until you have learned to behave yourself!" Grace proceeds to storm out of the room when Elliot says, "I'm sorry, Mom."

"YOU!" She turns around on Elliot. Mia and Christian chins seem to go further into their chests. "You do not get to apologize for her anymore. She has no problem throwing daggers and she had no problem speaking for you yesterday. She can speak for _herself_, but not until she gains some dignity, humility, and _grace_!" And she's gone.

Swish—nothing but net. And the buzzer goes off. Game over!

Elliot gets up from the table to follow his mother. Carrick rises and puts his hand up.

"I'll go talk to her." He says, leaving the table to find his wife. Kate is breathing heavily like she was holding her breath. Elliot is lost in thought. Now would be a good time to _not_ be here.

"I'm going to get some air, Christian. Would you like to come with me?" I ask.

"Certainly." He says, putting his napkin on the table and following me out to the patio. I take in a deep breath to smell the Washington summer air.

"You guys knew that was going to happen, didn't you?" I asked. He nodded.

"You see everybody assumed the position. Smart move on your part by the way."

"I didn't want to be the odd girl out." I say.

"Good call," he says, "because the odd man out is usually the one that gets hit next. " He walks over to me and puts his arms around me. "She likes you, though, so I don't think you have to worry about the wrath of Grace anytime soon." I smile as he kisses my nose. I take his hand and walk away from the door.

"She asked me about _Elena_ last night, Christian." He sighed heavily.

"What did you tell her?" He asks.

"I didn't tell her anything. I diverted the conversation." He runs his hands through his hair. "You need to tell her, Christian." He looks at me horrified.

"I can't tell my mother about this!" He exclaims.

"I'm not telling you to tell her everything. But you are going to have to tell her. The woman that I saw in there just now is not going to stop until she gets some answers as to why Elena was insistent on touching you last night. Do you want her to hear Elena's version, or yours?" He shakes his head. It's a grim reality that he doesn't want to face.

"She's going to blame herself." He says contritely dropping his head.

"Then it's up to you to make sure that she doesn't. You have to take responsibility for not telling her sooner. But you have to let her know why you didn't." He sighs again.

"Will you come with me?" My head jerks back.

"Do you really _want_ me to?" I ask. He nods. I reach up and touch his cheek. "Then of course, I'll be there." I smile.

"Good." He says. "I'm going for a walk. I need a few moments to myself."

"Okay, Baby." He kisses my hand and heads off towards the lake. I watch him as he walks away, wondering how he is going to break this horrible news to his mother.

"Wow, you're shorter than I thought." She's standing behind me, still spitting venom. Grace's conversation did absolutely nothing.

"Yeah, and natural light does nothing for your complexion." I shoot back at Kate. "But we all have our flaws."

"Don't think I don't know what you were trying to do last night." Oh, here we go.

"What are you talking about, Kate?" I ask, turning around to face Her Royal Bitchiness.

"I can see right through you. You're about as interested in architecture as I am in psychology. You were flirting with my fiancée!" She snaps. I throw my hands in the air.

"Oh you have completely lost it now. Have you been sniffing glue?" What the hell!? "Yes, Elliot is attractive, but Christian is all I could ever want…in _every_ way!" I announce.

"Oh, please! He's a dull, cold, heartless businessman. Elliot is gorgeous, funny, kind…" Which begs to reason why he's with Kate! "…and he's a real _animal_ in bed." She says lustfully. "I bet you can't say that about Mr. Hardnosed CEO!" She folds her arms with a smirk.

"I don't know what your problem is, but I'm not trying to compete with you. I don't even _know_ you. But you think I'm going to reveal mine and my boyfriend's bedroom stories just to try to one-up you? And you call _them_ juvenile! You are delusional!" I say aghast. "You didn't like me the moment I stepped through the door. Now you have to concoct a _reason_ not to like me? And even if I were that kind of skanktastic, trashy whore, who the hell is dumb enough to do it right in front of her boyfriend!?"

"I'm not here to judge your intelligence level, Little Lady. I'm telling you to stay away from my man!" She shoots. I walk right up to her face.

"I may be a little lady, but at least I'm not a _small woman_." I spit. Her eyes narrow as she digests the full thrust of the insult.

"You really don't want to fuck with me." She threatened.

"And you really don't want to fuck with _me_." I snapped back. "Because whatever you may have in your pocket, I can guarantee you that I have a few extra magic tricks up my sleeve. And whoever you may have in your corner, make sure you ask them if they really want to go toe-to-toe with CEO billionaire Christian Grey's latest love interest!" She doesn't even know me, and she's threatening me! I haven't even done anything to her…yet.

"You mean latest _play thing_." She says between her teeth. I shrugged.

"That may be true, too, but I'm here meeting his family, wearing his sister's clothes, conversing with _your_ boyfriend and his father and connecting with his mother who, if I'm not mistaken, just kicked _you_ out of her house. So why are you even still here? A _lady_ always knows when to leave!"

"Then _leave_!" She spits.

"Oh, my time's not up yet, but yours was up about half an hour ago!" I snap. She stands there glaring at me again. I have so had enough of this cow. It's time to put this bitch in her place. "I don't know where your insecurities lie, and I really don't care. But you're going to stop taking them out on _me_. Who was your target before me…Mia? Did you see _fresh meat_ when I walked in the door? You're nothing but a stuck-up bully, but you've got the wrong girl, because you're _not_ going to bully me. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Kavanaugh, but that's not the way that this game is going to play out. You are going to stop harassing me and you are going to stop trying to intimidate me, because it's only going to piss. Me. Off. And when I finally get to the point where my cup runneth over, it' going to run all over you! That conversation Grace just had with you is going to seem like idle chit chat when I'm done with you. And wherever it happens, it happens. We seem to agree that we don't want to be bothered with each other. So step out of my presence and _stay_ out of my presence, and stop pitching the snide little remarks at me because I am throwing down the gauntlet on your ass. Right. Now!"

Kate is completely at a loss for words. I don't think she has ever had anybody stand up to her in her life. You can see thoughts going through her brain at a million miles an hour. She is desperately searching her mental Rolodex for a comeback.

"You've got them all wrapped around your fingers, eating out of your phony little hands!" She says, her voice a little shakier than usual.

"What do you mean? What kind of nonsense are you talking about _now_?" I ask.

"Everybody's falling all over you. I know this is all an act. When the real you comes out, the gig is going to be up!" That's when it dawned on me. No one in the family likes Kate except Elliot. Over the last 18 hours, everything that anyone has said about Kate has been vicious. Now, here I come, just some _girlfriend_, and everybody seems to like me.

"You're jealous." I said in awe as the realization dawns.

"I am not!" she snapped. "Why would I be jealous of you!?"

"Why would you care if his family liked me or not? Why would it matter to you at all…unless none of them liked _you?_ They don't like you because you're vicious. You walk around with this air of entitlement like everybody is supposed to bow down to you like the Queen of England. And maybe that's how it's done in your circles, but real people have to _earn_ respect. You were born into money and you're pretty and you think that makes you better than everybody—but it doesn't, Kate. Right now, what it makes you is a snob. I don't know if you've noticed this about the family you are about to marry into, but the Greys. Are not. Snobs. You've had to know them for quite some time to be engaged to Elliot. I've known them for less than 24 hours and I can see that.

"If you want to know why they don't take to you, it's because your attitude is deplorable! You're conniving, unpleasant, and underhanded—and they see it the moment you walk into the room. And no matter how much sucking up you tried to do, _your_ true colors showed through. I am who I am 24 hours a day, seven days a week—I don't change. Whoever likes me, likes me. Whoever doesn't, doesn't. I don't care. But for you, it's a necessity, and if anybody in the room is getting more attention than you, they become the center of your ire. It's really pretty pathetic when you think about it. You're angry at me because the man who couldn't love anybody loves me, his brother is nice to me, his sister lets me wear her clothes and has already given me a nickname, Carrick calls me Lovely Lady, and Grace wanted to meet me before she even knew who I was.

"On top of that, last night I came to my man's defense to the point of a physical altercation. Would you do that for Elliot? Would you put yourself on the line and ruin your French manicure if Elliot really needed you in that way? Don't ever compare yourself to me, Kate. You _can't_ compare to me. You may have money and you may have come from a good family, but that's where the line stops. That's all you're worth! I worked hard to be who I am and to get where I am. So you can have your money and your family name. I'll take my integrity, my dignity, and my character and all of the people that love me to you and your money and your attitude and your misery _any day_!" I glare at her. What next, Bitch?

Again, Kate has fallen silent and is looking for something to say. The best she could come up with was, "Well, a lot of women are just after Christian for his money." Oh give me a break. She's grasping for straws now.

"Get the wax out of your ears, Blondie. I'm a _doctor_ in case you didn't notice. I don't need Christian's money. Oh and by the way, _he_ pursued _me_. Ask him if you don't believe me." I turn away from her. I tired of talking to her now. From behind me she says,

"So, there's some big secret between Elena and Christian, huh?" I turn around slowly to face her again.

"Excuse me?" I say trying to maintain my composure.

"I just heard you telling Christian that he needs to tell his mother _something_ before Elena does." She smirks. My eyes narrow. This bitch must not remember that I damn near tackled She-Thing last night in a room full of people for trying to hurt my man. "Being a journalist," she continued, "I know just how harmful a rumor can be. It would terrible for anything to get into the mainstream media that would sully the great Christian Grey, much less one of Grace's oldest friends." Oh, she has done it now. She does not know that I know _exactly_ how harmful a rumor can be. I pull my iPhone out of my bra and talk to Siri.

"Text Christian." I say, my eyes never leaving Kate. Siri's voice comes back: _What do you want to say to Christian Grey?_ I reply, "Oh Christian, I need you to meet me on the patio right away. I think there's something that we need to discuss."

Kate is turning pale, realizing that I have summoned Christian to the conversation. "What are you doing?" She gasped. She gasps a lot.

"Well, it's like you said," I begin. "It would terrible for anything to get into the mainstream media that would sully the great Christian Grey. So we should probably formulate a course of action since a _journalist_ just came to me and told me that she overheard a private conversation and has ever so thoroughly informed me of the danger that could be lurking behind said conversation. I'll make sure that I relay your _concerns_ to Christian."

"You're trying to get him to fight your battles now?" She taunts, trying to delay or circumvent the inevitable explosion that is about to occur.

"Oh, no. This isn't my battle, this is _his_. You said 'the great Christian Grey,' not 'Little Lady Anastasia Steele.'" I say in a mocking voice. "I'm not the one in any danger here. Apparently, Christian is the one who needs to cover his back."

"I wasn't trying to imply…" Kate stops mid-sentence and I look over my shoulder to see Christian walk up behind me.

"Baby, what's up?" He says, looking from me to Kate.

"Just a second, I think you interrupted Kate." I said, turning to Kate. "You were saying?" I ask. Kate paused and looks from me to Christian and back to me. She looks like a cornered rabbit.

"…That I think I need to go find Elliot." She says as she turns on her heels and marches back into the house.

"Good Idea." I say to her retreating back. I turn to look at a confused Christian.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Tell my mother. I can't tell my mother. She'll be crushed. She confided in Elena—a lot of information. Elena knew more details about me than anybody. She knew my past. She knew my habits. She knew my problems. How do you tell your mother that she unwittingly aided and abetted the Pedophile who molested you? I can't do that to Grace. She's good and she's kind and she has a wonderful heart, and Elena is an evil, wicked witch! Mom was confiding in a friend who betrayed her trust and used it to her own advantage. How can I get her to see that when I didn't tell her what was going on from the beginning?

When I was a teenager, I used to wish I was Elliot. I used to wish that my parents had just died and left me instead of the horror story that was my childhood. I used to wish that I was funny and outgoing like he was, popular like he was. I wanted to fit in like he did. I wished I could stand to be touched. I wanted my whole life to be different. I didn't want to be the son of a crack whore. Elliot lived a charmed life with the Greys and I was always the problem—never behaved, always getting into fights, drinking, getting kicked out of school...

Now I wish I was Elliot again; I wish I had avoided that evil bitch.

My blackberry goes off in my pocket and I and wondering what the hell is going on now. I am please that it's my butterfly.

_**** Oh Christian, I need you to meet me on the patio right away. I think there's something that we need to discuss.****_

Oh hell. I just left her not ten minutes ago. What could have happened in that small amount of time? I come around the fountain to the patio.

Kavanaugh. I should've known.

I walk up to Butterfly and Kavanaugh in the midst of a not-so-pleasant conversation. Kavanaugh is about to say something but stops short when I stand next to Butterfly.

"Baby, what's up?" I say, expecting. Kavanaugh has suddenly gotten nervous. As a matter of fact, that's the first time I've _ever_ seen Kavanaugh nervous. Bitchy, irritating, cranky, rude…but never nervous.

"Just a second, I think you interrupted Kate." Butterfly said, turning back to face Kavanaugh. "You were saying?" Well, out with it, Bitcherosa, we don't have all damn day!

"…That I think I need to go find Elliot." Kavanaugh says as she scrambled away like she was fleeing a crime scene. My Butterfly says after her, "Good Idea." What the hell? Something's rotten in Denmark.

"Baby, what just happened?" I know something just transpired here, but I'm not sure what it was.

"You've got a new problem and you need to tell your mother what's going on." Oh shit.

"What does this have to do with Kavanaugh?" I ask.

"She just came out here with blow after blow after blow of everything that she thought she could hit me with. She started with me being short, then proceeded to accuse me of flirting with Elliot last night. Then she tries to compare yours and Elliot's bedroom skills, as if I would ever tell her anything about that!" She stops and takes a breath.

"I still don't see—" I am interrupted by Butterfly's little hand flying in the air.

"Oh, no. I'm not done." I shift on my feet and cross one arm across my body, my free hand rubbing my chin as she continued. "When none of that worked, she then blatantly threatened me, after which she called me you latest _plaything_. Then she tried to kick me out!"

Is Kavanaugh on medication!?

"When that didn't work, she called me a phony because your family likes _me_ and not _her_. And then when I called her a jealous snob and a bully, she called me a gold digger."

"A gold digger? Are you kidding me?" Oh, Katherine. You couldn't be further from the truth with this one.

"Nope. Serious as cancer." She said shaking her head. "But that's still not the worst of it." Oh shit, there's more? "When everything else failed, she told me that she had overheard our conversation about you and Elena. Her exact words were, and I quote, '"Being a journalist, I know just how harmful a rumor can be. It would terrible for anything to get into the mainstream media that would sully the great Christian Grey, much less one of Grace's oldest friends.' End quote."

What the fuck is she playing at? Does she _really_ want to cross me like that? I quickly replayed the conversation in my head and neither of us said anything damaging that I can remember, but it was enough to cause speculation. "I know that she doesn't like you and she could pretty much stand by and watch me die, but this ridiculous, I haven't known this woman for a full 24 hours yet and she has my head on a chopping block already to the degree that she'll take you down, too if it means that I'll be hurt in the process." Butterfly adds.

"I knew she was vicious, but this is truly ridiculous."I run my hand through my hair.

"I know, Baby. She is particularly angry that every member of your family seems to get on with me, but not with her. She's going to do whatever she can to drive rift in so that she can fit." Oh is that what she thinks she's going to do? Over my dead body!

"The fuck she is!" I storm back into the house looking for Elliot. Being catty is one thing, but this is going too far. We find Kavanaugh in the dining room, feverishly trying to get Elliot to take her home.

"Kate, I'm not leaving until I talk to my mother. She's very upset and hasn't come back down yet. Haven't you done enough for one day?" Elliot says.

"Apparently not!" I growl. Kavanaugh and Elliot both look up at us. Elliot is confused and Kavanaugh looks like she's ready to bolt for the door. "Elliot, I need to talk to you." I bark. Kavanaugh flips out.

"Don't listen to anything he says, Elliot. He's lying!" She is terrified.

"He hasn't said anything yet, Kate." Elliot snaps.

"He has it in for me, Elliot. I know it. I know he's going to tell you all kinds of lies about me that _she_ fed to him." She sneers at Ana.

"And what exactly would he be lying about?" Elliot is getting agitated. Kavanaugh is searching for words.

"Well, I don't know. I don't know what she told him." She lies.

"Yes you do," Ana chimes in. "I told him the exact same thing that you told me."

"Elliot." I say again. He's going to have to put that bitch on a leash or I will. Elliot stands to walk toward me. Kavanaugh freaks out again grabbing Elliot's arm.

"Elliot, please." She begs.

"Kate! The sooner I hear what my brother has to say, the sooner we can get to the bottom of this." Elliot snaps before leaving to join me in Dad's study.

"Okay Christian, what's this all about?" Elliot asks me impatiently.

"You know when it comes to Katherine, I have no love lost. So I wouldn't blame you if you don't believe what I'm going to tell you. But so that you know that I am serious before I say anything, I'm going to tell you this. Put your girl on a leash…or I will." Elliot rushes me, enraged.

"What the fuck does that mean?" He growls in my face.

"Exactly what I said! Now sit down! Nobody can ever talk to you about her even though you see how she treats people!" That statement must have gotten to him because he backs up and sits in one of Dad's wingback chairs—still pissed. "She's been antagonizing my girl all night and all day. And then when she got her alone, she threatened her and insulted her and then she threatened _me_." Elliot's eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open.

"She did what?" He said in disbelief. I recounted Ana's story to him about the many accusations that Kavanaugh had thrown at her, from the short comment to the flirting to being a gold digger. Elliot put his head in his hands.

"Elliot, why? I've never asked you this, but why _her_?" I ask. Elliot shook his head in defeat.

"I love her, Bro. You can't pick who you fall in love with."

"Well, you got that right." I say sitting in the wingback chair next to him. "I tried to convince myself for weeks that Ana wasn't for me. You see how that worked out." He chuckles nervously. "But if you're so in love with her, why are you still acting like a single man when she's not around? I mean, I _know _you were looking to get laid that night at the club and then last week with the daughters..."

"I know, Man," he says, putting his hand on the back of his neck. "It's just...sometimes I just can't deal with her. I _do_ love her, but this is _not_ the same woman I met!" He says sadly. I can't comfort him because although I never really liked Kavanaugh, even I know what he says is the truth.

"Christian?" Elliot says.

"Yeah?"

"How did she threaten you?" I sigh heavily. I have to tell him everything.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I'm nervously watching the study door. Christian and Elliot have been in there for quite some time. Grace and Carrick have still not emerged, and Mia disappeared to parts unknown just after breakfast. I am drawn from my thoughts by a cold hand grabbing my forearm and spinning me around.

"What did you tell him?" I am now facing a frightened and angry Katherine Kavanaugh. I reflexively pushed her in her chest and she backed up about a foot.

"Did you just touch me!?" I snap. She gathered her bearings a bit and glared at me. "Don't fucking touch me!"

"What did you tell him?" She repeated.

"I told him the _truth_!" I replied. "I know that you don't know me very well, but you need to ask Christian about me. Christian, who is a very powerful billionaire, _threatened_ my career when we first met. It didn't work out well for him and he didn't win that particular battle. I don't respond well to threats. I take precautions. I'm a cover-your-ass kind of girl. And if I can't cover my own ass, I have a .44 magnum that can. Threats don't scare me, Katherine. So the next time you come at me with something, it had better be something _better_ than that, because threats don't make me bend."

"I would listen to her if I were you." Christian's voice came booming from my right. Kate and I turn to see Christian and Elliot watching our exchange.

"Elliot!" Kate immediately goes into damsel in distress. "She _pushed_ me!" She whined.

"Oh, save it, Kate!" Elliot snapped. Uh-oh. Sounds like somebody's pissed. Elliot looks at Kate then turns around and leaves the room.

"Elliot!" Kate is running after him, trying to stop him. I walk over to Christian and put my arms around him.

"How did it go, Baby?" I ask cautiously.

"About as well as can be expected." He answers wrapping his arms around me and kissing my forehead. "You're right. I have to tell Grace. It can only get worse from here." I lay my head on his chest.

"Your brother deserves so much better." I say softly. He lifts my chin with his hand.

"We can't pick who we fall in love with." He says with a smile and kisses me gently on the lips. "I'm going to see if I can find Grace, okay?"

"I'll be right here if you need me." I smile as he goes off towards the stairs. So now I'm alone in the dining room. This has been some damn day. Is it even noon, yet? I walk out of the patio doors and spy the garden. That looks like a good place for a few moments of silence.

The garden truly is beautiful. The grounds are impeccably groomed of course and the small gazebo is a wonderful place to sit and think on a beautiful day, surrounded by wildflowers and perennials with a perfect view of the water. I had just found my serenity when nails on the chalkboard break my peace.

"Enjoy it while you can, because he's going to wake up one day and realize that he misses what he had." She-Bitch shows her face again. "You're a backstabbing excuse of a woman for turning a man against his oldest and dearest friend!" Fuck! What is wrong with these crazy ass women!?

"I don't really care if you hate me. It doesn't make me any difference, but you need to hate me for the right reason. He told _me_ about your relationship. He told _me_ that he didn't want to be friends with you anymore because he finally understands that you're nothing but a pedophile. He told _me_ that your relationship was over before I even knew who you were. I didn't even know who you were until you walked into the house on Sunday." Her eyes grow wide.

"I don't believe you. That's a lie!" She exclaims incredulously.

"I really don't care if you believe me, as long as you know. I didn't tell him anything about you that he didn't come to the conclusion on himself. He told me that he wanted nothing else to do with you because you came on to his brother and you probably molested more children before them and more children after them. So stop blaming me because you're a dirty, nasty old pedophile and one of your victims has finally seen you for what you really are!" She looks as if she's going to break down and cry.

"You think you know it all." She snaps. "You don't know anything. You don't know anything about me, about _us_, about our lifestyle. What we share runs deeper than anything _you_ have to offer. This is just a phase for Christian. You'll see!"

I don't have time for this conversation, nor do I want to have it in Christian's parents' home. I turn to leave and Elena grabs my arm. I slowly turn my head and look at where her hand is contacting my arm. I lift only my eyes to glare at her and speak for me _how fucking dare you put your hands on me_. I could clearly see the chill run through her body and momentarily show in her eyes before she regains her bearings and attempt to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.

"I'm not afraid of you." She sneers. Did this bitch forget last night?

"You should be." I growl.

With my free hand, I grab hold of the wrist attached to the hand holding my arm, and just squeeze. It didn't take long for that hand to lose color and turn paler than her face, causing her to release her grip on me. I held her hand up for her to see it, then threw it away from me as I begin to walk away.

"You little bit…" Within seconds, I am back in her face and she gasps.

"You misunderstand!" I snap. "_**You**_ are under the impression that we have something to discuss. _**I**_ have nothing to say to you. _**I**_ am not going to get into a war of words with you because it's not worth my time. It serves me _**no.**_ Purpose. Whatsoever! But know this—if you see me—_anywhere_—keep walking...because when I see you coming, I'm going to take it as a threat to my personal safety and I'm going to attack you with the nearest object I can reach…" I lean in a little closer, "…just so we're clear."

"You won't _see_ me coming." She threatened.

"You fucking well better hope not!" I reinforce.

Not to be trumped, Elena declares shakily, "There are others, you know. I'm not the only one."

Unperturbed, I reply, "Well, you had better tell the 'others' that I'm licensed to carry and always packing. I can hit a fly off a soda can and never touch the aluminum. So they better be as _**psycho**_ as I am when they show up!" I growled that last sentence through clenched teeth.

I could see her conclusion about me written all over her face. If she could have said it out loud, it would have said "_this bitch is crazy!"_ Knowing that I had made my point, I left her standing there with that priceless expression on her face.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**It's late again. Hopefully, I won't go to my reviews and find another psycho bitch cursing me out again!**_

_**Thank you to Nessi, my French interpreter!**_

_**"Parle-tu français?" - Do you speak French?  
**__**"Oui, oui, belle dame." - Yes, yes, beautiful lady!  
**__**"Il est grincheux." - He's cranky.  
**__**"Oui, sans doute il a faim." - "Yes, no doubt he's hungry."  
**__**"Oui, monsieur - Yes sir  
**__**"Très magnifique!" - Very Beautiful  
**__**"Merci, chérie. Je n'aurais pas pu le faire sans toi." - "Thank you, darling. Could not have done it without you."**__**  
**_

"_**A lady always knows when to leave." Cicely Tyson, Fried Green Tomatoes**_

"_**Throwing down the gauntlet." Many of you probably already know this but in Medieval days, knights wore heavy gloves called gauntlets. Throwing the glove on the ground was a knight's method of choice for challenging another knight to a duel—effectively, "calling him out." Today, it pretty much means the same thing—Ana is calling Kate out; she's declaring war, letting Kate know "if it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get." It's pretty much the same thing as when she told Edward "All bets are off."**_

_**If you're too young to know what a Rolodex is, please go Google it, lol. I don't know if they still use them in offices, because I don't use them anymore, but just Google it.**_

"_**Something's rotten in Denmark." Hamlet, William Shakespeare**_

_**The potato recipe and more clothes and location can be found on my Pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Next chapter - The Pedophile Showdown**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_


	29. Chapter 29: Full Disclosure

**_Some of you may have gotten double responses to your reviews. Don't think I'm crazy. I lost my place and I would rather give you two reviews than none. I am still working my way through them, so if you haven't heard from me, please don't become the psycho crazy bitch that cursed me out last week, lol._**

_**As always, thank you to all of my reviewers, including the ones to whom I could not send a PM-Ana, babyblue, Beth, Carol, CG Girl, Chocolate, CM, DeeJay, the Guest that has a new playlist because of my story (I love music, I can't help it), the Guest that served me up like a brisket on a platter to her book club (loved that!), Jaimini, Jean Murphy (your PM's are disabled but thank you so much for your review!), Laney, MysticWriter, Serenity012, Tempress, Teresaromance, The One (damsels in distress get old after a while, don't they?), Tj, Toe frumpy, and to all of my wonderful, delicious guest reviewers who took the time to read and review my story!**_

**_________I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too________._**

**_________Egad! Short author's note-yeah, yeah, yeah...on with the show! ;-)_**

_Chapter 29 - Full Disclosure_

_**GREY**_

I know this is a big house, but where the hell is my mother?

I've checked her room, the library, the music room, the parlor. I even checked the media room and the billiards room. I found myself in Mia's room. She was lying on her bed.

"Cwis." She said when she looked and saw me.

"Meelo." I said, sitting on her bed. "Where's Mom?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen her since she went nuclear on Barbazoid." She said, flipping through a fashion magazine. I laugh a little.

"Boy, you and Elliot can really come up with some names." I say, remember the choice names Elliot has for The Pedophile. Mia sits up and leans on my shoulder.

"So…Anakins." She says and just leaves it there.

"Yeah." I respond, and she knows it means more than just _yeah_.

"Mom really likes her." I know this but I want to know what Meelo thinks.

"What makes you say that?" I ask looking over my shoulder. She looks at me incredulously.

"When's the last time Mom went postal?" I had to nod at this.

"True. True."

"Blondie has been the same Mean-Girl-Wanna-Be for the last two and a half years, and Mom has never lost her cool, but when she started jabbing at Anakins…" Mia spreads her hands and makes a sound like an explosion.

"Yeah, it's been a while since I saw that. When was the last time?"

"About eight years ago when you and Eli got into that fight in Aspen."

"Oh yeah," I shudder. "That was bad!" My family loves hard but we fight hard, too. "She's pulling that shit on Ana…the same shit she pulled on you?"

"Yeah, look how well _that_ worked out for her." Mia shot. "She needs a muzzle."

"She won't get the best of Ana." I say. "Ana's different. She's like you…but different. It's hard to explain. I've never met anybody like her. She's strong, yet vulnerable. She's commanding, yet demure. You know the story Helen of Troy?"

"Yeeeeess?" Mia says, questioningly.

"She could bring down my empire if she wanted to." I say matter-of-factly. Mia's face goes pale.

"Christian! Are you in love?" She asks incredulously. I nod, tentatively. "Does she love you?" I nod again.

"You should have seen her last night. You would know." I say.

"What happened last night?" Mia asked.

"Let's just say that Mrs. Lincoln got a little too close." Mia shivered.

"Why does that woman always make me feel _dirty_ when she's around?" She asked, rightfully so. Was I the only one that was blinded to this snake of a woman?

"Well, I had asked her several times to get her hands off of me, and I went into one of my cold sweats. Ana pushed her so hard, I swear she broke something." Mia cackled loudly.

"Ana pushed Mrs. Lincoln?" She said in disbelief.

"_Shoved_ would be a better word." I laughed with Mia.

"God, I hate that I missed that!" Mia said. "I knew I liked her for a reason."

* * *

Well, I've checked everywhere and there's no sign of Mom. I wonder if she and Carrick left. If she left without saying anything, she was _really_ pissed! I come back down to the dining room just in time to catch sight of Ana walking away from the garden. Who is standing out there with her but none other than the Pedophile? This woman just doesn't fucking know when to quit! I am just about to step out to my Butterfly when I hear the Pedophile shout something to her.

"I'll be there for him, you know. I'll be there for him when he realizes the truth—that you're nothing more than a pasttime. You're nothing long-term or even worthwhile. He's wasting his time on you. He always comes back to me. Always!" She sounds desperate. Butterfly turns back to face her.

"The only truth that I'm concerned about is when he's touching me, when he's holding me, when he's kissing me, when he's fucking me, when I'm riding him, and when he's telling me that he loves me—that's it. I'm not concerned about your version of _the truth_. So you can just miss me with all of that because I really don't want to hear it. You say that I'm not enough for him…who knows? But you're not the one who can tell me that—_he's_ the one that's going to have to tell me that! If that day ever comes, then you can gloat. Until then, you need to keep your mouth shut, because I'm ready to reach down to my foot, come back up and bitch slap your ass!" Yikes! The Tiger is loose again.

"You'll never be enough for him. Face it. You're just a plaything. And when he's done with you, you'll be no more important to him than one of his ex-subs, _Number 16!_" Okay, I've heard enough. Time to hit _Elena_ where I know it hurts the most. I stride out to where they are standing before Butterfly has time to retort. Let me have a stab at her, Baby.

"Excuse me, Mistress." I say, loud enough to be heard but low enough to be contrite. I remember my training. I watch the Pedophile in my peripheral but keep my eyes on Butterfly who has her back to me. The Pedophile is horror-struck. I actually think she whimpered. As Ana slowly turned to face me, I dropped my gaze to the ground.

"Yes, Mr. Grey." She says in a delicate voice, not the sexual one that she uses to make me submit, but just as powerful. She makes it easy to fall into the role with her.

"I can't find my mother, Mistress. I think we should probably just leave if that's what you wish."

"You may look at me, Mr. Grey." She says softly. I raise my eyes to her but not my head. I see the Pedophile behind her looking like her head is about to explode. "What would _you_ like to do?" She asks me gently.

"I would like to leave, Mistress. Present company makes me uncomfortable and since my mother isn't here…I would like to leave, please." I say meekly. She nods.

"We can leave then, Mr. Grey. Would you go collect our things, please?"

"Right away, Mistress." I turn to leave without ever looking at the Pedophile or even acknowledging her presence except for the "uncomfortable" statement.

"_What is this!?"_ The Pedophile shrieks. "I didn't train you to be a sub for _her_! This little _nothing_! This little _nobody_! How _dare_ you waste your life—_your skills_—on _her_!" The Pedophile is screaming at the top of her lungs. She has lost every bit of control over herself and she is completely dysfunctional now. I knew seeing me as Butterfly's submissive would push her over the edge, but this worked out better than even I thought. I turn around slowly with my eye to the ground. I can see the Pedophile's Jimmy Choos have moved in front of Butterfly's Michael Kors.

"Permission to engage the enemy, Mistress." I say to Butterfly.

"Permission granted." She says, softly. I look up at the Pedophile, cold and unfeeling. There is anger and rage brewing in my soul for her, and I let it come out in my eyes when I glare at her. She appears to shrink before me. She looks so small now. I know what she did to me last night and she knows, too. She put me in a mental cage—one where I could not move. Not only did my chest burn when she touched it, but my shoulders, back, and stomach burned, too. It was her way of reminding me, her way of trying to regain control. It was the wrong move.

"_You_. Are Never. Allowed. To touch. Me. Again. If you do, I will break your fucking wrist! If you pull that move around my family one more time, I'm going to make a _public_ announcement as to why I am not speaking to you. By the time I'm done with you, nobody will come near you—no charity balls, no social gatherings, no friends, no nothing. So stop with your little games, because I'm not playing with you. And leave my girl alone, and stop harassing her every time you see her, or I will put my plans into action just for the hell of it. Act like that blonde bleach job hasn't sucked all of the brain cells out of your head and get. The fucking. Message. I'm not going to ask you if that's clear, because I feel like I'm talking to a _pre_-_schooler_ every time you say 'yes' and then turn around and do some stupid shit like this!" The Pedophile is shaking profusely.

"I know that you are going to snap out of this spell she has on you. I know you are! I've known you for too long." I think she's saying it more for herself than for me. She then made the mistake of putting her hand on my arm. Is she deliberately doing exactly what I tell her _not_ to do? I look in Butterfly's direction so that I can see her face in my peripheral. She knows I am asking for permission to speak again. She nods her consent.

I grab the Pedophile's free wrist and twist. She cries out in pain. I know she's not faking because I know this move well. She may need a brace on her wrist for a few days after this. "I said don't ever touch me again! Your touch is toxic to me. Now get your hands off of me, you manipulative witch!" She removes her hand from my arm and I release her other hand. I look to Butterfly once more, and once more she gives her permission.

"You believe whatever you want, _Mrs. Lincoln_, if it helps you sleep at night. But if you don't heed my words, I _will_ destroy you. And if you don't believe me, _try me_." I turn back to Butterfly. "Thank you, Mistress."

"You're welcome, Mr. Grey. You may go now." I turn around and walk back to the house. I think I made my point.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I tried to make my point and leave, but this bitch just won't leave me alone.

_I've got those zingers still stacked up if you need them.  
_Yeah, I might. Hold that thought.  
_Ten-four._

I give her yet another piece of my mind and she comes back with a crack about me being Sub #16! That bitch!

_Well, technically, you are Sub #16.  
_Yeah, and technically, you're a figment of my imagination, so shut up if you're not on my side.  
_Sorry…  
_That's more like it._  
_

I am just about to light into this bitch when I hear a voice behind me say, "Excuse me, Mistress."

I almost didn't recognize it as Christian's voice, but the look on She-Thing's face gave it away. She looked like she had just seen a ghost. And then I understood it…Christian is _subbing_ for me—in front of her! She is the only one who had him as a submissive, and mostly while he was a child. Now he is a successful billionaire, creator of his own destiny...and _my_ submissive…

…And he wants her to know it.

I turn around slowly and he drops his eyes to the ground. Good boy. We carry on a conversation where he only speaks when he is spoken to, and only looks at me with permission. When he is dismissed, She-Thing has a full-on attack. She is screaming at Christian!

"_What is this!? _I didn't train you to be a sub for _her_! This little _nothing_! This little _nobody_! How _dare_ you waste your life—_your skills_—on _her_!"

She looks like fire is going to come flying out of her eye sockets! After asking for permission to speak to her, Christian glares at her with so much hatred in his eyes, it sent chills through _me_. He warned her not to touch him and to stay away from us—but the bitch still won't listen. The first thing she did when he stopped talking was touch him. I know she likes pain but this is ridiculous. Christian asks for permission to engage her twice more. The first time, I thought he was making good on his promise to break her wrist. Part of me wanted to stop him and the other part said, "Nah!" The second time he reinforced his first statement to her. He then thanked me, and I dismissed him again. She-Thing whipped around to me and I was too busy smiling to be mad anymore. Christian had just made me the happiest girl in the world. He trusted me to be his Domme in front of another person! In front of _her_! We took our cues from each other. It was magnificent. I'm going to fuck his brains out later!

"What have you done?" She cries. "What have you _done_ to him? He's beautiful and strong and you've turned him into a sub! You've _ruined_ him!" She is actually crying as she holds her sore wrist with her good hand.

"No I haven't." I say with a smile. "He's still beautiful and strong. Master of his own destiny. He dominated me this morning in his old bedroom. I didn't even get a chance to get 'Yes Sir' out of my mouth! And Thursday in the playroom was phenomenal! He's my first Dom, you know, and he's magnificient! He's a master at what he does, but you already know that. And while you say that I can't give him what he needs, I beg to differ." I open my hands and show her the faint, disappearing scarring from the chains in Christian's playroom. Her face goes pale as she recognizes the scars immediately. "In your attempt to justify manipulating and victimizing a minor, you taught him something very valuable. Each BDSM relationship is determined by the _couple_. The parameters are defined by the _participants_. Sound familiar?" She has fallen quiet so I continue to speak.

"_Your_ relationship was pedophilia. Molestation. _Our_ relationship is filled with that thing you say is only for fools. And he's drunk on it. He's _drunk_ on it even more than he's drunk on power. He has surrendered himself to me, and I have surrendered myself to him. We have the best of both worlds. TPE in whichever direction he needs it, and all the love his heart and soul can hold. Not you or what you think you have to offer, or anything that he had with _any_ of his subs can compare to that. The last time you saw Christian Grey submit was with you when he was a teenager. And now, beautiful billionaire CEO Christian Grey is calling _me_ Mistress. How does that make you feel, Elena? I didn't have to brainwash a 15-year-old boy. I got the real thing, and I didn't have to use lies or trickery to do it. Do you even realize how much more of a woman _and_ a Domme than you I am because of those simple facts?"

She starts to say something else to me, but I look up to see Christian talking to Grace, who is looking out at us.

Shit!

I leave She-Thing where she is standing and run to Christian and Grace.

"Grace, are you okay?" I ask when I get to them.

"I'm fine, Dear." She says kindly. I look to Christian.

"I haven't told her yet." He says. She looks to Christian then back to me.

"Told me what?" She asks.

"Mom, I need to tell you something. It's going to be hard for me to say and even harder for you to hear." I can hear She-Thing coming up quickly behind me.

"Why don't you take this conversation to somewhere more private?" I say.

"Okay. We can use the library." Grace says. She takes Christian's hand and leads him down the hall. I hear him call, "Ana?"

"Yes?" I answer.

"Come." _Gladly_. The last thing I want is to be left here with She-Thing!

The library is a beautiful two-story, circular room—the same place Christian brought me last night when he played piano for me, but it was dark then and only illuminated by moonlight. Today, the high noon sun shines in through two sets of hinged patio doors on the first story and several round-top double hinged windows on the second story. A vast collection of books adorn the built-in cherry wood bookshelves that match the wood of the doors and windows. A white floor-to-ceiling fireplace matches the oversized white sofa and loveseat—which contrast the mauve sitting chairs and soft maple coffee table that make up the sitting area of the room. Various floor lamps with mauve or white shades as well as strategically placed flora, baskets, and decorations round out the library's homey yet opulent décor, the largest contrast in the room being the beautiful Steinway classic grand piano—a piece that both stands out and fits in at the same time.

Christian and his mother take a seat on the sofa while I sit on the love seat to the left of them. Christian looks like a child that has been pulled into the principal's office, but this _is_ a very serious situation, so I completely understand his nerves.

"Christian? Son, what is this all about?" Christian takes a deep breath and then takes his mother's hand.

"Mom, there's a reason that Mrs. Lincoln took liberties with me last night. She and I are business partners in her Esclava Salon chain and up until about a week ago, we were friends." Grace is surprised.

"Okay. How did that come about?" She asked him. He looked over to me.

"Go ahead, Christian." I coax. I need him to be strong and get this out. At that moment, there is a knock and She-Thing bursts through the door.

"She's poisoning him!" She screamed. "She has him under some sort of spell! I've never seen him like this before!"

"Yes you have!" I spit. "Would you like for me to tell her _when_?" She doesn't know that Christian is about to tell his mother anyway. Elena falls into a terrified silence but doesn't move. "Now, this is a private conversation. Please leave and don't come back!" I snap. She hesitates and Christian growls, clearly in his Dom voice:

"Get out!" Both his mother and I are affected, so I know Elena is shitting her designer jeans right now. She slowly backs out of the room and closes the door behind her. I go over to the door and stand there for a moment. I know she's on the other side. I hit the door hard.

"Ow!" I hear from the other side. I open the door.

"Do you _really_ want to play with me?" I say glaring at her. She turns and walks across the foyer to the other side of the house. I close the door and take my seat again. Christian starts talking again.

"Mrs. Lincoln lent me the money to start Grey Enterprises. It was just a loan, and I paid her back. But after Linc left her, she was left with comparatively very little. So I invested in the salon chain and we've been business partners ever since." Grace is still confused.

"That's a bit unusual, but it's not a horrible story, Christian. I don't understand what the problem is." She says to him. His hand grabs nervously at his hair and I can see him starting to come apart a bit.

"Christian, Baby, you can do this." I say softly. He looks over to me like a lost puppy. I smile, nod, and mouth "You can do it." He clears his throat.

"Mom, before I tell you this, you have to promise me something." He says.

"I can't promise anything without knowing what I'm promising, Christian, but I'll do my best." Grace answers.

"Please, Mom, please…don't blame yourself for what you are about to hear. It would really kill me, Mom…" He holds his head down.

She looks at me and then back at Christian. She puts her hand on his cheek.

"Son, please, you're scaring me." She says, her voice trembling.

"Tell her, Christian." I plead. "Don't make her wait any longer."

"Mom, Mrs. Lincoln and I…had a relationship." Grace's hands fly up to her mouth.

"What!?" she say, her voice muffled by her hands.

"Linc left her because he found out about us." Now I didn't know _that_ part. I knew she was divorced, but I didn't know what brought it about.

"Christian," she says, her voice cracking, "That was years ago. You couldn't have been more than 23 or 24 years old…"

"Twenty-one." He says quietly. Grace rises from her seat. She starts to count backwards.

"She's 20 years older than you, Christian. And one of my closest friends! Why?" Christian runs his hands through his hair again.

"We had been seeing each other for years, Mom." Grace's eyes glazed over as she is finally starting to get the thrust of the conversation. She sits down next to Christian again.

"How many years, Christian?" She asked flatly.

"Three were consensual…three were..." And he froze. Grace looks to him to answer, but he can't get the words out of his mouth. Grace looks at me. I can't let this go on any longer. I sit on the coffee table in front of her and turn on the psychologist. This is what I was trained for.

"Mrs. Lincoln is an active pedophile, Grace." Her eyebrows burrow and she frowns.

"Active?" She repeats. Now, _I_ need to take a deep breath. I know why this was so hard for Christian. Spit it out, Steele.

"She has admitted to molesting children. We have no idea how many or how long. She molested Christian for three years, from the age of 15." Grace gasps and then screams.

"Oh my GOD!" She cries. "NO! NO! NOT MY BABY!" She is going slightly hysterical. She runs to the wall, her back to the bookshelves facing us and screaming. She's having a breakdown. I run over to her, Christian right behind me.

"Grace, Grace, listen to me!" She looks at me with her hands over her mouth, weeping hysterically. "It's going to be okay. I promise you. Everything is going to be okay." She is still weeping when Elliot and Kate burst through the doors. Grace doesn't respond to the interruption and neither do I.

"What is she doing to her?" Kate barks.

"Shut up!" Christian growls. I focus on Grace.

"Look at your son, Grace. Look at your son." She looks over at Christian. "He's beautiful, he's intelligent, he's successful. She didn't break him, Grace. She didn't break him." Grace's breathing starts to calm. "He's fine. In fact, he's never been better." I smile at him and he smiles back.

"She's right, Mom." He says. Grace breaks down again as Christian takes her into his arms.

"I'm sorry, Son. I'm so sorry." She cries. He clutches her tightly.

"No, Mom. Please. Don't. This is not your fault." He soothes.

"I trusted her! I told her everything! _Everything_." She continues to wail.

"I know, Mom. But _she's_ the bad guy, not you." He pulls her back and holds her face. "She's a predator, and that's what predators do. They prey on weaknesses." Grace nods as Elliot comes over and gives her a handkerchief for her tear-stained face.

"I don't understand." Grace said. "How could this happen?" Christian turned to Elliot.

"Elliot, you can stay but _she_ has to leave." Christian said referring to Kate.

"Why can _she_ stay and I can't?" Kate protests.

"Kate!" Elliot growls through clenched teeth. Kate held her hands up in surrender and left, closing the door behind her. I guide Grace back to the sofa. Before I start talking I softly say to Elliot, "Hit the door…hard!" Taking the hint, Elliot hit the door with a loud thud. There is a frightened yelp on the other side.

"Get away from the fucking door, Kate!" Elliot growls. I hear the sound of expensive high-heeled shoes running across marble. I think it's safe to say that he scared her away. I take my seat back on the coffee table across from Grace and Christian, who is now squatting next to his mother holding her hand.

"It takes a special kind of sick to be a pedophile." I say to Grace. "Who in their right mind would want to hurt a child, right? Much less have a sexual relationship with one. The pedophile will transfer guilt to anyone who will take it, especially the child. That's how they maintain control. You saw for yourself, she walked in here and tried to transfer it to me! If you proceed to blame yourself for her disgusting and manipulative actions, she wins. She has managed to make everyone else feel horrible about her actions but _herself_. She feels no remorse. The only pain she feels right now is in losing Christian and she is battling that pain with everything she has. She will use anything in her arsenal to regain control over him, but she didn't anticipate _me_."

"Why did you never tell me, Christian?" Grace asked.

"Because for a long time, it was our secret," he replied. "It helped to straighten me out. I behaved in school, stopped drinking, stopped fighting—even went to college…for a minute." He chuckled.

"Did she…hurt you?" She croaked. He swallowed hard. Tell her, Grey.

"Yes, Mom. She did." Grace broke down again. Elliot came over to sit on the sofa next to his mother.

"You told her? Everything?" Elliot says to Christian. Before Christian could answer, Grace turns to Elliot.

"You knew?" She asks aghast.

"He only just told me, Mom…but…she tried with me, too." He confesses.

"Oh my God, what!?" Grace gasps.

"She never got to me, Mom." Elliot says quickly. "She tried, but she never got to me."

"What did she _do_, Elliot?" Grace asks. He's just as uncomfortable talking about it as Christian is.

"She touched me in inappropriate ways and she would say things that you shouldn't say to a kid." He shivers as he recalls the situation…a tell that he speaks the truth. "She just creeped me out, so I just left when she showed up."

"You still do," Grace observed in hindsight. "I always wondered what that was about, but I never caught on." She sighs. "So I know why he didn't tell me," she points to Christian, "but why didn't _you_ tell me?"

"Because I really didn't think it was that big a deal. She creeped me out, I stayed out of her way, nobody got hurt…or so I thought." Elliot rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Bro. Maybe if I had said something sooner…"

"It's not your fault, Elliot." I chimed in. "There's nobody to blame here but _She-Thing_!" Elliot looked up at me and laughed.

"What did you just call her?" He says through his chuckles. My hand flies up to my mouth as I look from Elliot to Christian to Grace, all with signs of mirth on their faces.

"Uh," I don't know what to say. "I, uh…" _Ummm_… "Did I say that out loud?"

"You certainly did." Grace says through a small giggle. I wave my hand.

"I have my own experience with _Mrs. Lincoln_." I say.

"Yeah, you should see the video." Christian jokes. I sit straight up and look at him. My hands are poised in front of me, fingers wide and bent like I'm holding a melon.

"You can_not_ show that to anybody!" I exclaim. "You can talk about it all you want, but you can_not_ let another living soul see that! Do you understand me, Christian Trevelyan Grey!?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" He replies through his laughter with a mock salute.

"Don't worry, Ana. I have nicknames for her, too. They usually involve the word _creep_…You have video of a catfight?" Elliot adds intrigued.

"I was an _accident_!" I yelp.

"An accidental catfight?" Grace says.

"No. An accident that it was recorded. I was just trying to get her to leave." I whined.

"Like last night." Elliot says.

"Exactly like last night. Boy, she doesn't take no for an answer, does she?" I say.

"Well, it turns out that it's bigger than we thought." Grace says as she stands and starts to pace the room.

"Bigger how, Mom?" Elliot asks.

"Well, she's clearly obsessed with Christian. You will have to sever all ties with her after this. Cut communication completely, or she'll never go away. You may even have to get a restraining order." Grace says.

"She hasn't done anything that warrants a restraining order. If anything, she could get one against me and Ana faster than I could get one against her." Christian protests.

"What do you call molesting you, Christian?" Grace asks.

"That was 12 years ago, Mom. It's not going to hold now." Christian informs.

"Harassment?" Grace is still searching.

"That might work, but she has to harass me." Christian says.

"She showed up at your apartment when you told her not to come. She showed up at your office uninvited after you told her not to come to your apartment. Then she refused to move her hands from you last night after you told her to get her hands off of you, and subsequently touched you again in the garden after you specifically told her not to. That's not harassment enough?" I said, counting down She-Thing's many misdemeanors.

"Yes, since you put it that way…" Christian began.

"We'll see what Carrick says." Grace answers.

"Ugh," Christian groans. "I forgot about Dad." His face falls into his hand as he shakes his head. Elliot is also turning a lovely shade of lime green.

"Don't worry, Boys. We'll tell him together." Grace holds her sons' hands. "And we have this lovely girl here to help explain it all." She says, smiling at me and causing me to blush. "Where did you find her, Christian?"

"It's a long story, Mom. I'll tell you about it later. Right now, I think we need to go take out the trash."

"Right you are." Grace says. They all stand simultaneously and march out of the library together, with me close behind.

She-Thing and the Blonde Bonehead are sitting on opposite sofas in the great room when we enter, probably exchanging _Ana_ horror stories no doubt. Grace marches over to She-Thing who stands when we enter the room like the Fantastic Four. "Speak of the devil—La Creepazoid is here." Elliot says.

"Grace, Dear. Is everything alright?" She-Thing's voice oozes from her. Grace looks at her impassively, pulls back and sucker-punches her in the jaw so hard that somehow—don't ask me how—she ended up _behind_ the damn couch!

"Oh!" Kate squeaks in horror as she jumps up from the opposite couch. "What's going on?" She whispers to Elliot, who doesn't respond. He and Christian are in a state of shock.

"How _dare_ you victimize my children, you wicked old goat!" She sneers at She-Thing. A wisp of flaxen blonde hair appears behind the sofa and a pale hand with red claws struggles to assist the demon in regaining her footing.

"Grace! Grace, please! Let me explain!" She says desperately, dizzily stumbling about.

"What is there to explain? What can you possibly say to me, you sick, twisted animal?" Grace is furious. I can clearly tell that all of her feelings are coming out _right now_ and she could very easily kill this woman. She betrayed Grace's trust and used trusted information to victimize Grace's son. No matter what Christian says, Grace will forever feel responsible for what happened to him, for not being able to save him—and now, she is taking it out on the source.

"Grace, please! It's not what you think! I swear, it was consensual." She defends.

"Consensual? _Consensual_? He was 15, you wretched, lying sack of silicon! And you were my _friend_! How could you? How could you do this to me? To _HIM_? How could you?" Grace is screaming now. Carrick and Mia have now joined the room to find out what the commotion is.

"What is going _on_ in here?" Carrick growls. Elliot moves to restrain his mother who looks as if she's going to launch herself at She-Thing any second. Kate is standing around not knowing what to do. Christian clasps my hand and pulls me close to him. She-Thing is looking for support from anywhere possible and finding none.

"Mrs. Lincoln was just leaving." Grace spit.

"Grace, please, we've been friends for so many years…" She-Thing starts to cry. This is not those phony croc-tears I've been seeing. She's really reaching down to that place where, normally, one would find a soul.

"Please what? I want nothing else to do with you! You tried to seduce my oldest son when he was…" She looks over to Elliot who says, "Fourteen." Grace almost gags.

"Fourteen!?" She gasps at Elliot. "Fourteen, Elena?" She says to She-Thing. "You really need professional help!" Mia has made her way to her mother's side and Carrick stands next to Christian and me. "You seduce children, and then you molested a 15-year-old child!"

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" Carrick's hands are flailing wildly in the air. "_Molested_? Molested _who_?"

Grace, Elliot, and I all said "Christian" at the same time that Christian said "Me." Carrick's face flushes and he is almost instantly filled with rage. Mia goes pale, momentarily trying to process the information that she just heard. "Cwis?" She says in a soft, childlike voice. "You?" Christian nodded. At that moment, the kitten that is Mia turned into a hell-cat! "You molested my brother?" She growls at She-Thing, who hasn't taken her eyes off Grace.

She probably should have.

The next thing I know, I see long raven hair, blue skinny jeans, and black Manolo Blahniks flying in the air as Mia takes off before anybody can catch her, runs the few steps across the room, up the sofa (yes, I said that she ran _up_ the sofa) and lunges at She-Thing, who turns around just in time for Mia to land on her back. "You molested my brother, you sick cow!" She screams while she is banging her fist on top of She-Thing's head. Mia legs wrapped around her body so she can't get away, and her arm holding She-Thing in a chokehold.

"Wow!" That's all I can manage to say. This is incredible. She has managed to drive every woman in this room to blows except for the Blonde Bonehead. She-Thing spins, crying and screaming, trying to get air and get Mia off her back. She finally just falls to the floor.

"Get off of me!" She-Thing cries. "You're crazy!"

"And you're twisted and disgusting!" Mia screams, now taking fistfuls of She-Thing's hair and banging her face on the floor. The men in the room all rush over to the fight, trying to get in to get Mia without getting hit. As I make my way over to stand next to Grace, holding her hand, She-Thing reaches behind her and grabs a handful of Mia's hair.

"Let go of my hair, you bleached blonde bitch!" Mia screams, wildly swinging at She-Thing and never missing a hit.

"Get her off of me!" She-Thing is pleading. Elliot finally finds an "in" and grabs Mia around the waist, burying his face in her back to avoid being hit. He's trying to pull her away but She-Thing still has a grip on Mia's hair.

"Let go of her hair, Creeperella, or I'll put her back on you!" Elliot demands. She-Thing immediately lets go and Elliot pulls a flailing Mia away from the scene of the crime. She-Thing finally stumbles to her feet and starts to leave, but not before she throws one final blow at Christian.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Second only to lying for four days with my birth mother's decaying corpse, this has to be the worst event of my entire life to date. I had to break my mother's heart and tell her that her best friend molested me for three years as a child; that when my mother confided in her about my issues and my problems, she used that information to victimize the child that Grace had saved from squalor and abuse. I had to watch my mother fall apart and blame herself for bringing a predator into our midst. But worst of all, I had to reveal the worst secret about myself to everyone in my family and to the woman I love.

"Do they know about us, Christian? Do they?" The Pedophile barks as she reaches the doorway leading to the foyer. I know what she's asking and I'm not going to do this…or so I thought.

"I have told them everything they need to know, Mrs. Lincoln. The only thing that they don't know is how many children that you've molested, and that's only because _I_ don't know either. I don't how long you did it before me, or how long after me, or if you're even still doing it. But I do know this—I want nothing else to do with you—_ever_! You should have listened to me. You should have backed off when I told you to, but you just don't listen." I said calmly.

"Do they know about our lifestyle, Christian? Did you tell them about _that_, little Angel Boy?" she snaps. Everyone in the room looks to me for the answer.

"I'll tell you all later." I say, trying to diffuse the situation.

"B-D-S-M!" She announces proudly. "We get off on inflicting pain on other people, don't we, Christian?"

I cannot fucking believe she just did that. I can't believe she just made this announcement to my family!

"You really want to have this conversation now? You really want to have it now? Fine!" I turned around to face my family. "My relationship with Mrs. Lincoln started when I was cleaning her yard one day…"

"I remember that," Grace said. "You were going over there almost every day. I thought the physical work would be good for you."

"That's right, Mom. I said something disrespectful to Mrs. Lincoln and she slapped me, and then she kissed me. I was intrigued by it. The next day I came back, and she fucked me. Each day, after that I came back, and she slowly introduced me to various factors of the BDSM lifestyle." I turned around and looked at the Pedophile. "At 15 years old, I was beaten, flogged, whipped, caned, bound, handcuffed, gagged, suspended, tortured, and anally raped!" Her face turned white as I described our _playtime_ in grotesque detail to virgin ears. You didn't think I'd go that far, did you, Bitch? Well, you opened this can of worms and now these mother fuckers are going to crawl all over you. I turn back to my stunned family.

"Every time I messed up in school, I was flogged. If I drank or got into a fight, I was whipped. If I even looked at the girls at school, I was caned. She got word that I might have liked a girl at Harvard. When I came home for Christmas that year, she beat the hell out of me." My mother's sharp intake of breath indicated that this was becoming too much for her. Butterfly is looking at me with tears in her eyes and Mia has stopped flailing. "I learned control, and that's why I continued. She had complete control over me and I wanted that control back. So we switched roles shortly after I became an adult. I became the Dom and she was the sub. She taught me all that I needed to know about the lifestyle. She introduced me to others that were part of the lifestyle—women who wanted to sub for me…and that's all I knew. She taught me that there was no other way for me…that love makes you weak and pathetic. She taught me that the lifestyle was the only way to live, and I _believed_ her. Hell, she trained me since I was a teenager. It really _was_ all that I knew." I turned back to her. "I didn't have any friends, no social life, except for contracted subs that helped me maintain control. I only saw them on weekends, all consenting adults, all very legal."

"Ana, did you know about this?" Grace asked. Butterfly looks from me to my mother, and nodded. "Do you two….?"

"Yes," Butterfly answered. "But not to the degree that he just described." She added. "I've never been caned, whipped, tortured, none of that crap!" She spits glaring at The Pedophile. "And neither has he, not by _me_ anyway. Our submission is totally different." She looks back at my mother. "It's based on need, emotion, and arousal...not on sadism."

"You evil bitch." Grace says to the Pedophile. She is flabbergasted. She expected for everything to fall apart when this piece of information came out, but my family is still silently rallying behind me. And she can tell, but she had one last trump to throw.

"Does _she_ know, Christian?" She says through clenched teeth. "Does she know why all of your subs were little pale brunettes?" Venom is oozing from her words. And here I stand at a crossroads—where I am forced to tell my beautiful Butterfly in front of my family what attracted me to her in the first place—even though it has nothing to do with why I love her. I turn to Butterfly and take her hands in mine.

"Baby, this might be hard for you to hear." She looks at me with questioning eyes. I take a deep breath. "I am attracted to brunettes because you all look like my birth mother. I used to beat them to take out the frustrations for what the crack whore and her pimp did to me. I hope you know that you're different." She is horrified. I see it in her eyes.

I've lost her.

I drop her hands and walk over to the Pedophile. This woman is pestilence. She devours everything that she touches…and she must be destroyed. "You're done." I say quietly. "This is where it ends for you." I ache inside. If I'm going to lose my Butterfly, I'm going to take up a new pastime. The full and total destruction of Elena Lincoln.

"You can't ruin me without ruining yourself—your reputation, your family name!" She spit.

"You shouldn't be worried about my reputation, my family name or my money." She recognizes the control in my voice. You are talking to the CEO now, and he means business, Bitch. "What you _should_ be worried about is the fact that I'm going to pour my life, my heart, and my soul into making you suffer."

Oh, that got her attention. What's left of life blood slowly drains from her face.

"I'm going to concentrate my efforts into making you unhappy. When I'm sitting around twiddling my thumbs with nothing to do, the first thing that will pop into my mind is how can I make Elena Lincoln miserable? That's what you should be worried about!" I close the space between myself and the battered Pedophile. Hatred is emanating from my body onto her and she starts to shiver.

"You have taken every good thing away from me that I have ever had. You blocked me from being loved and you lost your mind when you lost your control over me. And now you're sinking—drowning in your own mire—and after everything you've already done to me, you want to take me with you. You taught me too well, _Elena_! I won't go down with you. Anything that you _think_ you can do to me, go…do it. And when you do, I'm going to bury you. I'm going to make you wish you had never been born." She falls completely silent. I now turn my eyes to the ever-present, ever-wicked, chomping at the bit Ms. Katherine Kavanaugh.

"One word," I say through clenched teeth, "One word of this in print…one word…and I will bury you, too!" She looks up at me with fear in her eyes. Good, we understand each other, but it's not enough. She needs to acknowledge it. I stand there, staring at her, wishing that my glare alone could kill her…and she slowly and shakily nods.

I don't even turn around to face my Butterfly. I can't stand to see her leave me. I can't stand to see that look of horror on her face again. I turn on my heels and leave the room. I walk through the foyer, past the stairs, and out the French doors on the side of the house.

My soul is hurting.  
My family is destroyed.  
I've lost my Butterfly.

I need my quiet place. I need my quiet place _now_—silence all the voices in my head, the noises that are around me. I walk across the grass to the tree-house. It used to be my hiding place when I wanted to get away from all of the family _love_. Now I am using it to escape the family's hatred, disgust, and disdain.

What they must think of me…  
What Butterfly must think of me...  
The sadistic things that I've done to women…it makes me sick to even imagine those things being done to my Butterfly.  
They all hate me. I know they do.  
I would.

I climb the stairs and go inside. I always wondered why they called this a tree-house. It's more like a mini-condo in the woods. It has two rooms, a reading nook, and a tower. It even has a gangplank that leads to a separate deck with seating. I sit in the window seat in the reading nook. I used to love up here. I used to sit and think of how I would be rich someday. I'd have a hot girlfriend and a hot car, and all those stuck up bitches from high school that wouldn't give me the time of day would be salivating all over themselves. It's funny because many of those girls are the daughters of those insufferable women that come to these damn charity meetings. They're gagging for me now…and I want none of them.

I want Ana.  
I want my Butterfly.

Elena took this house away from me. She told me that it was time to come out of boyish ways and be a man. So at 16, I stopped coming up here. I had never been back until now. I succeeded.

I became a man.  
I'm rich.  
I have several hot cars.  
And I lost my hot girlfriend.

I look out of the window of the reading nook and I hear someone weeping. It took me a moment to realize that it was me.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Oh. My. God.

I look like his dead mother?

Oh. My. God!

This can't be true! This can't be happening. Is this some kind of sick joke?

I look like his dead mother.

_Listen to everything, psychologist. Not just that one piece. You're about to lose the best thing that ever happened to you.  
_

I go over his word again in my head._  
_

"**I am attracted to brunettes because you all look like my birth mother. I used to beat them to take out the frustrations for what the crack whore and her pimp did to me. I hope you know that you're different."**

I look like his dead mother.  
_Not that part!_

"**I hope you know that you're different."  
**"**I hope you know that you're different."  
**"**I hope you know that you're different."  
**"…**you're different."  
**"…**you're different."****  
**

I'm different.  
_Bingo!_

Christian turns around and verbally cuts She-Thing to shreds. I wouldn't want to be her tomorrow morning. He then turns and warns Katherine about her big journalist mouth and subsequently leaves the room.

What about me? Why did he leave me behind…without a word?

"I hope you're happy now!" She-Thing shoots at me. You _really_ want some of this?

"Oh, don't give me that shit!" I retort. "I was 9 when you came on to Elliot and 12 when you molested Christian. What you did is all on _you_, not me. Get a grip and accept the consequences of your actions and stop blaming everybody else. Maybe then you can get on with a semblance of a _life!"_

"You're not fooling anybody…" She begins.

"Shut up!" I yell. "Nobody here wants to hear anything that you have to say, least of all _me_! And three of us want to beat your ass! So leave before we give in to our urges—starting with the wildcat over there!" She looks at Mia and back at me then decides that it is probably wise to beat a hasty retreat. The tears start falling down my face - a combination of adrenaline tears and angry tears. The scene that just played out before me, before Christian's family, was deplorable—all because a pedophile can't take responsibility for her actions.

"Huh! Kinky sex! I knew she was just a plaything." Kate says, quietly. I walk over to her and look at her for a while. There is nothing behind those beautiful, smirking, green eyes. Her soul is empty. She is miserable. She is trying to find some happiness, but it keeps evading her. Right now, the only happiness that she can find is making others as miserable as she is. I almost feel sorry for her...

Almost…

I pull back and slap her so hard that her chignon comes loose.

Elliot moves, but thinks better of it. I never take my eyes off this sorry excuse for a woman. With all the tragedy that just happened to this family, this is all she can come up with. My fists are balled at my sides. I am daring her to say another word. She looks at my balled fists and back at me, holding her face where I slapped her—but she doesn't speak.

"Ana." Elliot's voice says from beside me. I turn to look at him. "Go to him. He needs you now." He's right. This damaged Barbie with the broke-back hair deserves no more of my time. I leave a stunned Kate standing there and go in search of my man.

Several minutes later, I have looked everywhere. His room, the study, the parlor, the garden, the library...is there some vortex in this house that these people disappear into when they don't want to be found? The car is still here so I know he hasn't gone back to Seattle without me, but I can't _find_ him. I am standing on the patio, flustered and worried.

He's alone.  
What is he doing?  
What is he thinking?

I start to get a sick feeling and I put one hand on my forehead, the other on my waist, bending over a bit. I swear, I feel like I'm about to hurl.

"Where is he?" I mumble to myself.

"Anakins?" Mia is behind me

"Yes, Mia?" I ask meekly, without turning around.

"Are you okay?"

"I can't find him." I say, my voice cracking with unshed tears.

"You can't find him? Who?" She asks.

"Christian." I squeak. She was quiet for a moment.

"He's not in his room?" Of course he's not in his room!

"No." I say defeated.

"Have you checked the tree-house?" She asked.

"The what?"

"The tree-house. He used to go there all the time to be alone." A grown man in a tree-house? As tall as he is, he probably wouldn't even fit in a tree-house anymore. What have I got to lose?

"Um, where's the tree-house?" I ask.

"Follow me." She smiled, taking my hand. We walked back into the house through the foyer and out another set of door. As we started to cross the yard, I see him. White linen shirt, black jeans, and Oxfords. His head is bent and his hands are shoved in his pockets. He's walking towards us without looking up. He looks like a broken man.

"Christian." I breathe softly, his name a prayer on my lips.

I start walking faster towards him.

"Christian." I'm still saying his name softly. I thought he left me behind, but he's right there. Broken and emotionally battered, but he's here.

"Christian." He still can't hear me, but I will him to look up at me. Please, Baby. Please.

* * *

_**GREY**_

After a long time has passed and no one has come from the house, I assume that they all just didn't give a damn about me. And why would they? After all the shit I just unloaded on them, why would any of them care about me? I guess I'll go in and get my things and go home. I'll have to see Ana safely home…if she'll let me. One last chance to say goodbye.

I turn off the generator in the tree-house, go down the stairs and walk towards the house…and my fate. I can feel that familiar pull to my Butterfly even though she's not out here. I hurt so much. I don't know what I'm going to do without her. I don't know if I can survive. I walk with my head bowed, my hands shoved in my pockets, trying to figure out how I'm going to make it through a day…a moment…knowing that I've lost my Butterfly. I want to fall to my knees and wail, like a wolf crying to the moon. Instead, I will myself to keep walking. I can see her one last time. The pull is getting stronger the closer I get to the house.

That's our souls calling to each other…or at least mine calling to her.

I feel it every time she's near me. It started as a spark on the dance floor at the McElvoy—The Awakening—and it's gotten stronger and stronger ever since. God, why would you let me experience Nirvana just to take it away from me so soon?

The pull is turning into an intense ache without her. I lift my head to draw in some air…and I see Mia. She's standing in the distance—about 50 feet away. Darling Meelo.

Twenty feet away, I see beautiful brown tresses bouncing in the sunlight. She's running to me. She's getting closer.

Butterfly!?

As she closes the space between us, her arms open and she lunges at me. I catch her in my arms in mid air, pulling her close to me, feeling her skin, touching her hair.

"Butterfly." I whisper. Am I dreaming? Is this the daytime delusions of a broken-hearted, shattered man in love? If I am, please don't let me wake up.

I am so overcome with emotion that my legs can't hold me anymore. I fall to my knees, taking Butterfly with me. We are clinging to other, kissing frantically and trying to get our words out.

"You scared me…" kiss. "…to death!" She scolds.

"I thought…" kiss "…you wouldn't…" kiss, kiss. "…want me anymore." I confess.

"Why…" kiss. "…would you think…" kiss. "…that?" She asked.

"My mother…" kiss, kiss. "…the subs…" kiss. "…brunette…" kiss, kiss, kiss.

"I'm different…" kiss, kiss. "…you said I'm different." kiss, kiss.

"Yes…" kiss. "…different…" kiss, kiss. "…so different…" kiss.

"I…" kiss, kiss. "…love you, Christian."

"Oh, God, I love you, too, Ana." Long kiss.

We lay on the lawn looking at the sky—me on my back, and Butterfly lying perpendicular to me, her head on my stomach and me playing with her hair. I was in heaven, floating on a cloud with an angel with me.

"I thought I lost you." I say.

"I thought I lost _you_." She replies.

"I'm sorry." I say.

"There's no reason for you to be sorry. And your family is worried about you." Worried about me? After what I just unloaded on them?

"They don't need to worry. I'll be fine." I say.

"But they _are_, Christian." She turns her head to look at me. "It took a lot of heart and guts to do what you did today. And you can't go off alone running and hiding from them…or from me." I hate being wrong.

"You're right. I know. I just don't know what to do or how to feel." I say.

"Well, you can start by understanding that none of this was your fault. You were the victim here. Yes, you made your own choices as an adult, but it was the result of intense conditioning starting at the age of 15. Unfortunately, she got you right at the perfect time to mold a new habit into you that would stick for the rest of your life. I don't know if she planned it that way or not, but she probably did considering that she tried to recruit Elliot at 14."

"I know you're trying to make me feel better, Butterfly, but whatever the rationalization, I just put my family through hell _again_. My mother was screaming in the library. She decked her best friend. Mia went totally kamikaze on the bitch. Elliot had to reveal what she did to him, and Carrick walked right in on the mayhem. It's like I'm a walking disaster waiting to happen." She sits up and glares down at me.

"I am _not_," she began, her voice forceful and her blue eyes piercing, "going to listen to you talk about yourself that way. We've talked about this and you said you wouldn't do it!" I swallow hard at her intensity.

Fuck! Yes, Mistress!

"Now I understand you feeling guilty about your role in what happened _later_, and for that you are just going to have to forgive yourself. But I will not let you walk around with this cloud of doom hanging over your head because you fell victim to a sick ass pedophile! That mentality is what made you vulnerable to her in the first place. You know all about control—now take control of your life and your destiny and don't let _this_ control you, Mr. Grey!"

I feel a twitch in that magic spot when she said it…that name that she mostly only uses in Delicate Domme mode. But right now, she is mad…and serious…and _hot_!

"I'm going to fuck your brains out when we get home." I say before I even think about it. Surprise registers on her face. She just tilts her head to the side and shakes her head.

"I'll never understand that. I never know what to expect from you." She says, laughing a little.

"Good. It's more interesting if I keep you guessing." I sit up and kiss her on the forehead gently stroking her cheek.

"Christian, in light of the events of the day and the deep, dark secret that you were forced to reveal, I think there's something that I should tell you." This time, I freeze. Oh fuck, what's wrong?

"Okay." I say, steeling myself for what's about to come out of Butterfly's mouth.

"I've been on birth control since I was 15 years old." Oh good grief, is that all? She scared me shitless to tell me that she's been on birth control since she was a teenager?

"Okay." I say with finality, thinking that was the end of the story.

"There's a reason I've been on birth control for so long." She adds.

"Okay…" Is she sick? Is something wrong? She takes a deep breath and says,

"After the rape…and the beating…I found out that was pregnant."

* * *

_**LINCOLN**_

Yeah, you really fucked up big time this time, didn't you Mrs. Lincoln?

But I couldn't help it. I know that little bitch is at the bottom of all of this! I know that she turned Christian against me because everything was fine until _she_ showed up. So it _had_ to be her. It _had_ to be—filling his head with this nonsense and bullshit about love.

Ha! Love! Right!

As if anybody besides me could love Christian the way that he needs. And what is it about _her_ that has him so mesmerized? There's nothing remarkable about her! Greta is far more attractive than she is! What does _she_ have?

But Christian is completely taken with her. I can't see what it is. He is totally and completely taken with her. If I believed in witchcraft, I would say that she has truly cast a spell on him. I have never seen him like this before.

He's doing things that he has never done.  
He's saying things that he has never said.  
He's not even the Christian that I created anymore. She has destroyed him, and he doesn't even know it yet.

But if she thinks that I'm going to go away that easily, she is sorely mistaken.

I know that my Christian is still in there  
I know that he can be reached.

He needs me to save him from whatever she has done to him, and I am going to do it whether he thinks I should or not! I am going to make sure that whatever she has done to him, I am going to _undo_.

I can't believe he told his family everything! _Everything_! The whole humiliating package. And Elliot! He was more of a man at 14 than he is _now_, the sniveling little weasel. Letting that little piece of trash lead him around by the nose and he couldn't even keep his mouth shut. I'll make sure to take care of his little meddling ass, too. What is going on with the Grey men?

I can't believe this. I can't believe it has come to this. I surely thought just the threat of them discovering the lifestyle would make him stop. It's something that he _never_ wanted them to know about him. But he told them _everything_, just because _she_ was present. I just don't understand it. I don't understand any of this, but I am going to get to the bottom of it! I am going to get my Christian back. This little bitch does not know who she's dealing with.

And Grace. Fucking hell. Grace is never going to forgive me. We are never going to get past this. I'm going to have to start doing some damage control in social circles but I am not sure what to do…

Spread a rumor?  
Talk about Grace being unstable?  
Plant seeds of a marital breakdown?

These things are all poison pills in our circles. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but somehow or another I'm going to have to save my ass or my name is going to be worthless by morning. I guess I've got some calls to make. But that's going to have to wait, because right now I have some pent-up aggression that needs immediate release. It's time for my latest candidate to entertain me.

Thank God it's Sunday and school is out…

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**The Fantastic Four is a fictional superhero group from Marvel Comics. It has also been made into a movie. I have taken a little liberty using it here since the Fantastic Four was actually three men and a woman and I have used it here to represent two men and two women - Christian, Elliot, Grace, and Ana.**_

_**Lots and lots and lots of stuff on my Pinterest page including the recipe for Ana's cheesy potatoes! pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Next chapter - the final bit of the family affair...and some much awaited lemony goodness!**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_

_**Please review!**_


	30. Chapter 30: It's A Wrap

_**Okay, so, if I haven't already said so, Ana is eclectic because **_**I**_** am eclectic. So please feel free to suggest songs to me to be used in my story or just something that you want me to listen to because I love love love love all types of music.**_

_**Completely off the topic, you know how sometimes you read something and you wish you could just un-read it? That just happened to me. Like Forest Gump, "That's all I'm going to say about that." Just needed to get that little thing off my chest. (Where the hell did that come from? Queenie, you're rubbing off on me!)**_

_**I have finally caught up with all my reviews (yay!). I truly hope that I have not missed anyone. Please forgive me if I did.**_

_**One of my readers called Ana's friends the "Scooby Gang." I love that! (Thanks, Vip!)**_

_**A few of my reviewers want to know why Christian calls Ana "Butterfly." He reveals part of the reason in chapter 21. He reveals the hard core reason in this chapter. :-)**_

_**I had a guest pose a very good question to me. She had some very detailed questions about love. The best way that I can answer your question is to tell you that love is very versatile. I do believe that trials and tribulations do test love and either kill it or make it stronger. There is no such thing as perfect "happily ever after." If you are together for any extended period of time, there are going to be some trials and tribulations. It all depends how you handle the trials and tribulations - and there are so many factors that determine that. Then there's the fact that there is no one perfect **_**definition**_** of love - everybody's definition is different. At its core, it's the same - the strong affectionate feeling that you have for another person. However, in its interpretation, it can be quite different. There are cultures where husbands have more than one wife and they love them all - and the wives love each other, too - whereas in American culture (non-polygamist part), a man is likely to be castrated for being with another woman. Long story short, I think it's impossible to put one definition on love and try to fit it into a neat little box. Love is messy and painful sometimes. I don't think love NEEDS trials, tribulations, and tragedies to survive - but, I do believe that love is OFTEN tested and must survive trials, tribulations, and tragedies, and that the love that does survive those things is usually the strongest. To give you a thorough answer to your question would require a full-on dissertation, but hopefully I answered your question as much as possible. ;-)**_

_**As always, thank you to my wonderful readers and reviewers. I have PM-ed who I could. To those that I could not, thank you to Amelia, Beth, Carol, CG Girl, Chocolate (I think you caught on to my intentions), CJ, CM, GSue, Jeniferclaudast, Laney, Marissa, MysticWriter3018, Mzzchica, Samantha89 (thank you for joining me!), Tempress (I truly loved your synopsis - especially the analysis of GG and Elena's "relationship"), Teresaromance, Tik, Tj, Twinings (a CG elevator kiss - damn!), u-so-jelly-u-jam (I LOVE that name!), and all of my wonderful guests who took time to drop a review. **_

_**If you guys don't know it already, you mean the world to me. I really enjoy writing for you and I love reading your reviews - the praise reviews as well as the controversial reviews. Thank you for loving my story. For those who don't know, I will be reworking the characters and location and publishing this story in the future.**_

_**Wicked Games by Chris Isaac is the perfect song to describe how Elliot feels about his and Kate's situation. Listen to it, if you so choose, before you read this chapter. The video would make you think of Christian and Ana, but the song makes you think of Elliot and Kate.**_

**_________I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too________._**

_Chapter 30—It's A Wrap_

_**GREY**_

"There was a baby?" Oh, good Lord. She was pregnant? With the child of her rapist?

"Yes, there was." She says softly.

"What happened to the child? Did you give it up for adoption?" I ask.

"No, I…" Did she abort it? I wouldn't have blamed her. "…I lost it…in the beating." Oh, God.

"Ana, I'm so sorry." I say, pulling her into my arms.

"It's okay. Really. I didn't know that I was pregnant…until after I had lost the baby. And even then, I couldn't feel sad. I mean, I feel bad for a poor, innocent child to be caught up in this, but I was only 15. I sure wasn't ready for a baby much less the child of the man who raped me."

"That must have been so terrible for you…the whole ordeal. It must have been just awful." I hug her.

"It was." She says. "Thank goodness for Ray or I probably would have been a basket case. At least the guardians did one thing right by letting me stay the summer with him. Anyway, shortly after that, I got on birth control…just in case…"

"…it ever happened again." I finished her sentence. She nodded.

"I just wanted you to know. I wasn't on birth control waiting for the next lucky guy to…well, you know."

"I never thought that about you, Butterfly. Not once." I said. She leans in and kisses me softly, her hand gently stroking my cheek. I love the feel of her delicate skin on mine. She is breathtaking, and I'm a lucky bastard. I hear someone clear their throat and I look up to see Carrick standing over us.

"Hi, Dad." I say.

"Son." He greets, puffing on his pipe. "Everything okay, I assume?"

"Yeah. Everything's fine." I smile at Butterfly.

"Good. Well, your mother has said that the two of you are not leaving until you get a full meal in you and since we have all missed lunch for a_ crazy woman's theatrics_—her words, not mine—you are to march yourselves into the dining room right now for dinner." He says.

"Yes, Father." I reply in the mock obedient son voice. I stand up and extend my hand to Butterfly, helping her get to her feet.

"Good, I'll meet you back at the house." Carrick turns and walks ahead of us.

"Do you know why I call you Butterfly?" I ask, as I tuck her body under my arm.

"You already told me." She answered.

"Well, that's only part of it. That's not all of it." I clear my throat. "When Welch tied Anastasia Lambert to Anastasia Steele, there were pictures that came with the information."

"Pictures of what?"

"Not what…who. Pictures of you, after the attack." She froze.

"I've never seen them." She said, looking at me.

"I don't think you want to." She dropped her head. "You were unrecognizable. I only knew it was you because of your hair." Her expression has changed. I have to finish quickly, "You were black and blue…badly beaten. I didn't think anybody would be able to recover from that." I take her face in my hands. "But here you are. I remember holding up the picture for Welch to see, asking him if he knew that kid became a psychologist. I remember thinking that you took a huge negative and turned it into a positive. You took a terrible situation and used it as a reason to help others. Few people come out of something like that with at least enough insight to move on with their lives. You came out of it with so much more." I kiss her gently on her lips. She looks up at me through her lashes. "You were terribly brutalized and except for the cruel scar on your back, you came out of it physically perfect. And the person inside is spectacular. The caterpillar became a butterfly." She stares at me.

"Christian," she breathes, "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard." She says softly.

"I want you to know that I understand your pain, and that I love you—not in spite of it, but _because_ of it. Because you persevered through it, I was given my Butterfly."

I can tell that she wanted to cry, but instead, she kissed me—very deeply—such that I felt all of the love inside of her. I gather her into my arms and devour her searing kisses. I pull myself away from her before I reach the point of no return. "Carrick is going to come back out here any minute and I'm going to have the world's largest boner if we don't stop." She laughs at me and slaps my arm, running in front of me back to the house. I chase her playfully and catch her when we get to the french doors. We enter the house giggling and both stop in our tracks when we are greeted by a sneering Katherine Kavanaugh standing alone in the foyer by the great room. Butterfly picks this moment to face off with her.

"If you have anything to say to me, you say it _now_—woman to woman, while we're looking one another in the eye—because if you can't say it now, don't you dare say anything to me later. You keep all of your little snide, under-handed, under-your-breath, catty, childish remarks to yourself! You don't like me for whatever reason and now, I sure as hell don't like you. So since we understand one another, why don't we just agree to ignore and stay the fuck away from each other?" She barks at Kavanaugh, still matching her glare.

There's enough animosity between these two to keep them standing here all night. I take Butterfly's hand and lead her into the great room towards the kitchen and away from the dragon lady. "Come, my love. We'll send Elliot back for _that_." She is still glaring at Kavanaugh who matches her stare as I lead Butterfly away.

"I swear, I'm going to slap her again if she says anything to me, Christian." Hold up…what was that?

"You _slapped_ her?" I ask, pausing at the kitchen door.

"Slapped the damn taste out of her mouth." She said flatly.

"When? Where was I?" I ask, nearly dumbfounded.

"I think you were in the treehouse—or at least headed in that direction."

"Damn, I hate that I missed that." I open the door for Butterfly and we go through the kitchen and meet up with the rest of the family in the dining room.

"Christian, Dear. Are you okay?" My mom comes rushing to my side. I don't know how she can even stand to look at me right now. She takes my hand and presses it against her cheek, hard. This is the only affection I could stand from my mother—my savior—for many years, but now Butterfly has opened the floodgates…and I really need my mom. I open my arms and gently gather her close to me, smelling her hair and feeling a real mommy hug.

"I'm so sorry, Mom." I say trying to hide my shame-filled face.

"No, Son. It's not your fault." I can hear her tears in her voice. "We're going to get through this just fine, okay?" I pull her back to see her eyes smiling at me.

"Okay, Mom." I say, my voice betraying me just a bit.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"What did you _do_ to him?" Elliot says softly while we watch Christian and Grace's exchange. I shrug,

"What do you mean?" I ask, bewildered.

"Well, you saw what happened when Morcreeptia touched him last night. He freaked out. He's been that way his whole life. And now…" He gestured towards his mother and his brother.

"Um…well…I don't know really. We understand each other, I guess. And that's making it a little easier for him to open up…on his own terms, of course. I'm sure even though the rest of us may not understand it, you have some kind of similar connection with Kate." His shoulders fall when I say that. Uh oh, wrong move, Steele.

"We used to," he says. "When I first met Kate, she was a wonderful girl. Vibrant, friendly, and tenacious as hell." He laughed in nostalgia. "I don't know what happened. I don't know what changed. Just out of nowhere, she started to become…_bitchy_! I keep hoping that this will pass and I'll get _my_ Kate back, but it's just getting worse and worse."

"Is that why she's standing out in the foyer by herself?" I ask.

"Pretty much." Elliot responds, putting his hand on the back of his neck. "I told her that I was coming in here to have dinner with my family and that if she could not apologize to my mother and to you for the way she's been behaving that she couldn't come in here." I can see conflict in his face. "My family nearly self-destructed today, and all she could do was throw snarky remarks about kinky sex. My sister attacked Madam LaCreep, my mother slapped her…hell, even you knocked on her ass last night! What did Kate do? What has she done the entire time that she's been here?" He rubs his neck again. "Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life? Because if it is, I don't think I can do it." He drops his head. I look up to see Christian spying us curiously. I subtly gesture for him to come over to us as it appears that his brother may have an emotional breakdown any second. He raises his eyebrows and comes over to join us.

"Elliot? You okay, Man?" Christian says to his brother. Elliot straightens up.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I just need some air." Elliot says, brushing off his sleeves. "You got a good one here, Man. Don't let her go." He says smiling at Christian, then he turns to me. "Ana Montana…don't ever change." I could see the pain in his eyes before he excused himself and escapes to the patio. I feel horrible for him. I look up at Christian's questioning eyes.

"He's in love with her." I say, sadly.

"I know." Christian responds. "But there's something else going on there, too, I think."

"Me, too, but he's hurting. He can't take her behavior much longer. I think you are seeing the end of this engagement if Ms. Kavanaugh doesn't get her act together…" I fold my arms and lean up against the wall. "…and no doubt _that_ will be my fault, too!" I snap.

"What do you mean _your fault, too?_" He asks.

"Well, that crazy pedophile is convinced that all of this is because of me! She's totally delusional! She can't see her wrongs if her life depended on it…and she never will. Now I've got this vicious, fire-breathing dragon standing out in the foyer, and no doubt when her life falls apart it'll have nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that she's a vapid narcissist. It will all be because I showed up at your parents' house last night and turned everybody against her!" I throw my hands up in the air.

"And if that's what she thinks, then that's _her_ problem!" Grace says coming over to me and putting her arm around me to lead me to a chair at the table. "At some point, people have to take responsibility for their own actions. And if Katherine is unable to do that, then it will cost her dearly and she will have no one to blame but herself." I sit in the seat nearest to Grace where Mia normally sits.

"Mia…?" I say as she surrenders her seat to me.

"It's okay, Anakins. We're all at the same table, right?" She says with an exuberance that shows no indication whatsoever that she was just in a huge catfight hours earlier with the stank-ass, slutty, nasty, filthy, slimy, Pedo-Bitch She-Thing demon from hell.

"I'll go get Elliot." Carrick says as he heads towards the patio.

A few minutes later, dinner is served and Elliot manages to pull himself together and join us. I feel terrible for him and what he is going through with Kate. It's not my place to say that she doesn't deserve him…but hell, she doesn't deserve him! He's funny, attractive, and he has a kind heart. She's vicious, malicious, and snobby. Two people couldn't be more opposite.

"So what do we plan to do about Mrs. Lincoln?" Carrick says, as bitter-pill-swallowing Liona serves us after-dinner coffee. "You know as well as I do that woman will not go down quietly. Remember the divorce?" He whistled. "She didn't have a leg to stand on and she was still kicking and screaming."

"I don't know, Cary." Grace says. "How many other children have been victimized by this woman? There is absolutely no way to tell unless they are willing to come forth."

"That's not likely to happen," Christian says. "Don't hate me, Mom, but you never would have known if I didn't think someone else would have told you first." Kate immediately comes to mind, standing in the foyer like an idiot, waiting for Elliot to change his mind and come and rescue her. "If I had my way, this would have been my own dirty little secret to carry and you would never have been exposed to it." He adds.

"…And mine." I add meekly. He squeezes my hand.

"And yours." He says, kissing my hand. "In fact, you can thank Ana for convincing me to tell you." He says with a smile that Grace mirrors.

"And Kate." Elliot spits under his breath. Grace turns to him.

"Katherine knew about this!?" Grace asks in horror.

"No, but Kate knew _something_ was up, she just didn't know _what_." Elliot clarifies. Grace still looks a bit confused.

"She heard Christian and me talking on the patio earlier this morning after breakfast about telling you the whole story. Since she obviously _loves_ me so much," I add sarcastically, "she warned me about the dangers of a Grey family scandal being released into the media."

"So in other words, she threatened you." Grace said, distastefully.

"Yes, precisely, but not really. She had threatened me earlier in the conversation. When that attempt failed miserably, she took to threatening Christian. That's what the media comment was—a threat against Christian." Grace face became stone as she turned to Elliot.

"Elliot..." she says in a warning tone.

"I know, Mom." He says, defeated. I can tell by his tone that the deed is already done even though he has not yet spoken to Ms. Kavanaugh. I take Christian's hand. I can't imagine us having been together for so long and then having to break up for an obvious personality flaw. He squeezes my hand in return.

"Is there anything we can do, Elliot?" I say, knowing the answer but feeling completely helpless. Elliot looks up at me.

"She's smart, too, huh, Bro?" He says with a pained smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "No offense, Chris, but I wish I had met someone like her instead of..." and he trails off. How can you possibly say that you wish you had never met the woman with whom you have fallen in love? Elliot rises from the table without a word this time and disappears through the kitchen—no doubt in search of the absent Katherine Kavanaugh. I shake my head once he was out of the room.

"It's amazing to me that she would rather stay out there in exile than to come in here and apologize." I say before taking a sip of my coffee.

"He's right, though," Mia says. "Kate used to be really nice. We used to go shipping together—clubbing occasionally...we were friends before she and Elliot even started dating, because of Ethan. I wanted her to meet my brothers so badly. I actually had her pinned for Cwis..."

"Oh, no you didn't!" Christian states sternly. We all laughed.

"Well, Elliot was taken right away when she came to dinner that night. Remember, Mom? Dad kept singing 'Another One Bites The Dust.'" Grace and Mia laugh this time.

"Well, we all know that our boy Elliot did get around...before Kate, that is." Carrick defends.

"And after..." Christian said under his breath. Nobody heard him but me. I turn to Christian and he just shakes his head. I turn back to Grace.

"So, this is going to be his first real heartbreak." I point out. Grace exhales.

"I'm afraid so, Dear." She says. I sigh.

"I wouldn't want to be him right now." I say.

"I don't know," Christian says. "I know it's going to be hard on him, but I don't think it's going to be as hard a everybody thinks it is. Last Thursday, Elliot was already eying up the daughters. I knew there was 'trouble in paradise' so to speak a long time ago."

"What do you mean, Christian?" Grace asks.

"I bought into this club downtown, the McElvoy. I went to check it out a few weeks ago, to see what the crowd was like—see if it was a worthy investment. Elliot went with me. Let's just say that he wasn't at a lack for company and I didn't see him for most of the night. He even found another way home, if you know what I mean." Christian said.

"Well, then why is he still with Katherine?" Carrick says. "The relationship is obviously in the crapper, and they haven't even set a date yet!"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Dad." Christian says before finishing his coffee.

"Well, I say good riddance to old rubbish!" Mia says.

"Mia!" Grace scolds.

"I'm sorry, Mom. But I don't like her. She's obviously putting Elliot through the ringer and she's rude to everybody she meets." Mia defends.

"She's clearly unhappy, Dear. And her bad example is no reason for you to follow suit." Grace states. Mia shrugs.

"Well, she's not justified in taking her unhappiness out on everyone else...but you're right. I won't act like her. Heaven forbid!" She stands and walks over and kisses her mother. "I'm going to call Ethan. We're going apartment hunting tomorrow. Love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, Dear." Grace says.

"We should probably be going Christian. I do have patients in the morning." I say standing. Christian reaches for Mia's hand to signal her to wait a moment.

"Yes, and I have a company to run." He says. I walk over to Grace, while he has a chat with Mia.

"I was interrupted earlier, Grace, but I was serious about wanting to do something with Helping Hands. I could work with some of the families or I could volunteer in whatever capacity you may need me. This is exactly the reason why I got my education. Will you please let me know?" I say to her. She embraces me warmly.

"I am certain that we can use someone with you attitude, expertise, and enthusiasm. I'll give you a call this week?" She says.

"By all means. And thank you, Grace."

"No, Dear," she says with tears in her eyes. "Thank you." She looks lovingly at Christian. I completely got the thrust of her statement. I squeezed her hand before letting go. I go over to Carrick.

"Thank you for having me, Carrick." I smile. He embraces me.

"It was wonderful meeting you, Ana. Maybe our next meeting won't be so tumultuous." He says facetiously.

"Here's hoping." I laugh. I turn and smile at Mia, who returns the gesture.

"I'll go get our things, Baby." I call to Christian and he nods, still talking to his sister.

I go to his bedroom to gather our things together. As I am about to leave, Elliot meets me at the top of the stairs.

"I guess she's walking around the grounds somewhere. I can't find her." He says, sort of maudlin. I take his hand.

"Elliot, what do you want?" I ask.

"What do you mean?" He frowns.

"Do you want Kate?" I ask. His answer is too slow.

"I want to be happy." He replies.

"We all want to be happy, but when you see your happiness, do you see Kate?"

"I used to," he sighs, leaning against the banister. "But now...I don't know."

"Is this something that might be able to be saved?" He looks at me strangely.

"Are you her cheerleader now?" He says with a chuckle. "_Team Katherine_ all of a sudden?"

"No," I say with a smile. "But I am _Team Elliot_." I reply. "You have to do what makes you happy, Elliot. No matter what your mom thinks, or your family, or your friends...or _Katherine_. You have to live with your decisions for as long as they affect you, and marriage affects you for the rest of your life...even if you get divorced."

"My brother has really found a great girl." He laughs. "Please don't hurt him, Ana Montana. He's had a rough time of it, and I have never see him take to someone like he has taken to you. He's a different guy, and I can't stand to see him go back to who he was." Elliot says, his eyes pleading.

"There's no hope of that, Elliot." I say resting my hand on his shoulder. "I think we have both reached the point of no return." He smiles and pulls me into an embrace.

"Just be good to him, okay? I know he'll be good to you." He says in my ear before he releases me.

"He already is." I say with a shy smile. I reach into my purse and pull out my business card. I hand it to Elliot. "Will you call me if you need to talk? My office and cell numbers are there." He takes my card.

"Thanks, Ana. I will."

"Now I better go find my beloved before he comes looking for me." I giggle.

"Too late." I hear Christian voice from somewhere at the bottom of the stairs. Christian rises to meet us. He immediately notices the look on Elliot's face.

"I'm going to go put these things in the car. Is it open?" I ask, trying to give him a moment with his brother.

"Yes, Butterfly. It's open." I smile at the use of my nickname in front of his brother and descend the stairs.

"Butterfly?" I hear Elliot ask.

"It's a long story...are you okay?" Christian asks as I walk through the foyer and out the front door.

I put our things in the trunk except for my purse and I hear a woman's voice of to the right of me near the other cars.

"I know, Roger, but there's nothing that I can do about it." The voice is full of longing and regret. "Yes, I do, too...I'll try to talk to you as soon as I can...I love you, too." I look up to see Katherine Kavanaugh ending a call with some mystery gentleman and walking towards the front of the house, still looking at her phone. I slam the trunk to make my presence known. She jumps from the sound and a look of utter terror comes over her.

"That's not what it sounded like." She says, terrified.

"Oh? What did it sound like?" I ask, impassively. She frantically searches for an explanation, confirming for me that it was EXACTLY what it sounded like. "You know, Kate, I don't really care what it was." I say, throwing my hands up. She stops me with desperation in her voice. I haven't heard it from her before.

"You're not going to tell Elliot, are you?"

"It's not for me to tell Elliot. It's not my secret to tell. But I'm going to tell you something that I recently told someone very dear to me. Everything that you do in the dark will one day be brought to the light. Are you in love with someone else? Is that why you're so bitter with everybody?" I ask. She glared at me, then her gaze softens.

"You don't understand." She says, softly.

"You're right, I don't. You're miserable and you're making everyone else around you miserable. Is this why?" I ask fervently. I see her choking back tears.

Oh shit. She's human and she's got feelings. Fuck!

I roll my eyes and snatch Katherine by the arm, dragging her away from the front door and surprise listeners.

"Kate, are you in love with someone else?" I whisper harshly. She nods and the tears start to fall. "Then why are you engaged to Elliot!?"

"I don't know how it happened. I love Elliot, too. I really do!" She protests.

"I believe you, but you can't have them both! Elliot deserves better than this, and quite frankly, so do you!" She glares at me disbelieving. "Yeah, I know. I hate to admit it, too!" I spit. She chuckles a bit through her tears.

Oh, hell, a sense of humor, too. Good grief. I sigh heavily.

"You're looking for perfection here with Elliot—the perfect guy, the perfect family, the perfect name—you're not going to find it, because it's not going to be the perfect life. You've got everybody thinking you're a bitch when really, you're just miserable. And you're making everyone around you miserable." She's weeping now. I ask her the same question that I asked Elliot. "What do you want, Kate?"

"I...I..." She stutters but continues to cry. "What do I _doooooo_?" She keens.

"I don't know." I say truthfully. "You need to take some time to yourself and decide what you want. Because if it's Elliot, you're about to lose him." She looks up at me, horrified.

"What?" She says, surprised.

"Did you pay any attention whatsoever to what happened today?" I ask incredulously. "I mean I completely understand that you were distracted, but this family went into thermonuclear meltdown today! Christian's been molested, Elliot was propositioned, Mia went ninja and attacked a crazy pedophile who had groomed them both, Gracewent postal on you _and_ the pedophile, and I'm sure Carrick has no fucking idea _what_ to think right now. Here's where I fit in. I attacked the same pedophile last night for touching my man, obliterated her again today, brought Grace back from the cliff when she found out that her youngest son had been molested, was the catalyst for the first hug she had gotten from her son in 25 years, and slapped 'the bitch,'" I do the quotes with my fingers, "who had been antagonizing everybody for the last two days. Where do you fit in? You're 'the bitch!' How well do you think this fares for you?"

"I really fucked up, didn't I?" She says, still weeping.

"Uh...yeah!" I say, like it's as obvious as it truly is.

"Ana?" She says, her voice squeaking and heavy with pain. "I want _Roger_." She breaks down in completely uncontrolled sobs. I dig in my purse and locate tissue which I hand to Kate.

"Are you absolutely sure about that?" I say, cautiously. She nods vigorously.

"I love Elliot, Ana. I really do. But I'm not _in_ love with him. I'm in love with Roger." She confesses, trying to control her crying.

"Then why did you get engaged to Elliot?" I ask.

"For all the reasons you said, perfect family, perfect guy...he's wonderful! He's the total package, but everything had to be perfect. They had to like me, I had to be the favorite. I knew about the daughters. Elliot warned me almost right after we met."

"I wish Christian had warned _me_." I say almost as an afterthought. She chuckles as she wipes her tears.

Why couldn't I have met _this_ Katherine? She's almost..._pleasant_.

"You were competition. That's how I saw you, too." She confesses. I look confeused.

"I didn't want Elliot," I protest. "This is the first time I've ever met Elliot."

"It wasn't Elliot that I was concerned about. It was Grace, and Carrick, and even Mia...and yes, Elliot to a degree, but not like that." She shakes her head. "'The bitch,'" she mimics the quotes like I did, "managed to scare away all of the daughters. As far as I was concerned, you were another one of the daughters trying to weasel in where I was trying to get on Grace's good side." I hate to tell her that I think she would never get on Grace's good side even before today's episode.

"Why don't you like Christian?" I ask.

"He's too aloof. I couldn't break through his defenses no matter how hard I tried. The more I tried, the more he resented me. I just took it as he had a heart of stone and left him alone. We shared a mutual dislike and that was fine with me." She leaned against one of the parked cars. "And then you showed up on his arm, and that only meant one of two things—either he was trying to bring in some competition for Mommy's attention, or someone _was_ able to melt the cold heart of Christian Grey. Either way, that was bad news for me." I'm surprised that she is being this candid with me. A few hours earlier, she wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire!

"You speak French, you're a doctor, everybody liked you immediately...at first, I just chalked it up to them being happy that Christian had brought a girl home. I quickly realized that it was much more than that and I quickly put operation 'scare the daughter away' into full effect...but you weren't one of the daughters." She has finally managed to pull herself together. "In another time, we may have been friends." She adds, sadly.

"Anastasia?" I hear Christian voice calling me from the front of the house.

"He's going to turn into a bear if I don't show up." I say, and we start walking around to Christian's car.

"Listen," she stops me, "Girl to girl—and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to—it's easy to see that he's a dominant personality..." That's an understatement. "They say dominant personalities are fierce in bed. I don't want him, I've just been so curious—especially since he's so _cold_." Yesterday, I might have said, "Bitch, fuck you." But in light of her story and explanation, she's right...we could have been friends.

"There are no words," is all I say. Her mouth falls open.

"You're kidding!" She says incredulously. I immediately become flushed and hot thinking of Christian and my tryst...the playroom, orgasm denial, Mistress...

"No, I'm not," I say trying to control my breathing. I need to get this man home. I feel the need to be fucked!

"Well, well, well, who would've thought?" She says.

"I sure didn't. When I first met him, I thought he was deplorable. Gorgeous...but deplorable. He was cocky and haughty and condescending...it was awful!" I say, "But after a few weeks, he got under my skin...literally..." We laugh. "...and here we are."

"Do you think you'll marry him?" She asked. I never thought that far in advance. We are still trying to work out our demons and our relationship.

"Well, we haven't gotten that far, yet." I say looking at my feet. "But I can't see myself without him." I add. She starts to play with her fingers.

"Yeah, that's how I feel about Roger." She says quietly, a little ashamed.

"But not Elliot?" I ask. She shakes her head without looking at me. "You have to tell him, Kate. You both deserve to have what you want in life. And he deserves to go and find the woman for him, even if it's not you."

"I know," she sighs. "I just really hate to hurt him."

"The lie will hurt him more. It will hurt you _both_ more." I say.

"Anastasia!?" He's getting more flustered.

"Here I come, Baby!" I yell. "You need to talk to him, Kate. She nods. The tears starting anew in her eyes. I hand her another tissue just as Christian comes around the cars to our location.

"I've been calling you and calling you. Wher..." He stops cold at the sight of me standing there comforting a crying Katherine Kavanaugh. "Ana...?" I'm sure he doesn't know what to make of this. I look back over to Kate.

"You'll be okay?" I ask. She nods.

"I'll be fine." She says through her sniffles. "I need to go find Elliot." She gives me a tight smile, which I return. She turns to Christian and they face off for a moment.

"Kavanaugh." He says impassively.

"Christian." She says with a little warmth that seems to shock Christian a bit. She walks past him towards the front of the house.

"What was _that_ all about?" He asks incredulously once Kate is out of sight.

"I have a feeling that you may find out in a couple of days." I say walking towards Christian.

"There's an old saying...Everything happens for a reason. My whole family came apart at the seams this weekend—including a harpy that I wouldn't consider my family just yet—and you were there holding everybody together...putting out fires, beating up pedophiles, taming harpies... How do you do it?" He asks. I shrug.

"I don't know, Christian. Half of the fires wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been here..." I say. Kind of self-depricating but it _is_ the truth. He tucks me under his arm after we say additional goodbyes to his family, we head for home.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"You turned into a wildcat today." I said, hugging Mia close to me. It was one thing to see Ana fight for me. It's quite another to see my normally-overly-bubbly little sister with a handful of flaxen blond hair in her fist.

"What she did to you was inexcusable, Cwis, and if I ever see her again, I'm going to fuck her up!" She spits. I kiss her on her forehead.

"Thank you, Meelo. I love you." I hear a sharp intake of air and her eyes fill with tears.

"I love you, too, Cwissy." She says as she hugs me around my waist and buries her head in my chest. This has never been new for me and Mia. She's the only one who has ever been able to touch me this way.

"Why are you crying?" I ask.

"You've never told me you loved me before. I always knew, but you never told me." She sniffed. I kiss her hair.

"Well, I do. And I'm sorry I've never said it before." She squeezes me tighter and both watch as Butterfly leaves the room.

"She's good for you, Cwis." Mia says.

"Yes, she is."

"How did you meet her?"

"I have group therapy as part of my sentence...you remember, when that drunk driver hit my car?" She nodded. "Ana was the facilitator."

"Isn't that unethical or something?" Mia asked.

"It would be if she was still the facilitator, or if she had any impact on the outcome. It turns out that I'm such an asshole that she quit." Mia gasps.

"You made her _quit_?" She says horrified.

"No," I defended. "I didn't make her quit...directly. She was tired of it anyway. If you think I'm a lost cause, you should see some of the people that go to community group therapy. Ugh!" I roll my eyes as we walk out to the great room. "Anyway, she wasn't happy with it, and Asshole Grey was just the last straw."

"So you harassed her and _then_ she left." Mia deduced.

"Yeah, kind of..." I say, ashamed. "But before she left, she publicly gave me a real piece of her mind. That is one woman you don't want to mess with. Let's just say you're not the first person to beat Elena's ass." Her mouth is agape.

"Little Ana?" She says in shock. I look around for signs of Butterfly.

"I've got video!" I whisper, and we both laugh aloud.

"I've got to see that!" She laughs.

"I'll show it to you one day, but it has to be a secret. She doesn't want anybody to see it."

"Okay." She nods. We embrace again and I go off to find my Butterfly.

As I approach the bottom of the stairs, I hear her having a conversation with Elliot. A small pang of jealousy runs through me as I think of how much of a man-whore Elliot is, but I know that he wouldn't stand a chance with my Butterfly. Plus, in his current state of mind, I doubt that he's even thinking that way.

"Do you want Kate?" I hear her ask him. The million-dollar question. Why all the galavanting if you're supposed to be in love with_ la salope_? After a long pause, he answers,

"I want to be happy."

"We all want to be happy, but when you see your happiness, do you see Kate?" Good question, Butterfly.

"I used to, but now...I don't know."

"Is this something that might be able to be saved?" What the hell? Let him get rid of La _Méchante Sorcière de l'Ouest._ I'd much rather he be a player than deal with her ass!

"Are you her cheerleader now?_ Team Katherine_ all of a sudden?"

"No, but I am_ Team Elliot_. You have to do what makes you happy, Elliot. No matter what your mom thinks, or your family, or your friends...or _Katherine_. You have to live with your decisions for as long as they affect you, and marriage affects you for the rest of your life...even if you get divorced." Wow, she's good. Elliot is laughing. Why is Elliot laughing?

"My brother has really found a great girl." Damn straight. "Please don't hurt him, Ana Montana. He's had a rough time of it, and I have never see him take to someone like he has taken to you. He's a different guy, and I can't stand to see him go back to who he was." Oh, Good God, Elliot!

"There's no hope of that, Elliot. I think we have both reached the point of no return." As if I could love her any more than I already do...

"Just be good to him, okay? I know he'll be good to you." My brother says.

"He already is. Will you call me if you need to talk? My office and cell numbers are there." I'm assuming she gave him a business card. My Butterfly. Always the professional—except when she's kicking somebody's ass.

"Thanks, Ana. I will."

"Now I better go find my beloved before he comes looking for me." I love her little giggle. Time to make my appearance.

"Too late." I say as I begin climbing the stairs. Elliot looks like he's been run over by a freight train.

"I'm going to go put these things in the car. Is it open?" Butterfly asks.

"Yes, Butterfly. It's open." She smiles and leaves me to talk to Elliot.

"Butterfly?" Elliot asks.

"It's a long story...are you okay?" I say. He sits down on the top star.

"No, I'm not." He says, flatly. "I'm trying to figure out how to break my engagement with Kate." Oh shit, this is serious.

"You know, Ana's right. No matter what any of us think, you have to do what makes you happy."

"That's just it! She doesn't make me happy anymore. We were fine until we got engaged. It was like the minute I put that ring on her finger a year ago, she changed! She was delighted, jumping out of her skin the night that I asked her to marry me. And then the next day, she turned into this bitter bitch! I don't know what happened. My Kate was gone and I haven't seen her since, and no matter how long I wait, I don't think she's coming back." His voice cracked on the last word. I sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry, Lelliot." I say. "I wish there was something I could say. You know I've never been particularly fond of her, but she made _you_ happy and that's why I tolerated her." I say.

"Well, those days are gone, Chris." He says and I watch him quickly wipe a tear from his eye. "Maybe this is payback for all of those broken hearts I've left behind in my day."

"Oh please don't say that. If that's true, I'm doomed!" I say shaking my head. Elliot looks at me questioning. "You know that lifestyle I just told you guys about?"

"A lot of women? They're into that kind of thing?" He asks incredulously.

"More than you know!" I respond. "But I couldn't very well bring them home to meet the folks now, could I?"

"Nope I think that wouldn't fare very well with Grace and Carrick Grey." Elliot says.

"I should say not." I get up. "Listen, Ana has a whole slew of friends and they get together every weekend. Last night, we had this thing called 'Food and Libations.' It's a dinner party that Ana throws for her friends where she cooks and they bring the drinks. Except for one particularly flirty slut I had to throw out last night, they're a pretty laid back group of people. I'm sure Ana wouldn't mind you joining us for our next get-together." Now he really looks at me like I'm an extra-terrestrial being.

"This from a guy who dragged me to a nightclub that he was planning to buy so that he wouldn't have to go by himself?" He ask, disbelieving.

"Elliot, I've lived in a cave for too long—mostly because of that sick ass pedophile. Ana's bringing me out, and I like it. I like it a lot. Plus...I love her, Man."

"You _love_ her!?" His mouth falls open.

"Yes, I do. So that's why I _refuse_ to believe that your shit is coming back to bite you in the ass, because if it is, I'm done for." Elliot laughs at me.

"Man, I never thought the love bug would _ever_ bite you!" He teases.

"That makes two of us." I concur.

"Is she high maintenance? She likes style I see."

"If she is, I haven't seen it. She takes care of herself."

"Well, I like her. And I know Mom and Dad likes her. And Mia would steal her from you if she had a tendency towards women. I think Liona would like to see her on a slab, though." He laughs.

"Oh you picked up on that, too, huh?" I say.

"Everybody did...loud and clear." He stands with me. "Don't worry about me, Bro. I'll be fine. I just have to do what I gotta do and take it like a man."

"Well, just keep this weekend open. I'll let you know what the plan is and you can decide if you want in, okay?" I reach out to shake his hand.

"Deal." He gives me that half-shake, half-embrace. "Now I better go find Kate before I discover that Ana Montana has her somewhere in a headlock." I laugh.

"Well, I know where 'Ana Montana' is. Good luck on finding Kate." I pat him on the back and go, once again, in search of my Butterfly. What I found was enough to make the world shift on it's axis. Ana is outside by the parked cars comforting Kavanaugh who is weeping quietly.

Am I in an alternate universe!?

"Kavanaugh." I say as she and Butterfly approach me. Tears or not, I'll rip you apart if you say the wrong thing.

"Christian." She replies softly as she walks away. _Christian? _What the fuck...?

"What was _that_ all about?" I asks Butterfly. Has Kavanaugh had some sort of out-of-body experience?

"I have a feeling that you may find out in a couple of days." She says. Oh, you have no idea. I tell her how in awe of her I am for basically handling my entire family during this crisis, including Kavanaugh. She feels like most of it could have been averted if she hadn't been here. I beg to differ. Postponed, maybe, but not averted. Everything happens for a reason.

Butterfly is asleep before we get back to Escala. I didn't ask if we were coming back here or going to her place. I guess we had better get some kind of schedule going so that we know in advance what we plan to do. "Butterfly, we're here." I gently rouse her from her sleep. She stretches as much as the car will allow her.

"What time is it?" She says, sleepily.

"It's only about 8 o'clock." She opens the door and steps out of the car.

"I need to call and check on Gary," she says, going towards the truck. I open the release and she begins to remove our clothing from last night.

"Here, I've got it, babe." I say taking the items from her. We walk to the elevator and she sleepily punches in the code to my penthouse. It gives me a strange feeling of warmth to watch her do that. The only other person outside of my staff to have my code before now was The Pedophile. I'm very happy to be done with _her_ now. _Seriously_ done with her ass!

"I'm going to go check some emails, make sure my business hasn't burned down in 24 hours." I tell Butterfly.

"Of course you are." She says, with a smile. "I'm going to call Gary, then Al."

She goes off into my bedroom and I head into the study. As I suspected, several emails that mean nothing. A few from The Pedophile before the blowup and nothing after. I delete those immediately and block her email address. I want absolutely nothing else to do with her. I regret signing the new contract with her now. Although I am not a cruel, heartless bastard, what she did to my family today was completely inexcusable. Now, I want to pull my backing from her like I should have done in the first place. I will talk to legal tomorrow to see if there is still something that I can do.

The email from Andrea makes me happy.

_**To: Christian Grey**_

_**Subject: Whitmore Phonecall**_

_**Date: Sunday, July 8, 2012, 09:32**_

_**From: Andrea Fairchild**_

_**I'm sorry to bother you on the weekend, Mr. Grey. Amber Whitmore's assistant has scheduled you for a phone interview tomorrow at 11:00am EST (8:00am PST). She has apparently done her homework and knows who you are. She tried to ascertain the reason for the phonecall. I think curiosity is killing them so you have an open slate for subject matter. **_

_**Andrea Fairchild, Personal Assistant to Christian Grey, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc **_

Outstanding! We can finally get this ball rolling a bit and maybe eliminate some of this damn speculation. I don't need an appointment to speak to Landon, so I'll call him after I get some information from his sister. That will be two birds down tomorrow. I will make a visit to Noticon on Tuesday to intimidate...I mean interrogate Mr. Billings.

Another email from Welch catches my eye. The subject simply says "Got her." I open the attachment to see that Welch stopped only _just short_ of climbing the tree outside of the Pedophile's bedroom window to get the goods on her. There are pictures of her in her Ashton Martin in the same clothes that she was wearing today with a teenage boy. They are shopping and subsequently end up at her Kirkland estate. The boy looks familiar, but I can't really place him. It's Sunday night, and although I am anxious, this is not an emergency. So I respond to Welch to have a full report ready for me on the matter tomorrow morning. Fuck pulling my support. If she's still fucking young boys, I'm taking her down.

I fire off a few emails to legal to see if the new agreement has been filed with the proper agencies as well as forward a few to Ros concerning some business ventures we have been pursuing. I've also decided that I'm going to make a trip to Green Valley next week. I'll need to talk to Cynthia Crestwood, this cop George Sullivan, Stephen Morton if I can get to him—or maybe Carla, whichever one is more easily accessible. I fire off another email to Welch. I need one of our people down there tomorrow checking things out before I go down there myself. I need to know the Mortons' habits as well as Cynthia Crestwood's. I need information on Whitmore's business and the one junior Whitmore still in Green Valley—Cody. I inform Welch to get me any information on this Carly Madison that was supposed to marry young Mr. Whitmore. I also want a copy of the yearbook from 2001 for Green Valley High School. I'll harass those snobby stuck up bastards one by one if it means I will get to the bottom of what happened to Butterfly. Once I have this information in tow, I'll be able to determine how many days it takes to question the suspects. Some things, your security staff can handle. Other things are more delicate and you have to handle them on your own.

I can think of one of those things right now.

Two hours after I disappeared into my study, I emerge in search of the one thing that can quench this hunger I feel. I find her lying on my bed talking to Allen wearing a black satin sleep shirt. I stand there in the doorway watching her as she lays across my bed, her legs bent like a teenager talking on the phone to one of her girlfriends. I can hear that she is about to end the call with Allen and I creep silently into the bedroom and grab her feet. She yelps and drops her iPhone just after hanging up from Allen.

"Christian! What are you doing?" She squeals in surprise. No time for talking, Baby. I'm on a mission. I suck her toes into my mouth one by one as she protests momentarily, then gives in to my whim when I graze them with my teeth. I flip her over so that she is now face up on my bed. Her hair is messy and lying on the bed, a few locks across her face in a sexy, fuck-me-within-an-inch-of-my-life kind of way, but that's not what I want now. I hunger, and I need to taste her..._everywhere_.

I start at her feet again and move up to her calves, savoring the flavor of her skin as I go. I move to that tender spot behind the knees, licking lavishly. "Christian!" She exclaims again as she squirms from my mouth. I say nothing, but look at her in a way that demands she keep still. Reading my look, she settles as I return to the sensitive flesh behind her knees and she mewls while gripping the duvet. I move up to her thighs, the tops and then the soft meat inside. I know how this drives her crazy and I am enjoying the taste of her, smelling her arousal, so close to the promised land yet so far away. I look up at the valley between her gorgeous legs.

No panties—oh, joy!

I torment her thighs a few moments more then blow gently on her delicious fruit, beckoning me to feast on its delicacy...not yet. Soon...but not yet. Though she tries not to, she writhes under the titillating burst of air that teases her core.

"Christian..." She whimpers, weakening due to the slowness of the feast I am enjoying. I move up to her pelvic bone, licking and kissing the skin where she has a light dusting of pubic hair. I like it. It's soft and rough against my tongue at the same time. I push her nightshirt up to expose her hips...her stomach...just below her beautiful breasts. I kiss each destination reverently, nipping the roundness of her hips, licking her navel, and tasting mouthfuls of her abdomen. The sheen of sweat has formed on her body and I know that my oral bath is enough to almost send her over the edge.

_Almost_...but not yet.

I grab her breasts with both hands, my hand on top of the nightshirt massaging her perfect mounds through the satin. She pushes her bosom into my hands as my mouth tastes the delicious meat just at these base of her breasts. Her nipples harden in my palms as her chest rises and falls faster in anticipation. I allow her to grasp my hair for a few moments before I grab her wrists and pin them to the sides of her. Using my teeth, I move the satin nightshirt further up exposing her tantalizing breasts—her nipples standing straight up and begging for attention. We both moan contentedly as I take one in my mouth, sucking, biting, and licking hungrily. She struggles to get free; I know that the manipulation of her nipples is almost as sensual as the manipulation of her core.

"Oh, Christian..." she whines, when she realizes that escape is impossible. I shift to her neglected breast, showing her left nipple the same attention as the right. When she is writhing uncontrollably, I stop my torment long enough to gently kiss the palms of her hands and then remove her nightshirt completely. She looks glorious lying beneath me, completely naked and panting for me. I take her mouth with mine, again relishing the irresistible flavor of her lips and tongue. She moans in my mouth, her now uninhibited hands fisting in my hair.

I'm not done tasting you yet, my delicious Butterfly.

I lift her slightly off the bed so that her head and hair fall back, giving me unhindered access to her earlobes, neck, and shoulders. She fights for air as I continue to devour her decadent skin. I lay her back on the bed as I remove my t-shirt and begin my journey back down her body to the wonderful prize waiting for me in the southern regions.

Not too fast, Grey.

I lick and nip the valley between her breasts and the meat on the side of each mound. I want to taste as much of her as I possibly can. I can't get enough of her. I travel down again past her abdomen, her pubic bone, torturing the skin in the crease of her thighs until at last I am staring at her beautiful clitoris, visually pulsating between her folds. I lick gently and her whole body jumps. I lick again, watching the pulsating center throb with excitement. When I finally take her in my mouth, she cries out in ecstasy and I moan in utter satisfaction—finally able to taste her tender mound and erotic juices on my tongue.

"Oh my God, Christian!" She cries and I relentlessly devour her delicious center. Oh, she tastes so good, her smell is intoxicating—the perfect drug. I can't get enough. I insert my fingers into her core and her hips rise off the bed. "Aaahhh!" Her cries echo off the walls and fuel my hunger. I push my fingers in deep and bend them forward, massaging that magic place inside her vaginal walls and causing her juices to release and drip down my hands. I move my tongue just enough to lap up the escaping juices so that the flavor lingers on my tongue and in the back of my mouth. Mmmmm...essence of Anastasia.

"Christian! Fuck!" She screams.

She shamelessly grabs my hair and pushes my mouth down into her. She is primal now. I look up at her and head is jolted back on the bed, her beautiful breast sitting high as a result of her arched back. She looks like a priceless work of art, molded by me. I throw her legs over my shoulders and I lick her folds one more time to savor her juices and elicit a long delightful moan from my delicious Butterfly. Finally, I slurp her tasty, throbbing clit into mouth, moaning my pleasure as I feel the most sensitive part of her pulsating in my mouth as I suck gently but deeply, pulling every bit of pleasure out of her that I can.

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" She gasps between breaths, grinding salaciously against my tongue, lips, and fingers. Oh, yes, Baby, fuck my mouth! That's right, Baby. Give it to me.

My cock is throbbing painfully in my pants as this goddess rides my face with passion and vigor. I want her to come so hard that she sees stars. I want her pussy throbbing mercilessly when I slam my dick into her and fuck her until she comes all over again. I want her delicious juices dripping all over my fucking arm when I'm done with her.

"Oh God! Christian—stop!" She cries. She knows this is going to be huge and she is begging for mercy. No, Baby. You have to give it to me. Come on, give me what I want.

"Christian, please!" She wails, her hips still hanging in the air. I put my free hand under her back to help support her weight, and to let her know that I have no intention of stopping.

Her cry is visceral. Her orgasm is cosmic. I almost lost my hold on her as she bucked violently against my mouth. I thought I was hurting her with the sounds that she was making, her head thrashing wildly and her hair flying in every direction until finally she collapsed on the bed, her body convulsing almost violently and her legs shaking impulsively.

I couldn't get out of my clothes fast enough. I snatch this beautiful work of art, this exquisite, priceless sculpture off the bed and into my arms. I turn her around to face the head of the bed, both of us on our knees, her back to my front. I spread her legs wide and position myself at her still pulsating opening. I put my arms around her to hold her up and slam into her.

"Aaaaaaaaarghh!" She screams as I bury myself inside her. Fuck! She feels so good that she almost burns! The heat is so intense and my balls feel like they are going to explode. I hold her in place and and bury my face in her hair, stroking her deeply over and over again. Her knees finally find strength and she matches my rhythm. Fucking hell—it's extreme! I reach up her body and take her breast in my hands, her perfect breasts.

"Oh, Baby." I moan. It's the first thing I've said since I came into the room. Her body needed silent worshiping, concentration, and reverence. Now, all of the words I have to tell her how much I want her are burning in my throat—too much to say but too heavy to contain.

"My God, you are so beautiful!" I proclaim. Her head has fallen back on my shoulder and she has given herself to me. "You're exquisite. Your body is perfect. Delicious, incredible, divine..."

She moves with sensuality, like my words are spurring her on. She feels so good. I don't want to come yet, but I can't stop.

"Oh, Baby, you feel so good. You're irresistible...I can't get enough of you..." She moans passionately at my words and I can feel my release hiding just beyond my reach.

Not before her. Not before my Butterfly.

I run my hands up her beautiful, flawless body. I am trying to touch her everywhere...her breasts, her stomach, her clit, her beautiful neck...I don't have enough hands to touch all the places on her body that I need to reach to bring her the unmatched pleasure that she brings to me. I close my eyes and pull her close to me, laying my head on her back as I try to climb into her—become one with her. "Oh, God, Baby, You're too much for me. I don't think I can take it!"

Suddenly she grabs the headboard and pushes her hips back into me—hard! She is coming fantastically, squeezing my erection with her pussy and her thighs. Her walls feel like a vacuum pulling me mercilessly. Oh Father in Heaven, I think I'm dying! I'm holding on to her viciously, afraid that I will fall off into helpless oblivion if I let go.

My cry is loud and sorrowful—expressing the glorious explosive feeling she is eliciting from me as well as the anguish that it will soon come to an end. My seed squirts heavily into her and I can feel each vein throbbing and emptying into her core, helplessly milked by her glorious quivering insides until my balls hang uselessly in my scrotum...empty.

Thank God she's on birth control, or something in this room would be pregnant tonight!

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**FYI - refresher: Ana told Maggie in chapter 9 that she lost the baby as a result of the beating.**_

_**la salope – the bitch**_

_**La Méchante Sorcière de l'Ouest—The Wicked Witch of the West**_

_****__**Queen - **_Another One Bites The Dust

_**There are a couple of pictures on Pinterest at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_


	31. Chapter 31: Misunderstanding

**_________I am very happy to see people so invested in my story. You guys warm my heart!_**

**_________As usual, to my wonderful readers that I couldn't respond to on PM - Bbq07 (thank you so much and welcome aboard), Carol, Chocolate, CJ, Frisky75, Hun, Leah, Mzzchica, Rachel (my Boston Babe), Teresaromance, Tempress (spot on about Kate and Pedo-Bitch), Tj, and to all of my guest reviewers as well. I hope that you know I can't do this without you. _**

**_________Wow! Another short author's note...on with the show, Baby!_**

**_________II do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too________._**

_Chapter 31-Misunderstanding_

_**STEELE**_

Oh, the things that man does to me. Last night's orgasm left me so spent, I don't even remember falling asleep. He was deliciously brutal with my body, and as hard as I came—both times—he always leaves me craving him more. I wonder how his subs were _ever_ able to leave him. Although I am certain that none of them ever received the oral worship that I did last night, the man is nonetheless very talented and gifted at what he does. His silence was unnerving and exciting, but his words—oh, his words...

Marilyn's disembodied voice reminded me that I am at work and probably need focus a little more on what I'm supposed to be doing. I only have three patients today, spread pretty far apart as Mondays still haven't been filled yet. I get the feeling that people really don't like to do therapy on Mondays. Christian sure hates having to see Ron in the evenings on Mondays, and I haven't heard him mention anything about his regular therapist last week. It's late morning now and I don't have another appointment until after lunch.

"_Ana, there's a delivery out here for you." _Marilyn's voice informs me. Strange...I wasn't expecting anything.

"Does it say who it's from?" I ask Marilyn.

"A florist, I would gather." She says, with a giggle. Flowers. They must be from Christian. I go to the reception area to find the most beautiful arrangement of red, white, and pink long-stemmed roses—already vased—sitting on Marilyn's desk.

"Oh my God, they're gorgeous!" I exclaim. "You put them in a vase?"

"No, they came this way. They must have cost a fortune!" Marilyn responds. _Fortune_ only says one person—Christian Grey.

"Was there a card?" I ask.

"No, there's a note!" She says, handing me a sealed envelope that only says "Anastasia Steele." I open the note and find that, to my utter surprise, "fortune" does _not_ just say Christian Grey.

_**Dear Anastasia, **_

_**Thank you for our talk last night. You put many things in perspective for me and I was able to decide what I really need to do with my life. Although I love Elliot and Roger, I think I need to take some time to figure out who I really am before I can give myself to someone else. The fact that I could so easily fall so hard for two completely different men says more about me than anything else. Hopefully, I can come out of this a little better and a little stronger instead of a completely basket-case bitch. I wish I had met you at a different time. I'm sure that we could have been friends. As for right now, I am taking a sabbatical to Europe for a few weeks to recharge my batteries. Maybe we can have drinks when I return and start all over. You really are a good person, Ana—way too good for Christian Grey (but don't tell him that I said that). Between me and you, watching you obliterate Elena Lincoln was the highlight of my night! Again, thank you for your help and I hope to talk to you again soon under better circumstances. **_

_**Very Sincerely,  
Katherine Kavanaugh**_

Get the fuck outta here! I have transformed the blonde bitch back into a human being.

"Who are they from? Your new, hot, rich boyfriend?" Marilyn says cheekily.

"Actually, no, they're not." I reply. Her face falls.

"Your hot _ex_-boyfriend?" She asks confused.

"Oh, hell, no. Don't even bring him up!" I say, my voice dripping with disdain.

"Well, _who_ then?" She questions.

"Yeah, who then?" A mellow male voice says from behind the hideously large bouquet of flowers.

"Elliot! How nice to see you! What brings you here?" I welcome him into an embrace. He hugs me like he is afraid to break me, but I realize it's because he is wearing his dusty work clothes and I am in a Vesper off-white high-waist midi dress with a horizontal black panel stripe around the waist and one short vertical panel strip down the middle in the front that stops at the high waist and all the way down the back from top to bottom. Just above the waist under the arms are pastel champagne pink panels. I have to admit that my boyfriend's brother looks pretty good in dirty jeans, a t-shirt, and work boots.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your day, Ana Montana." He says, still eying the flowers. "Not Christian?"

"Nope! And you'll never believe who." I hand him the note and his eyes travel right to the signature.

"No way!" He says, a slight chuckle in his voice.

"Way!" I confirm.

"Hmmm, whoda thunk it?" He says a little melancholy. "_That's_ the Kate I fell in love with." I rub his arm sympathetically.

"You wanna come in and talk?" I ask. He nods and I take him into my office.

"I...um..." He's nervous as he sits down in the chair opposite my desk. I come from around my desk and sit in the chair next to him. He's having a hard time getting his words out. "I want...to hire you, Ana." He finally chokes the words out. To say that I am surprised would be an understatement.

"Hire me?" I ask. "As your therapist, you mean?"

"Yeah." he said, putting his hand on the back of his neck. "I don't trust shrinks. I saw the effect they had on Chris and...I just don't really trust them. The fact that you came in and became 'Super Ana' to everybody I love yesterday...well, I think you could be the one to help me." He says nervously.

"Well, would you feel comfortable talking to me...knowing that I'm dating your brother?"

"As long as you don't tell him anything what we talk about, I'm fine with it. As a matter of fact, it's the reason why I _am_ so comfortable with you. If 'I don't trust nobody' Christian is with you, that says a _lot_ to me!" He says. I smile.

"First of all, I would never tell anybody anything we talk about without your permission—on or off the clock. And second, it's against the law if I do, so you don't have to worry about that at all. It's just that...you feel like family and I feel funny charging you to talk to me."

"Well, I'm going to pay you because I really need to talk—a _lot_ I think." He says, rubbing his neck again.

"Does your neck hurt, Elliot?" I ask.

"No, why do you ask?"

"I had to be sure. I don't know if you know this, but when you get nervous or uncomfortable, you rub the back of your neck. It's your _tell_. A lot of times, it's subconscious. A lot of people don't even realize that they are doing it. Other people do it for comfort. That's why Christian does it." Now he's curious. This helps to break the ice.

"What's Christian's tell?" I laugh. After all these years, he doesn't know.

"He runs his hands through his hair when he's exasperated, angry, or nervous." I say. Elliot takes a moment to think.

"You're right, he _does_ do that!" He says in realization. "Do you have one?"

"Yes, I put my hands on my forehead. It's comforting and an attempt to block out whatever is bothering me at that moment." I answer. He nods.

"I didn't even know that I did that. I have no idea why. Now I'm going to be paying attention to it."

"It's a good idea to know when you do it. Things like that tell people what you are thinking...even when you don't want them to know." He smiles at me.

"I knew this was a good idea. So will you take me on, Ana?" He asks, almost pleading.

"I'll make a deal with you. I will take you on, but only our office time is billable. I don't want to be sitting at Bellevue chit-chatting with you and wondering if we're technically on the clock. Remember you can talk to me anytime and it's always confidential...unless you tell me that you are going to harm someone. Deal?" I proffer my hand.

"Deal." We shake on it.

"Do you need a session now?"

"Yeah, I think so." He takes a breath.

"I record my sessions so that I can give you my full attention. Does that bother you?" I ask. He shrugs.

"It doesn't bother me. Do you need to push a button or issue a voice command or something?"

"I record all day every day, Elliot. You never know what's going to happen in here." He takes a breath.

"I guess you know that I broke off my engagement with Kate...or, she broke it off with me...uh, well, I think it was a mutual break-up. Yeah, that sounds right." He says.

"_Sounds_ right or _is_ right?" I ask. "No rationalization allowed in this office."

"_Is_ right." He responds. "I told her that she had changed and that I couldn't deal with it anymore. She told me about being in love with this 'Roger' guy—which was probably why she changed. We agreed that we were just no good together anymore. There was no arguing or fighting, no name-calling, just..._goodbye_." He says kind of solemnly.

"At the risk of sounding very 'shrink-ish,'" I make those quotes with my fingers again, "how do you feel about that?" He looks at me.

"I don't really know." He answers. "I feel a little hurt, but not because we broke up. I'm hurt because I'll never get _my_ Kate back. I feel confused because when I was with her, the thought of being without her terrified me. Now that we're not together, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop—I'm not terrified. I'm not distraught like I thought I would be. I just want to get back on the horse!" He declares. "I think I may be a sex addict." He says as he sinks back into his chair.

What the hell? Where did that come from?

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I really, _really_ like sex!" He says.

"That doesn't mean that you're a sex addict, Elliot. What else would make you say that?" I ask. He shrugs.

"I think about it a lot. As soon as Kate and I broke up, the first thing that I want to do is go find somebody to have sex with." Still sounds kind of normal to me.

"Okay, what else?" He shrugs again. That's all you've got?

"Do you have problems connecting with women?" I ask.

"Sometimes, except Kate."

"What was it like when you met her?" His pupils dilate and he appears to go back in time.

"At the risk of sounding cliché, it was like a breath of fresh air had entered the room. She was stunning, beautiful, funny...she looked like an angel."

"Then why were you still trying to date other women?" I ask.

"That didn't come until later...until she started acting all crazy and I didn't want to be around her anymore. I just reverted back to my old ways, I guess. The only difference was that I was engaged. I never slept with anybody else though...not that I didn't want to, I just couldn't do it. I still loved Kate, I think."

"You _think_?" This is new. He sighed.

"When we talked last night, and she told me about being unhappy and about this 'Roger' guy, I wasn't angry, Ana. I was relieved. What kind of man who claims to love someone is happy when she breaks off their engagement and leaves him for another man?" I don't tell him that Kate didn't leave him for another man. I have already admitted to being a vault, so I will be a vault for Kate, too.

"I think it just ran its course, Elliot. Love affairs do that, you know. Even marriages sometimes. We want to believe that love lasts forever, but sometimes it just doesn't. Things change, people change. Sometimes they grow apart and the love that they felt just isn't there anymore.

"I can't tell you why you and Kate fell apart—why there was room for someone else to get in. I _can_ tell you that I have all the faith in the world that you will love again. And I can tell you with a reasonable amount of professional certainty that you are not a sex addict. Sex addicts have no consideration for who gets hurt as long as they get their fix. You knew it would hurt Kate so you didn't satisfy the urge even when the opportunity presented itself. You're just a full-red-blooded horny boy that likes women. There's a big difference.

"You do, however, need to stop thinking with your joystick and decide exactly what you want. I think the Kate experience was a good thing for you. It lets you know that you are capable of love and not just a bottomless pit of hormones that needs constant satisfaction. It also lets you know that even though break-ups hurt, they are not the end of the world. You can connect with someone on a long-term level, but you do have to understand that people do change, and if you fall in love with someone, it needs to be for the innate person that they are—_not_ just for certain qualities that attract you to them."

"I think I love the attention." He says. "Girls like the face, the blonde hair, the blue eyes—I use it all to my advantage."

"Well, that just makes you a player, which is not much better." I respond. "Like I said, get your head out of your pants and figure out what you want. You're a big boy now, it shouldn't be that hard."

"You're really smart, Ana. It's a little scary. You and my brother together—good God, that's even scarier. You two could rule the world." I blush at his statement. I never thought about ruling the world with Christian. I just love him. "What drew you to Christian? How did you know _he_ was the one?"

"We are not here to talk about me, Elliot Grey. We are here to talk about _you_." I say firmly.

"Throw me a bone, here, Ana. I'm 31 years old. My dad is not going to talk to me, Christian's a self-encased vault, Mia's too concerned with Ethan, decorating, and clothes—I really need to put her to work for me—and Mom's going to get all teary-eyed and give me the watered-down _Mommy_ version." He complains. I laugh.

"Okay. My initial attraction to Christian was the obvious—beauty and power. He's gorgeous and he oozes power. But that wasn't enough for me. I couldn't stand him. He was the bane of my existence—and I mean that literally. Your brother drove me _nuts_. The first time he really let me see into his soul, I thought he was insane. I was certain that he was trying to pull one over on me...that didn't end well. I read him the riot act and quit my volunteer job just so that I wouldn't have to see him again."

"You're kidding." Elliot says.

"No, I'm not. He finally got to me by crashing a date I was on and sending over an expensive bottle of wine."

"Go Chris!" Elliot says with pride.

"Yeah, well, there's a little more to it than that but, once we got together, I realized that...we're two halves of the same person. We're connected in our souls, and we both tried to fight it _profusely_. He was the first to give in." I laugh. "It wasn't hard to convince me once he found his words. I'll be honest with you. I would have been fine just being bed-buddies, but we knew almost immediately that it was more than that." He looks longingly at me.

"I never had that with Kate." He says, a little sorrowful.

"It's not something that you trip over and it's there...although that is pretty much how it happened with me and Christian. In my experience, we're the exception, not the norm. It is vital for you to understand, though, that even if it never happens for you that way, you can never diminish the value of the Kates in your life. You two loved each other, even if it was only for a moment, and that is a precious thing."

"Yeah, I know you're right." He says, dropping his eyes. "A part of me will always love my Kate—not the person she became, but _my_ Kate. I guess that's why it's not so hard to say goodbye. _My_ Kate was gone a long time ago."

"Well, well, well, I think the boy is growing up after all." I say, playfully hitting him on his arm.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"The boy is Shane Hemstead. I don't think you know his parents, but you know his grandparents. Robert and Martha Hemstead." Welch says.

"Robert Hemstead is on the board of directors at my mother's hospital." I say.

"Yes, and his wife is a member of the city council." It's not bad enough that she victimizes young boys, but she also taking advantage of the people who know her and call her 'friend.' "How old is young Mr. Hemstead and how often can we place her with him?"

"He's 14 and from our surveillance, at least three times this week."

"When?"

"Monday and Wednesday after school and Sunday afternoon." It's making me ill that those are all three days that she had encounters with me. "There's more, Sir. It may be nothing, but it's worth looking into."

"Okay, what is it?" I ask.

"There's someone else following Mrs. Lincoln." He shows me a picture of another young man. He looks to be 19 or 20—21 at the most.

"How do you know that he's following her?" I ask.

"Everywhere she is, he is. She doesn't seem to be aware of it. I took the liberty of getting a background check based on his license plate." He puts the file in front of me. Morgan Stampwell.

"Stampwell? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I'm afraid not, Sir. Mr. Stampwell is 19 now and all evidence indicates that he was one of Mrs. Lincoln's _pupils_ about five years ago." Five years. I run my hands through my hair.

"He's still following her?" I ask.

"Yes sir." She might actually be in danger of this one—not that I care. Talk about karma...taken out by one of the young boys that you victimized. Classic!

"He's 19, what is he doing now? "

"He's a student at U-Dub. Apparently, he wanted to stay close to home."

"Apparently." I look at his atrocious college transcripts. What the hell are his parents doing that they can't see that they are paying for classes their son is obviously not attending? "Stampwell of Stampwell Manufacturing, right?"

"Yep. Big scandalous divorce a few years back, wife took off with half his money and a huge interest in his business; new trophy wife just a few months later..."

"Yeah, I remember the story." The kid got lost in the shuffle as they do in most high-profile divorces—perfect picking for a predator like the Pedophile.

"Do we have anything concrete?" I ask. He produces pictures of the Pedophile kissing and undressing young Hemstead in her living room and leading him up the stairs half-naked by a collar.

Jackpot!

"What's the best way to handle this, Welch?" I ask.

"Well, exposure, blackmail, or turn her in to the authorities. The most reliable would be to turn her in—the others can be refuted. But I would really like to get some more evidence on her first—video hopefully, but a paper trail would be better."

"How long would you need for that?"

"At least another week with around the clock surveillance. A closer look at her financials might reveal something now that we have a point of reference." He says.

"Do it. Be as thorough as possible. I don't want her to be able to weasel out of this once I'm ready to set my trap." Welch nods and leaves the office. This gives me a moment to review the conversation that I had with Ms. Amber Whitmore this morning, which turned out to be pretty informative...

_"Whitmore." She answered._

"_Ms. Whitmore. This is Christian Grey. Our assistants spoke on the phone and arranged that I speak to you today."_

_"Yes, Sir, Mr. Grey. How can I help you?" I know that she knows who I am because I advise that her assistant to Google me—like I always do—so that they could see that I was a legitimate businessman. I just didn't tell them what it was concerning._

_"Ms. Whitmore, I have to say that I am calling on a personal matter that is very important to me. I understand that you are no longer in contact with your family." There's a long silence._

_"What is this about, Mr. Grey?" She snaps angrily._

_"Please, Ms. Whitmore," I say, turning on the honey voice. This would be so much more effective if I could have flown to New York in person. "I'm really pretty desperate for information."_

_"Well," I could tell the voice was working like a charm. "What does my family have to do with the information that you need?"_

_"I'm looking into something for a friend of mine and I'm just trying to find out as much as I can. It's someone that may have attended high school with you. Did you know of Anastasia Steele?" Again the line went quiet._

_"What the fuck is this?" She yells. "First, you ask me about my _so called_ family, and then you ask about Anastasia fucking Steele? Is this some kind of joke?" Oh shit, I have truly stirred the cauldron on this one._

_"Ms. Whitmore, I'm only trying to get information on my friend." It's the truth, but the honey voice is no longer working._

_"Look, Mr. _Grey_—__if __that's even your real name. I said I wouldn't say anything and I won't say anything. So you can tell my father and my brother that their secret is safe with me and to ____fuck off__!" Before I could retort, the line went dead._

Welch was right. It was a payoff.

So I know that Whitmore paid Morton for Ana's silence on his son. The only question now is which son? While I'm pondering this development, my blackberry rings. It's Grace.

"Hi Mother." I answer.

"Christian, I have a problem." I can sense the tension and anger in her voice.

"What it is, Mom?" I ask.

"Elena is spreading stories amongst our friends—stories about Carrick's and my marriage, that we are having problems, that I'm having a nervous breakdown. She is actually drawing battle lines, Christian." She says angrily.

"Who has she told?"

"Only a few ladies that I know of, some of which I really don't care about their opinions but my true friends gave me a call..." This bitch is now trying to destroy my mother in the community, but she has underestimated the name Grey.

"What do you need from me, Mom? Anything you need." I state.

"Mostly, be on guard for whatever may come your way. You know socialites can be vicious...and Elliot broke off his engagement with Kate last night. Did you know that?" I had an idea it would happen, but I didn't know for sure.

"No, I didn't. Do I need to worry about Ms. Kavanaugh, too?" I ask. I can handle her just like I can handle the Pedophile.

"I don't know." She says." I wouldn't put anything past her, so you can't be too careful. I'm on shift until 3, but after that, I'm going to start making some calls to take the wind out of one Mrs. Elena Lincoln's sails." She spits.

"I'm going to put a few things in motion on my end, too, Mom. Thanks for letting me know. I'll talk to you later." After I end the call with my mother, I summon Andrea to get me Halivant Mutual on the phone. They hold the Pedophile's smallest loan, but big enough to cause her some hardship. A few moments later, Andrea informs me that the loan manager in on the line.

"Grey."

"Mr. Grey, this is Reginald Summers. How can I be of assistance to you?"

I give Mr. Summers the Pedophile's financial information and let him know that I will no longer be backing her salon chain due to a conflict of interest. I don't tell him that I am conflicted because I no longer have an interest to be in business with a pedophile.

"Mr. Grey, you do understand that this means that her loan with us will become due immediately." Summers cautions.

"Yes, I do, and it would be a good idea to call her and inform her of this before she starts liquidating assets." I inform him.

"Well, thank you for letting us know, Mr. Grey. We will be sending you the necessary paperwork shortly." He says before I end the call. I figure it should take him about half an hour to call the Pedophile and inform her that I am pulling my backing from her business. That means that somewhere in the next hour, the Bitch will be calling me. That's enough time for me to call Landon Whitmore and see what his story is. Who is Amber protecting and why did she think I was calling her to test her loyalties?

_"This is Landon Whitmore."_

"Mr. Whitmore, this is Mr. Grey from Grey Enterprises."

_"Who?"_

"Christian Grey." I repeat.

_"I'm sorry, but I don't know anyone by that name."_ I catch him before he hangs up.

"No, you don't know me, but you do need to know that I am a very powerful man and I'm looking for some information." He chuckles a bit.

_"Let me see if I can get this straight. You call a number that I ____know i__s unlisted, throw a veiled threat at me, and then expect me to give you information?" _He says, incredulously.

"Pretty much…and the threat wasn't veiled." I say, flatly. For the second time today, the line goes dead. I expected as much. I go to the computer and separate the page of Landon Whitmore's background check from the rest of the documents and send it to my email. I open my email on my blackberry and drag the document to a text message. I send the document to Whitmore with the message, "I await your call."

Imagine getting a document from some unknown person with all of your personal information on it—from the hospital where you were born to the stuck-up snobby redhead that left you at the altar to your current salary as a sports commentator.

Needless to say, he called back.

_"What is this about, Grey?" _he snaps. _"I have enough information to have you investigated!"_

"You could, or you can hear me out." I say, coolly.

"_I'm waiting." _Asshole.

"I want to know what you know about Anastasia Steele."

_"Who's Anastasia Steele?"_ He says, impatiently.

"She went to high school with you." I said.

_"I don't remember half of the people I went to high school with. I didn't even go to the 10-year reunion. Why would I know who Anastasia Steele was? Was she an ex-girlfriend? How is she supposed to know me?"_ He asked.

"I don't know yet. That's what I'm trying to find out. In 2001, she was brutally attacked and branded by a mob of students from your school." I state.

_"Oh, that!" _He exclaimed. _"Are you a reporter?"_

"No, why would you ask me that?" I ask bemused.

_"Because ever since I started reporting on the major networks, I've been getting calls from you guys trying to get dirt on my family—or trying to rile me so that you can get a quote or something."_

"I. Am not. A reporter." I'm a little offended that he thinks I am.

_"Then who the hell are you? And how did you get all of this information on me? This is an unbelievable invasion of privacy." _He snaps.

"First of all, an employer doing a background check can get most of this information on you. Second of all, it's like I told you. I'm a very powerful man."

_"Okay, fine. So I didn't know Anastasia Steele…"_ He begins.

"But you recognized the incident." I cut him off.

_"Hell, everybody in Green Valley recognizes the fucking incident! The girl was beat all to hell! Mothers and fathers were locking up their daughters for months because nobody knew what the hell happened to the kid. Even the cop that found her didn't have any answers. The ____incident__, as you call it, became urban legend and the stories got more and more gruesome every time you heard them. First she was beaten, then she was burned, then she got her eyes gouged out…by the time the stories were done, she was nothing but a hand crawling like "Thing" from the Addams Family. You want to know what I remember about Anastasia Steele, since you tell me that's her name?"_

"What's that?" I ask flatly.

_"That whoever did whatever to her, it caused me not to get laid for the rest of my senior year! I couldn't wait to go to UCLA so I could get some ass!" _He snapped. Fucking asshole.

"A young girl was brutally beaten almost to death, and all you can take from the situation is that you couldn't get laid?" I said, my voice ominous.

_"Look, Man. I'm sorry your ____friend __got hurt, but it had nothing to do with me. Tragedies are commonplace nowadays and although they _are_tragedies, I don't mourn each one of them—only those that had to do with me. And like I said, most of the parents were so freaked out, they locked up their daughters. GV High didn't allow anybody to leave campus for lunch anymore. The whole city went on high fucking alert. We were on lockdown—nobody in, nobody out. That's all I remember until I left for college. Now I gave you all the information that I have. Can I trust that you will not misuse my personal information in any way?" _He snaps.

"Whitmore, I'm a billionaire. There's nothing that I could with your personal information that could satisfy me." I end the call. He's a through and through fucking asshole—it takes one to know one—but I believe him when he says that he has nothing to do with Butterfly's attack. So the leaves one last person—Cody. This asshole is right up under Daddy, and I really want to see all parties Green Valley face to face. I'll save that one for when I make my trip in that direction.

I'm working on some spreadsheets when I get a call from an blocked number on my cell.

"Grey."

"Well, I'm surprised you answered, _Mr. Grey._" I'm getting sick already.

"The sound of your voice burns the hair in my ears. What do you want?" I say to her.

"Our agreement was that you would not be associated with the salons and that you would still keep your backing with the banks. Have you forgotten that you have signed a _contract_?" She spit.

"So be my guest and sue me, but by the time you get any payout—if you ever do—you're going to be penniless, friendless, and destitute." I say, flatly. She is quiet on the other end. "I've only contacted Haviland Mutual—the smallest of your lenders. Spread one more rumor about my mother and my father, and I'll be calling Sound Community next."

She didn't bother trying to defend herself. I would call Sound Community now, but there is a method to my madness. I want to cause her hardship, but not break her completely—not until I can get the information on her that I need to put her away for a long time.

"You know I have to damn near sell one of my salons to pay back that loan, Christian. What am I supposed to do?" She says in angry desperation.

"Not my problem. You should have thought of that before you outed me in front of my family and the woman that I love and made me into an enemy." I answer impassively.

"I'm sorry. I was desperate. I didn't mean to break you and Anastasia up..." she lies.

"That's exactly what you meant to do. Happy to burst your bubble, Mrs. Lincoln—it didn't work." The quick intake of air let me know that she was sure Butterfly had left me after the crack-whore-mother-brunette realization.

"She must be after your money, Christian. No self-respecting woman would stick around after knowing that she is the equivalent of a blow-up doll replacement for your dead mother!" She spit. I chuckle loudly in her ear, something I'm sure she didn't expect.

"What would you know about a self-respecting woman?" I laugh. There was nothing else I needed to add to that.

"You know, this is all going to blow up in your face one day." She said.

"Not before it blows up in yours." I say before ending the call.

It's around lunchtime and I haven't heard from Butterfly. I know she had a few clients today but as far as I can remember, it was supposed to be a light day. I wonder if I can surprise her for lunch? I tell Taylor to meet me out front so that we go to her office.

I'm surprised to see Elliot's work truck the parking lot when I pull up to Ana's office. I know there are many businesses in this building, but nine times out of 10, he's here to see Ana. I tell Taylor wait while I go in to get her.

I've never been to Butterfly's office before. It's very inviting. A perky young redhead greets me at the receptionist's desk.

"Hello, how can I help you?" She says, losing her breath a little when she gets a good look at me. At first, I am irritated by it—as always—then I see the poor thing fighting to maintain a bit of professionalism.

"Is Dr. Steele in her office?" I say, observing the grotesquely large bouquet of mixed roses on the receptionist's desk. I recognize Fiori's work anywhere.

"Yes sir, she is." She says, clearing her throat. "She's in with someone right now." Hmmm, I know Elliot is here. Why is he in with Anastasia? I look at the flowers again and turn on my illegal charm.

"These are lovely." I say, smiling at this poor being that is about to become butter in my hand.

"Um, yes, they are." She says a bit breathily.

"Secret admirer?" I ask, flashing a smile.

"I...don't know...they're not for me." She says, nearly falling apart at the seams. Okay, now it's taking all of my will not to explode. My brother who is known for being a man-whore has just broken his engagement with his fiancee and is now at my girlfriend's place of business closed up in her office in the middle of the workday after showing up with a huge, expensive bouquet of flowers, and he just met her two days ago.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Marilyn." She says.

"Well, thank you, Marilyn." I say with a smile and I turn to leave.

"You don't want to wait?" She coaxes.

"Oh, no. I'll catch her at another time." I smile and leave. I get back into the car with a confused Taylor. "Back to the office." I say as I take out my Blackberry and start to check emails.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

My 1:00 appointment canceled on me due to illness and rescheduled for next week. With nothing but time on my hands for the afternoon, I decide to call Christian. I'm shocked when his phone goes to voicemail. It never goes to voicemail. _Ever_.

"Christian. It's Ana. My 1:00 canceled and I just wanted to see if you were available for lunch. You're probably in some big board meeting so...give me a call when you get a chance. Love you."

I hit end then send him a message for good measure.

_****Busy taking over the world? I miss you. No more appointments for the day.****_

After a few minutes and no response, I figure he must be in a hugely important meeting. I go out to Marilyn.

"Hey, Marilyn. Can you see if Luc has any openings between now and 6:00 this evening?"

"Sure. Oh, some really hot guy came looking for you earlier, but he didn't leave a name."

"Really hot guy?" I laugh. "Can you be a little more specific?"

"Um, very tall, reddish-brown hair, gray eyes, looks like God..." My eyes pop out of my head.

"Why didn't you call me or come and get me?" I say, a little frantic.

"Because you were in with someone. I never interrupt you when you were in with someone. Why, was it important?" She asks.

"_Important_?" I get on her computer and go to Google images and type in Christian Grey. I pick a picture and turn the flat-screen monitor to her. "Was that him?"

"Yeah. Yes, that's him." She says in recognition.

"That's _Christian_!" I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air and pacing around the office. Now I am wondering why he's not answering my calls or my texts...and why he didn't wait? Was he in a hurry? Was he angry? "What did he say?"

"Nothing. He asked if you were in. I told him that you had someone in the office with you. He asked about the flowers and then he left." She answers.

"What did you tell him about the flowers?"

"That they weren't for me and I didn't know who they were from." She answers like a scolded child.

"Well, did he seem angry?" I ask concerned.

"Not at all. He was very pleasant and charming. I invited him to stay and wait for you, but he said he would catch you at another time."

Catch me at another time!? What the fuck does that mean? He comes to my office unannounced in the middle of the day, won't wait and doesn't even leave a message? We had a beautiful night last night...what happened?

"Call Luc." I say before going back to my office.

* * *

At 3:00, I walk into the gym in a pair of yoga capris and a sports bra. It's all I had in the trunk of my car. Two hours later and Christian still hasn't responded to my message or my text. I have no idea what's going on and he's not talking. Needless to say, I'm a little pissed off.

Chuck sits in one of the chairs with a newspaper and I see Luc standing in the corner, looking at me with disdain again, no doubt not pleased about the yoga pants. Not today, you bastard. I walk right over to him and before he can open his mouth, I say, "Do we have an understanding now, Luc?"

He stands there staring at me for a moment, a little dumbfounded and shocked. Yeah, Asshole, I know you thought I was crawling back to you. Surprise! You're wrong.

"This is what I'm wearing and I need my damn workout, but make no mistake. If I have to, I will still fuck you up and hire somebody else." I can see Chuck's reflection in the wall mirrors and he is watching me curiously. Don't worry about me, Chuck. I can take care of _this_ guy—and I have the additional motivation of an angry, spurned girlfriend.

Not to be outdone, Luc retorts, "You're here because I'm the best at what I do and you know this."

"That might be true," I say, "but I will still fuck you up if you try that shit on me that you pulled the last time I was here. Do we have an understanding?" I demand. He's just looking around, trying to hold on to whatever manhood he has left in front of the other gentlemen at the gym. Since he hasn't answered me, I keep going. "Standard takedown, standard combat, endurance, and technique. None of that macho bullshit you'll pulled on me, because if you try to make an example out of me again, I'm going to castrate your ass!" He eyes go wide as he listens to what I'm saying and the two men that were standing with him discreetly take their leave and decide to be anywhere else but here. "Do you think you can train me within those guidelines, or should I go and find the number _two_ martial arts trainer in Seattle?"

Finally, he lays down his bravado and says, "We have an understanding. Twenty minutes stretching and bag and then meet me in room three."

* * *

At 5:00 I am showered, saunaed, and back in my work clothes leaving the gym. I check my iPhone and still no message from Christian. Okay, this is starting to get a little ridiculous. I'm not going to grovel to this man and I didn't even do anything wrong.

"Chuck, do you know if anything is wrong with Christian?" I ask as we are walking to our cars.

"Uh, not that I know of. Taylor called during your workout to find out where we were. He didn't mention anything wrong with Mr. Grey." He answers matter-of-factly. Well, at least I know he's not dead. I get into my car and drive to _Chicken Valley_ for skewers for tonight's dinner. I had a very serious workout and I don't feel like cooking. By the time I get home and take off my shoes, I finally get a text from Christian.

_****I met with Carlisle early today. I'm very tired. Going home to get some rest. Talk to you later.****_

What the fuck is going on? He knew that I would be at my apartment—we agreed to meet here tonight. Is this another playroom test?

I call his phone and again, it goes to voicemail. I don't know what he's playing at, but I'm not going to chase him. I send him a text back.

_****Fine. Have a good night.****_

I compose myself the best that I can and go talk to Chuck.

"You can go home, Chuck." He looks at me confused.

"I usually stay until Taylor and Mr. Grey get here."

"Well, it looks like you won't have to do that tonight." I say, still trying very hard to maintain myself in front of Chuck. He looks at me questioning. "Look, if you don't believe me, call Taylor. I'm sure that he will tell you that it's okay for you to go home."

"Are you okay, Ana?" He asks. The care in his voice is almost more than I can take. He is looking at me with the same questions in his eyes that I have in my head...

What happened?  
What's wrong?  
Why isn't he coming?

"I'll be fine, Chuck. I just really need to be alone." I say with my last bit of conviction. I think he finally gets it and looks at me apologetically. That look, I can't take right now. I'm beginning to feel the same way that I felt the night I discovered that I was the ninth wheel. I turn away from him and face the breakfast bar. I refuse to break down in front of this man. "Please, Chuck." I say, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Go home." I don't turn around to face him but I hear the door open and he says,

"Call me if you need me, and I'll come back."

I nod without looking at him and I hear the door close behind him. I let out a breath that I didn't know that I was holding. I am able to regain some of my composure now that he's gone. I lock the door. This will be the first time I have slept alone in 11 nights. I don't even think I know how to do it anymore. I look at the chicken that I bought for dinner. I'm not even hungry now. I put the chicken in the refrigerator and I see the open bottle of Cabernet.

Wine for dinner. Sounds good to me!

I open the cupboard and pull out a deep-bowl wine glass. I pour what was left of the Cabernet in the glass. Barely enough for a serving. I go to the wine cooler and pull out a fresh bottle. I fill my glass to a proper serving...well, maybe a bit more than a proper serving. I go over to my iPod dock. Tonight seems like a good night for Kenny G. I open the playlist and put it on shuffle. And of course, the first song that I hear is "Don't Make Me Wait For Love." Fucking Kenny G.

I pace around my apartment. It's been a while since I been here for any extended period of time. I touch objects, furniture, and surfaces like I'm getting reacquainted with my space. Actually, that's exactly what I'm doing. The cream and chocolate sofas in my living room, my formal dining table, my simple sleek black breakfast bar, my stainless steel appliances and glass cupboards. How convenient. My glass is empty and I'm back in the kitchen. I fill my glass again as "Sentimental" starts to play. Fucking Kenny G.

I am sipping my second glass of wine as I continue down the hallway, running my hands along the muted walls. I wonder what made me pick this color? It seems really boring. Maybe I need an accent wall in here. Of course, the color that comes to mind is brown. That's not an accent wall, Steele! That's dirt! Red! Orange! Those are accent colors! I used to have an aquarium in my hallway when the lying, cheating double dicker lived with me, but I gave it away. I wasn't taking care of those damn fish. I hated those damn fish!

My apartment is built in a circle except for the hallway that goes to the bedrooms. I now find myself in the small sitting room off the living room and the dining room. I don't think I've ever used this room. I have a gold chaise in here and a little brown coffee table—like this room was just an afterthought. I sit on the chaise that has probably never been used and look at the ceiling. This room is completely white. Ugh, this is really ugly. I really need to do something with this space quickly! I could make this room look like the ocean.

_You live right next to the water, Idiot.  
_She's right, but can I deal with her tonight? No, I can't. So I turn her off.

Water. Blue. This room will look very nice in blue. Something tropical. Now Kenny G's soprano saxophone starts to play "Alone." Flipping Kenny G.

Okay, my wine is leaving entirely too fast. I return to the kitchen to fill my glass again, tossing the empty bottle in the trash. I love Cabernet. It's my favorite. I travel down the hallway now to my second spare bedroom. Simple. Full sized bed, a dresser and a night stand with a table lamp and clock. I rarely have company that sleeps in here. Come to think of it, do I _ever_ have company that sleeps in here? Hell, I don't know.

I am now in the main bathroom with the wood-look marble counters and the clear sink and walk-in shower. Really see no need to remodel the bathroom. I am very rarely in here, except to do the occasional cleaning for Food and Libations.

That was fun...at Christian's on Friday...until that bitch Belany...Britney? Bethany! Yeah, until that bitch Bethany tried to hit on my man.

My man. What the hell is up with him? Whatever!

I leave out of the main bathroom and go to Al's room. I let him decorate this room when I moved in. He has great taste. A mixture of grays, reds, and burgundies. I wouldn't have thought it would have worked good but he put it together and it looks great. Kenny G is now serenading me with "In the Rain." Frag-nabbit Kenny G.

I now bend the corner to my own bedroom. I walk straight through to my en suite. I love my bathroom—a wetroom in a mixture of brown and black tiles with a double sink, rainwater shower, and built-in jacuzzi tub that I don't use nearly enough. I saved the worst for last. My bedroom. Nothing spectacular in here except for the blue pinstriped Anderson Sheppard suit in the chair with the white shirt and the burgundy tie. I pick up the tie—it smells like Christian. It sends a painful jolt right through me straight to my chest.

What did I do wrong? I don't even know...and my glass is empty again.

I put the tie around my neck. Just as I touch the luxurious material, Kenny G starts to play "The Wedding Song." Gosh-darn Kenny G.

I've been away from this place for too long. I'm finding it a bit difficult to navigate back to the kitchen. And where did my wine bottle go? Oh well...open another one. I probably left it somewhere in this strange apartment I haven't slept in in a week. I fill my glass again. Whoa—stood up a bit too fast...was I sitting down? Shit, I think I _better_ sit down. I slowly find my way to the sofa while "Summertime" starts to play on the iPod. I like Kenny G.

"Your momma's rich and your daddy's good lookin'..." I sing with the instrumental. Or is it your daddy's rich and your momma's good looking? Eh, I'll Google it tomorrow. I drink some more of my wine and lay my head back on the sofa. I hold my wine glass up to the light—it looks weird with the light shining through it...kind of pretty. It tastes even better than it looks. I drink the last of it then put the empty glass on the floor. I'll go get some more in a minute.

I touch the burgundy tie around my neck. I tie it in a simple knot like Ray taught me...at least I think I do. I can't really tell right now. My vision is a little blurred.

I wish I knew what was wrong. Everything was fine when we left Escala this morning. He said he had phonecalls to make and may not be available for a couple of hours. I said I had two clients and then I would be free for lunch, hoping he would surprise me.

Boy, did he surprise me.

He surprised me by showing up at my office, talking to my receptionist, leaving without a word, refusing to speak to me for the rest of the day, then standing me up.

Is it standing you up when we were just going to sleep? Maybe? I don't know.

All I know is that he is not here and I have no idea why.

Something drips in my ear...and I realize that I'm crying.

No sound, just tears. And my head is fuzzy as hell. I lay on the sofa and just let the tears flow. It probably wouldn't be so bad if I knew why I was being punished. Even Chuck didn't know he wasn't coming. Taylor didn't call him. Nobody knows what's going on but the great Christian Grey.

The great fucking Christian Grey.

The beautiful, sexy, irresistible Christian Grey...

...who won't speak to me...

...won't return my calls...

...won't respond to my texts...except to tell me that he's not coming over...

And now I'm weeping, and I can't stop. I hate not knowing what's wrong, and he won't tell me. So I sit here trying to figure out why I'm lying on my sofa, alone, wishing there was more wine in my empty glass, and listening to Kenny G.

I love Kenny G...

* * *

_**GREY**_

I wasn't thrilled to see Carlisle today, but I was glad to get it over early. Anastasia texted me once at lunchtime. I supposed her little _meeting_ with my brother was over. I didn't feel like facing her—asking her the questions and hearing the answers, no matter what they were—especially after I had seen the flowers. What was Elliot playing at? He knows how I feel about Anastasia. Would he really do something dirty behind my back? Would _she_?

I have Taylor contact Davenport and they are at the gym. Back to kick Luc's ass, huh? I remember when I watched her take him down the first time. Boy that was a sight. Sexy little thing in red and black short shorts clamped onto this monster of a man making him bang on the mat for mercy. I think that may have been the first moment that I felt like I loved her.

What is happening now? I don't have the heart to ask.

Once we get back to Escala, I close myself in my study. Taylor asks something about notifying Davenport, but I just wave him away. Work...that's what I need...something to occupy my mind. I remember that I need to visit Mr. Billings at Noticon tomorrow. I check my schedule on my blackberry. Of course, nothing immediate but I know things tend to pop up. I enter that I will see Billings at 10:00am so that it will show up on my schedule in the office and Andrea will know. I complete the paperwork for Haviland Mutual to start the ball rolling on Operation Pedophile Hardship. Grace told me that all of the rumors started about her and Carrick seemed to magically disappear right after lunchtime before she even got the chance to make one call. I told her to make the calls anyway as I feel that this is not the last we will see of Mrs. Lincoln. I also drop a hint for her to inquire about the children and grandchildren of her and Elena's closest friends.

"I want to try to get as much information as I can without letting her know what I'm doing, so you have to be discreet Mom. If you can't handle it, that's fine. I'll find another way." I tell her.

"I can be discreet, Son. I want to help in any way that I can." She replies.

"Since we don't know how long this has been going on, we need to look into boys and men at least as old as Elliot-maybe even older, but we don't want to bite off more than we can chew."

"I understand. I will let you know if I find out anything. How's Ana?" She asks cheerfully. Actually, Mom, I don't know how Ana is. You may want to ask my big brother.

"She's fine, Mom." I say curtly. No doubt noticing the sharpness of my voice, she says, "If everything alright, Christian?"

"Yes, Mom. Everything's fine." I say in a sad attempt to convince her. "I have to go, Mom. I have a few more things I want to do before it gets to be too late." We end the call. I finally look at the text from Ana again inviting me to take her to lunch. I text back to her for the first time today:

_****I met with Carlisle early today. I'm very tired. Going home to get some rest. Talk to you later.****_

I didn't tell her that I was already home. She really didn't need to hear that part. A few moments later, my phone rang. Across the screen flashes the word "Butterfly" and a picture of her sleeping on the floor in my closet in my blue sportscoat and her tiara.

I can't answer it. I can't talk to her right now. I ignore the call. Moments later I get another text from her.

_****Fine. Have a good night.****_

Have a good night. Sure, I'll have a _great_ night without you, Butterfly, I say bitterly to myself. There is a knock on my study door a few minutes later. It's Taylor.

"Gail wants to know if you would like for her to prepare something for dinner."

"Whatever she has available." I say, curtly.

"For one or two, Sir?" I glare at him. I know what he's asking me. Bastard.

"For one, Taylor." I spit. He nods once.

"Oh, and Davenport called saying that Ms. Steele asked him to leave." Asked him to leave? That sounds ominous. I looked up at him and I'm sure he knows that I wanted more information. "She told him to go home...asked him to, as he said, 'leave her alone.'"

"Did he leave her alone?" I ask, almost ready to ring Davenport's neck. Why, I don't know.

"Yes sir. He said that she was very upset and he told her to call him if she needed anything and he would come back." Taylor adds. Nice going, Grey. What did you expect her to do?

Call the girls for make-up night?  
Throw one of her dinner parties?  
Go see your brother?  
You're such an asshole.

"Tell him to stick around for another hour to make sure she doesn't go anywhere alone." I say.

"Yes sir." Taylor closes the door.

I eat in my office then I work well into the night trying to exhaust myself. It didn't work. It never works. Somewhere around 2am I find myself at my piano playing "Going Home" over and over again until the sun rose.

* * *

_**David**_

I have calculated exactly 1,001 away from every place she frequents. I can pretty much guess the distance in places with which I am not familiar. I couldn't see anything at that house in Bellevue, even with my binoculars, so I just had to wait until she came back to the city. She's at her apartment now. About time - she hasn't been there for almost a damn week! Except for Friday, when the Faggot and the Rich boy came early in the day, then she left again and didn't come back until a few minutes ago.

I miss her so much. Why can't she just come back to me? I know I was wrong, but I swear I can be a better man to Rosie if she just give me a chance.

I was leaning on the car looking through my high powered binoculars when a voice behind me says, "Good strategy."

I turn around to see that same asshole that was in the parking garage standing behind me with a smug ass look on his face. His hair is different - it looks like he dyed it - and he's not wearing the usual fucking undertaker clothes.

"I am more than 1000 feet away from her, so leave me the fuck alone." I snap.

"But technically, you're still stalking her with those Oberwerks." He responds. I turn to face him.

"Fine. I'll fucking leave." As I open the door to my car, he stops me.

"Look, I don't work for the bastard anymore, and I don't fucking car what you do. You got a light?" He puts a cigarette in his mouth. I don't smoke, but I keep lighters for the ladies that do...when I used to care about the ladies...before Rosie recaptured my heart. I light his cigarette.

"If you don't work for him, why do you care about what I'm doing?"

"Well, I really don't. But that bitch caused me to lose my job." He sneered.

"Don't call her a bitch!" I snap.

"Oh, but you can call her a whore!" He retorts, not taking down. We get into a momentary standoff when he says, "Look. I don't give a fuck what you call her, but to me, she's a bitch. Now I can help you out if you want it, and if not, I'll leave you and the bitch alone."

"Stop calling her a bitch!" I say again.

"Why should I? I'm trying to help you."

"Because I will send you on your way if you keep calling her a bitch and apparently there's something in this for you. And since I don't know what you have to offer, I'm not missing anything by sending you on your way." I respond. He takes a drag from his cigarette.

"You're a smart man. Smarter than I thought. You should know that you've been followed and observed for over a week now. They know your every move. They know you're standing here right now talking to me - they just don't know it's me. I'm just some guy that asked you for a light making small talk." What the fuck? Who are _they_?

"What the hell are you talking about, man? And why should I believe anything you say?" I challenge.

"Because until last Monday, I was the man that was following you. I was distracted, which is the only reason why you got close to her, but I can guarantee you that rich prick is not going to let that happen to you again. There's somebody within 50 feet of you right now, and you don't even know it. They know where you were yesterday, what you eat for breakfast, the color of your damn underwear, and when you last took a shit! And unless you know how they operate, you will never know how to get rid of them." He says.

"And what's in it for you?" I say, leaning on the car folding my arms.

The bi...she...cost me my job. I can't even find another job in this state, so I'll be leaving here soon, but not before I cause a little havoc in the lives of the Golden Boy and his little Butterfly." He says with disdain. His little butterfly. Is that what he calls her? I hate that man. I really do.

"What can you do for me?" I ask, my interest piqued.

"Why don't you come and have a beer with me and I'll tell you all about it, Ed. By the way, my name's Bob."

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Fiori is Fiori Floral Designs, a florist in Seattle**_

_**Yes, Going Home is another Kenny G song that was most likely playing sometime while Anastasia was asleep.**_

_**A couple of pictures are on Pinterest for this chapter at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Please Review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!  
**__**Lynn x**__**  
**_


	32. Chapter 32: Oops

**_________It is a momentous day for me. Thank you to Anisurnois for being my 2000th reviewer! (Applause! Applause! The crowd goes wild!)_**

**_________In a tiny defense of my Ana...sometimes women just get pissed and get drunk! It happens (waving my hand - GUILTY! GUILTY!). I don't know about most of you, but if a man treats _me_________ like he doesn't want to be bothered with me (won't return my calls, won't return my texts, won't answer the phone when I call, stands me up for no reason), I'm not in a hurry to run to your house and get rejected _in person_________. And I reserve the right to NOT be mature about it when I'm sitting in the safety of my home pissed off that you are not speaking to me!_**

**_________When the Playroom scene occurred, they had spoken during the day. He texted her, she called him, he answered and explained what was going on - made sure that she knew it wasn't her. That's when she deduced that she should probably go over there and give him the control that he needed to get back on track. _**

**_________Compare that to this day - he comes to her office and leaves without saying anything. She calls, she texts, nothing. He texts her, she calls back, he won't answer. Neither Taylor nor Chuck knows what the hell is going on (remember, she asked Chuck if Taylor said anything) and Ana is even _more_________ completely clueless. You have made it quite clear that you want nothing to do with me today (even though you haven't told me why), so I'm going to go to your house so that you can make me feel like shit to my face? How about "NO!" _**

**_________Hopefully this gives you all a better idea of how Ana is thinking, what she is feeling, and why she reacts the way that she does. And if not, well, just keep reading. I love you, anyway. ;-)_**

**__________****_________Someone asked about Elliot skimming/reading the letter from Kate that came with the flowers. He didn't skim or read it, he went straight to the signature. Recall this line: _"Nope! And you'll never believe who." I hand him the note and his eyes travel right to the signature.**

**_________Thank you to all of my readers and reviewers as usual - and to my crew to whom I am unable to PM - Carol, CG Girl, chocolate, christian618, Gem, Jaimini, JN, Mbd (thanks for joining me - so glad you are enjoying the story!), Rachel in Boston, Teresaromance, Tempress (very well said!), Tj, zen, and to all of my guests that took the time to review._**

**_________I need to say a special thank you to my FSOG Facebook guys and gals who have been there for me soooooooooooooooo much. We are a little family and I truly, truly adore them with all of my heart._**

**_________I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too________._**

_Chapter 32 - Oops_

_**GREY**_

I sit at my desk in my office wondering how Ana slept last night.

You shunned her all day and then left her hanging last night and she doesn't know why. How the hell do you think she slept last night, Asshole? About as well as you did, I would guess.

I just don't know what to say to her. I've never been at a loss for words with a woman, but I can't take it if she tells me that she wants my brother...or worse yet, if she tells me that she _doesn't_ and I don't believe her. I couldn't stand it if she lied to me.

But you're lying about this whole Green Valley thing. So it's okay if you lie, but not her...is that the thrust?

This is different, though. I'm trying to find the people who hurt her. And I'm not lying, I'm just not telling her what I'm doing.

A lie is a lie and you _are_ lying! You told her you would let it go. How's that working for you?

Such an asshole, Grey.

Another knock at the door and Taylor is in my office. "Sir, Davenport just called. He says that he cannot locate Ms. Steele." I sit up in my chair.

"What?" I say incredulously.

"He gets no answer when he tries to call her and no answer when he knocks on her door."

"Has he checked to see if she is already at her office? She may have had an early appointment and she doesn't answer her phone when she is in appointments." I point out.

"He's there now, Sir. She has a 9:00 that her assistant Marilyn has canceled because Ms. Steele is usually in the office at least an hour before her first appointment." I look at my watch. It's 8:30 now. Ana is very serious about her patients. I pull out my blackberry and call her. It goes straight to voice mail.

"_This is Anastasia Steele. Please leave me a message." _I hang up. I still wouldn't know what to say to her. Dammit, now is when I need a fucking key to her apartment.

Key...Allen!

What the hell am I going to tell him? Fuck what I'm going to tell him! He needs to get over there and see if she's okay. I call Allen.

_"This is Allen Forsythe."_

"Allen, it's Christian."

_"Chris! To what do I owe this honor?"_ He says cheerfully.

He told me not to hurt her.

"You still have the key to Anastasia's apartment, don't you?" I ask.

_"Of course I do. What are we doing now, 90 Alexander McQueen dresses?"_ He laughs.

"Um, no. I need you to go over there and see if she's okay." I say, trying to hide my shame. Allen gets quiet.

_"What happened?_" His tone has gone from cheerful to serious.

"I'll tell you later but right now, please go see if she's okay. I called her and her phone is going straight to voicemail. Davenport has knocked but no answer and her receptionist is canceling appointments as we speak." I say. "I'm worried, Al." I add. I don't think I've ever called him _Al_.

_"Did you guys break up?"_ He asks.

"No! Of course not!" I almost shout. "We just...slept at different places last night." He sighs.

_"I'll go see."_ He says. I sigh.

"Thank you, Al. Davenport will meet you there."

_"Fine."_ He says._ "One of us will let you know what's going on...and then one of _you _will tell _me _what's going on._" I pause. Is it really any of your damn business what's going on? I think to myself. _"I hear that pause, I'm a lawyer. You're pulling me from my workday to go to my best friend's house to see if she's lying dead in a bathroom! _One_ of you is going to tell me what's going on!"_ He spits in a totally attorney tone. I need to hire this guy!

"Understood." I relent before he ends the call. I am not moving from this spot until someone tells me that Butterfly is okay.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"Jewel? Jewel, wake up baby."

"Mmmmm..." I groan. My. Head. Is. Banging. "Do you have to yell?"

"I'm not yelling, Honey. You're hung over." Allen's voice sounds like it's coming from a bullhorn...and Kenny G is still playing that damn soprano sax. Fucking Kenny G!

"Turn that shit off!" I protest. Al swiftly locates the iPod and puts me out of my musical misery.

"Wine drunk, Jewel? On a Monday night? And you didn't call _me_?" Al scolds.

"It was a long day. I just wanted to be alone."

"Mm-hmm, I bet." He says walking over to the counter and retrieving the nearly empty wine bottle. "Well, at least you left me a drink." He says.

"Um...that's the third bottle." I say without lifting my head.

"_The third bottle_?" He exclaims a little too loudly. "You're fucking insane, you know that?"

"The first one was nearly empty." I protest.

"And now _this_ one is nearly empty, so that makes two bottles...all by yourself!"

"Yeah...yeah..." I surrender.

"So what's going on, Jewel?" He says, sitting on the sofa next to where I spent the night, stroking my head.

"My boyfriend's being an asshole." I respond miserably.

"Well, that asshole pulled me out of my job to come over here and make sure that you weren't dead." I look up at him.

"Why didn't he come himself?" I spit.

"Well, first, I don't know. I told him one of you two lovebirds were going to tell me what's going on once I determined that you had not fallen victim to a serial killer."

"Ooo, how did he take that?" I ask.

"I don't give a damn how he took it!" Al snaps. Something tells me that I wish I had been a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation.

"What's second?" I croak.

"Huh?"

"What's second? You said, first you don't know. What's second?"

"Oh! Does he have a key?" Oh...yeah that would present a problem, wouldn't it?

"No, I was going to get one made yesterday...before he turned into an asshole."

"Well, you have to give me a moment because I have to call the asshole and tell him that you're _not_ dead." Al said.

"I just texted him, Mr. Forsythe. He knows." The voice above me bellows.

"Hi Chuck." I say without raising my head.

"Hi Ana." He responds.

"Jewel, where is your damn phone?"

"It's in my purse." I complain. "What time is it?"

"It's 9:22 Babe." Al answers.

"Shit!" I sit up quickly and suffer from one of the worse cases of vertigo I have ever had. "I had a 9:00 appointment. I have to call Marilyn."

"I'm here, too." Marilyn says from somewhere over there...

"Marilyn, hi. Sorry, Hon. Did you cancel my 9...?"

"Yes, and your 10 and I'm about to cancel your 11..." She begins.

"No, don't cancel anymore!." I say holding my head. "All I need is a hot shower and a couple of Advil. Al, help me please." I reach to Al who helps me off the sofa and into my bedroom. "Unzip me and get me some Advil and orange juice."

"You might want to take the tie off, too, Hon." He says pointing to Christian's burgundy tie. Ah, the drunken wanderings of a woman scorned. I wonder if I drunk dialed him? The world may never know...

"I can't get this thing off." I say, trying to maneuver this crazy intricate sailor's knot. Al isn't having much more luck.

"Who tied this thing!?" He laughed.

"I don't know! I don't even know how it got here!" I say. "Never mind, get the Advil." I walk out into the living room. "Chuck can you get this thing off of me?" I walk over to Chuck who is fumbling with something in his pocket and show him my predicament.

"Wha...how...what is...how did this happen?" Chuck gasps loudly. Did these people forget I'm hung over?

"I don't know! Just get it off me!" I snap.

"I don't think I can, Ana." He says, examining the knots.

"Well, can't you just pull if over my head or something?" I am desperate.

"Not unless we want to choke you to death." Al says handing me the Advil and some orange juice. I swallow the pills and a lot of the juice.

"I'll just wear something that matches it, then." I say, trying to find a solution.

"You can't wear that to work!" Al declares. "It looks like Japanese bondage! And how are you going to take a shower?" Fuck, I forgot about that.

"What do I do?" I whine.

"Cut it." Chuck says.

"Are you crazy? I'm not cutting his tie! This damn thing probably costs more than I make in a week!" I protest.

"Well, we have to do something, because I don't know how you did this, but it's all tangled in your hair and everything." Al says...and now I start to panic.

"Oh God. Please don't cut my hair. Please don't cut my hair." I beg.

"Well then we have to cut the tie, Ana." Al says.

"And I have to cancel your 11:00 because we're coming up on 10 and you're not going to make it." Marilyn says, pulling out her phone.

"No, don't cancel the 11. I can make it!" I say.

"You can't even get out of the tie!" Marilyn announces. Cow.

"Fine! But don't cancel anymore after that and I mean it!" I snap. Marilyn goes into the hallway to make the call. I finally confess.

"There has to be another way to do this. I can't cut his tie, guys. He's going to think I did it on purpose. He's already pissed at me and I don't even know why." I drop my head.

"Wait a minute. You guys slept in separate places last night. He's pissed at you?" Al asked.

"Yes," I answer.

"And you don't know why?" He adds.

"No fucking clue." I announce. Marilyn comes back in.

"Well, how do you know he's pissed at you?"

"Well, I texted him at lunch yesterday and he didn't respond. It doesn't matter where he is, he _always_ responds. Yesterday I heard his voicemail for the first time in my life. I left him a message, he didn't call me back. The first communication that I got from him for the whole day was him telling me that he wasn't coming last night...and that was a text. You tell me...is he _pissed_?" I say sarcastically.

"Shit! Well, what happened yesterday?" Al inquired further.

"Nothing! I didn't see him the whole day!" I exclaim. "Oh, wait! He came to the office."

"Well, what happened at the office?"

"I don't know! Marilyn?" I turn to Marilyn who looks at Chuck. "Why are you looking at Chuck?" Chuck stares back at her impassively. "Marilyn!?" I'm getting a little desperate. "Did something happen and I don't know?" I demand. Marilyn finally speaks.

"No, Ana, nothing happened. It's just like I told you..." She says.

"Well, tell me again." I need to know every detail. There may have been something I missed. She tells me every little thing that happened, including her becoming a dribbling fool over my boyfriend. I can't blame her—he's gorgeous.

"That's the exact same thing you told me yesterday. Why are you gawking at Chuck?" I throw my hands up exasperated.

"Well maybe he's upset about the flowers." Al suggests.

"It can't be the flowers." I say.

"Why not?" He asks.

"He can't be that upset over flowers. It's not possible. All he has to do is ask me. This man hasn't spoken to me in more than 24 hours. And he only texted me last night to tell me that he was going home." I'm getting kind of choked up thinking about not touching him for 24 hours. It must be this damn tie. "It can't be the flowers." I squeak.

"Well, who sent the flowers?" Chuck asked.

"Kate." I spit.

"Kate who? Who the fuck is Kate?" Chuck says.

"Katherine Kavanaugh, Elliot's ex-fiancee."

"Who the fuck is Elliot?" Al asks.

"Christian's brother. He was at my office yesterday. As a matter of fact, he showed up right after the flowers did...or right before, I don't know. He wanted to know who they were from, too, because we all thought they were from Christian...except for that moment when Marilyn thought they were from Edward. Elliot was just as shocked as I was." I say.

"Maybe he thought they were from Ed," Marilyn suggests. "I _did_ tell him that I didn't know who they were from."

"I'm telling you, it's not the flowers. He knows that if they were from Edward, I would have pitched them like they were infected - beautiful vase and all."

"Well, why was Elliot at your office?" Al asked.

"I can't _tell_ you." I respond.

"I'm your best friend. You can't tell me why Christian's brother was at your office?"

"No. I can't _tell_ you." I respond again. Get a clue guys, come on.

"What if I guess?" Al says.

"I still can't _tell_ you." Oh, you smart men can't be this dense.

"Why can't you tell me why Christian's brother was at your office?" Al says, almost demanding.

"Why can't I tell you why _anybody_ is at my office?" I respond, just as demanding.

And then I wait. And realization dawns.

"Oooooh!" Al yells. I'm shaking my head.

"Allen, you graduated high school at 16. You went through college, grad school, and law school in six years and you passed the bar on your first try. How did you _not_ figure that out sooner?" I ask.

"No offense, Jewel, but this is _your_ riddle." He says in that stating-the-obvious way that he always does. I hate him sometimes.

"Fucking mother fucking bitches from hell—how am I going to get this tie off?" I feel the unwanted tears demanding to be released. I swear I hear a voice from nowhere say, "Cut the damn tie!" I look around and ask, "What was that?"

"That was me! Cut the damn tie!" Chuck says. Fuck!

"Fine! Get the damn scissors and get me out of this damn tie!" I wail as I go back to my bedroom. Once I clear the door, I snatch my Vesper midi-dress off, almost ripping the poor thing. I'm standing there in my underwear when Al enters with my scissors. He gives me a handkerchief and I realize that I am crying...again. Fuck! He gently slips the scissor under the tie and cuts it on both sides while sit here blubbering like an idiot. The front part falls right off but the back has to be expertly untangled from my hair. I think it took about twenty minutes and I cried the whole time.

"Do you feel better, now, Jewel?" Al asks.

"No, because not knowing is terrible...it's the worst." I answer, between my sniffles.

"You get in the shower, Babe. I'll find you something to wear." He kisses me on my forehead. I walk into my en suite and turn on my rainwater shower. I just stand there for a while, letting the tears mingle with the water. This is the first "hurt" cry I've cried in a long time. Most of the time, it's those damn adrenaline tears, which fucking ring me out. Now, I just want to know what the hell is going on and why he is shutting me down.

Our first lover's quarrel and I'm not even allowed to participate.

I consider what to do with my wretched face today. Do I do full-on war paint and run the risk of it streaking today, or do I let my patients see me blotchy, ashy, and tear-stained? I am fucking miserable. I remember standing in the shower many times crying over Edward and swearing that I would never let another man reduce me to that...and here I am again. I must have stood there longer than I thought because Al knocks on the door to retrieve me.

"Marilyn is threatening to cancel your 12:00 if you don't get your ass out here."

"Okay, I coming." I say, my voice sounding feeble even to myself. I quickly run some soap through my hair and over my body and step out of the comfort of my shower. My bedroom is empty when I step inside. Al has laid clothes out for me all the way down to my underwear: Victoria's Secret Very Sexy red and embroidered lace push-up bra and matching panties, thigh-high stockings with elastic—no garter needed, Noemie black and red elastic knitted check dress, and Louboutin Highness platform red sole stilettos with a conspicuous dragon tattoo...not a pair of shoes I would wear before 5, but when did I ever follow _those_ rules?

"May I enter?" Al asks after a knock once I'm dressed.

"Yes." I say siting at my vanity feeling useless and wondering what to do with my hair. As if reading my mind, Al comes over and dries my hair a little more, pulling it back into a pumped-up messy ponytail chignon and bang. After flawlessly applying my make-up and making me look a little more human, he reaches for my Rosie three red butterflies headband. Butterflies...

"I don't want to wear that today." I say flatly.

"Why not? It's beautiful and it matches your dress perfectly." He put the headband on and he's right...it's gorgeous. I just don't want to look at _butterflies_ all day. Oh well, I just won't look in the mirror unless I have to.

"You know what I always say, Jewel. When you feel like a dollar..."

"...Look like a million." I finish his sentence dryly.

"Now it was your idea to go to work, so you better perk up a bit." He said. I know he's right. "Here." He puts my charger in my purse. "Your phone's dead."

"I have a charger in my car." I protest.

"That's great, but you're not driving." I gawk at him. "Don't argue with me. Your bagel is toasted, spread, and ready. Your coffee is in a non-spill cup, and Davenport is taking you to work." He says sternly. "I have to get back to the office. I've already missed half a day. Chuck has full permission to bend you over and spank your ass if you don't behave."

"Oooo, Christian won't like that!" I exclaim.

"Well, he ain't here, is he?" Al says, pronouncing every word. "Out! You're barely going to make your noon appointment."

* * *

They were right. They were _all_ right. I should have stayed my ass at home. I can barely sit through my 12:00 patient who can tell immediately that something is not right with me. We power through her session, bless her heart, and at 1:00 I feel like curling up in a mound on the floor. I deliberately left my phone out at Marilyn's desk to recharge so that it wouldn't distract me if it rang—or _didn't_ ring.

"Thank you for being patient with me today, Shelby. I'm feeling a bit under-the-weather." I say to my patient as she is leaving. "Next week's session is on the house, okay?"

"Thank you, Ana. And don't worry. I've had a few bad days myself." She winks. "I'll see you next Tuesday." She waves as she leaves and I watch her disappear onto the elevator. I stand there for a moment with one hand on my hip. It's lunchtime. I just ate a bagel a little over an hour ago and I'm not really hungry. I could go to GEH and demand that Christian tell me what's wrong, but the thought of suffering face-to-face rejection is even worse than text and voicemail rejection. I look at my iPhone charging on Marilyn's desk, the screen black. I know there's been no activity, I don't even have to ask. I put my free hand on my forehead.

"Ana?" Marilyn breaks the silence. I don't know how long I have been standing there. I look over at her.

"Cancel everybody." I say, before walking back into my office.

Nothing to drink in here..except that $5000 bottle of Cognac that I refuse to open. One day...but not today. It's all for the best, anyway. You would think I would have learned my lesson from the wine. Oh, well...

I go over to the window and stare at Grey House. He there, sitting on top of the world, looking down on everybody—including me. I wish I knew what was going on, but I don't. He won't even talk to me...and I won't live like this. I've given him an opportunity to tell me what's wrong and he won't. So I'm going to leave him to it. I love him, but I can't let him do this to me. I can't let him pull me apart. I stare at Grey House for several more minutes. My heart aches when I turn away from the window, pick up my purse and leave.

I turn on my iPhone on the way down the elevator with Chuck. As we walk outside, I stand at the door for a moment willing the summer Seattle air to refresh me a bit. No luck. I'm watching my phone boot up and I look down the street and notice a black SUV parked several feet away.

Is that Christian?

Of course, it's not Christian! He has nothing to say to me. Every black SUV in Seattle doesn't belong to Christian Grey. I turn my attention back to my phone and somehow, I trip over my own feet in the middle of the street. I go tumbling onto the concrete. _Hell!_

"Ana! Are you okay?" Chuck scrambles to help me up.

"Yes, just clumsy as hell!" I say gathering everything that fell out of my purse. When I get to my feet, I check my home screen...no missed calls, no voice mails, no text messages. I angrily launch the phone off into parts unknown. I hear it land somewhere as I reach down and snatch the blasted dragon stilettos off my feet.

"Ana! For fucks sake, your phone!" Chuck says as he goes in search of the mangled thing. I hope it broke into a million pieces!

"Leave it!" I scream before I can register that I am screaming. "Nobody's calling me anyway! Take me home!" I demand as I march barefoot across the parking lot to Chuck's car.

* * *

_**GREY**_

_****The butterfly is secure. She's in her apartment. Looks like she had a rough night. Update in a few minutes.****_

Taylor let me read the text instead of telling me what it said. It's about 9:15. I still have time to get to Noticon by 10. Hell, they don't know that I'm coming. I can get there whatever time I want.

"You call her_ the butterfly?_" I say to Taylor as we enter the parking garage at Grey House.

"Old habits die hard, Sir. It's easier to have code names." He responds.

"What's mine?" I ask.

"The boss." He replies.

"Not very original." I remark.

"We didn't need to be original. Before now, we only needed one code name." He remarks. Good point.

We are on the road to Noticon when Taylor phone rings.

"Davenport, Sir." He says.

"Put him on speaker." Taylor docks the phone and answers it.

"Chuck, you're on speaker and the boss is in the car." Taylor announces.

"_Sir_." His disembodied voice greeted me.

"Davenport." I respond.

"_It looks like she had a bit too much wine and fell asleep. Mr. Forsythe is trying to help her get ready for work, now."_ If it was anybody but Al, I'd be on my way over there.

"Very well. She's okay otherwise?" I ask.

"_I think so...hold on, Sir..." _I hear some shuffling and the sound is a bit muffled now. "_Chuck can you get this thing off of me?" _ It's Butterfly's voice and she sounds quite flustered.

"_Wha...how...what is...how did this happen?" _I hear Davenport say. What the hell is going on?

"_I don't know! Just get it off me!" _Butterfly demands. I don't know what happened, but from the next few exchanges, it appears that Butterfly has somehow gotten herself tied up in something. They are trying to figure out how to free her from it when Al mentions something about Japanese bondage.

"What the hell...?" What is she in and how did she get there? Unwelcome thoughts of my brother and my girlfriend in her bedroom enter my head. I know I'm being ridiculous._ I better be._ Now I hear Ana begging them not to cut her hair. My mind travels back to the hair cloak the first time that she dominated me.

Fuck! _Please_ don't cut her hair!

She's talking to a woman about appointments now. That must be Marilyn. I hear a door close and then Butterfly's voice again. _"There has to be another way to do this. I can't cut his tie, guys. He's going to think I did it on purpose. He's already pissed at me and I don't even know why."_ She sounds so defeated. Tie...she's talking about _me_. She's stuck in my tie! How did she get stuck in my tie? How _is_ she stuck in my tie?

"_Wait a minute. You guys slept in separate places last night. He's pissed at you?"_ Allen's voice.

"_Yes._"

"_And you don't know why?"_ Allen again.

"_No fucking clue." _Butterfly says and I hear a door close again.

"_Well, how do you know he's pissed at you?" _Allen asks again. Butterfly explains our lack of communication yesterday that brought her to her conclusion. They are now reviewing everything that happened yesterday. I am now realizing that I have a rare chance not afforded to many boyfriends. I get to hear the secret conversation of my girlfriend on a matter that could make or break us. Davenport must have dropped his phone in his pocket when Butterfly came in asking for help. Marilyn is hesitant to reveal our conversation yesterday and Butterfly keeps asking her why she is looking at _Chuck_. Marilyn must know that I am listening in Davenport's pocket, but no one wants to tell Butterfly. She finally relents and they recap the conversation. Now they are talking about the flowers.

"_Well, who sent the flowers?"_ Davenport asked. Good job, Davenport.

"_Kate_." Kate!? Oh, come on, why would Kate be sending you flowers? Is that the best you could come up with on short notice?

"_Kate who? Who the fuck is Kate?" _Davenport says. Yeah, wait until you hear this sorry excuse.

"_Katherine Kavanaugh, Elliot's ex-fiancee." _

"_Who the fuck is Elliot?"_ Allen inquires

"_Christian's brother. He was at my office yesterday." _Now we're getting down to it._ "As a matter of fact, he showed up right after the flowers did...or right before, I don't know. He wanted to know who they were from, too, because we all thought they were from Christian...except for that moment when Marilyn thought they were from Edward. Elliot was just as shocked as I was."_

"_Maybe he thought they were from Ed. I _did_ tell him that I didn't know who they were from." _That's Marilyn.

"_I'm telling you, it's not the flowers. He knows that if they were from Edward, I would have pitched them like they were infected." _Allen asks her repeatedly why Elliot was at her office and she repeatedly replies that she can't tell him. The last time he asks her, he is about as flustered as I am with the situation. Butterfly seems to say something that answers the question for him, but not for me.

"_Why can't I tell you why _anybody_ is at my office?" _ She's almost screaming. After a pause, Al declares "_Oooooh!"_ What!? Somebody tell me!

"_Allen, you graduated high school at 16. You went through college, grad school, and law school in six years and you passed the bar on your first try. How did you not figure that out sooner?" _Butterfly says.

"_No offense, Jewel, but this is _your_ riddle."_

"_Fucking mother fucking bitches from hell—how am I going to get this tie off?" _Sh_e _screams and it sounds like she about to cry. Over a tie? Of course not over the tie, Asshole. Oh, this tie is getting on my fucking nerves.

"Cut the damn tie!" I yell, momentarily forgetting that I'm not part of this conversation.

"_What was that?"_ Butterfly asks. Shit! She heard me!

"_That was me! Cut the damn tie!" _Davenport barks. Good save, Davenport.

"Give him a raise." I say to Taylor who nods curtly. That man has been worth his weight in gold ever since I assigned him to Butterfly.

"_Fine!"_ I swear she's crying now. _"Get the damn scissors and get me out of this damn tie!"_ I hear her tortured voice leaving the room. A few moments later, Davenport is back on the line.

"_Did you hear, Sir?"_ He says.

"Yes, but I still don't know what's going on!" I bark.

"_Your brother is seeing Dr. Steele, Sir." _Is he stating the obvious just to piss me off?

"I gathered that much." I growl through my teeth.

"_No, Sir, you don't understand. Your brother is seeing _Dr. Steele_...not Ana." _What is he talking about? And why does he keep repeating it?

"Am I missing something here?" Davenport takes the phone away from his mouth and sighs. Fucking bastard. Taylor pulls over and turns around in the seat to look at me.

"Your brother just broke of his engagement." Taylor says. "He's talking to a _doctor_." He sits there waiting for the light to come on. Ana's words are playing back in my head.

"**I can't _tell_ you."  
"No. I can't _tell_ you."  
"I still can't _tell_ you."  
"Why can't I tell you why _anybody_ is at my office?"**

"Oh fuck, you've got to be kidding me." It never occurred to me once that Elliot might be seeing her in an official capacity. Not _once_. I've treated her like shit for nearly a whole day, and all because my brother needed someone to talk to and his bitchy ex-girlfriend sent a remarkable woman flowers and that remarkable woman happens to be my Butterfly. I run my hands through my hair, repeatedly kicking myself.

"I think he's got it now, Chuck." Taylor says as he pulled out into traffic.

"_Thank God!"_ He exclaims. "_I have to get off of here. I don't know when she's going to come bouncing back out of that room again..."_ Just then his phone shuffles again. I can tell that I'm back in his pocket.

"_Mr. Grey is now down one beautiful burgundy Anderson Sheppard tie."_ Allen announces. Anderson Sheppard...that's the "shrine" in her bedroom. It probably hurt her more than it hurt me. In fact, I'm _sure_ it did.

"_How is she doing?"_ Marilyn asks.

"_Not good."_ Allen replied. _"She cried the whole time I was trying to get her out of this thing. She's in the shower now. She'll make her 12:00. Marilyn, make sure her phone is in her __purse. We can't call it—it's dead. I'll bring her charger out with me. I'm going to go find her something to wear." _I few moments later Davenport comes back to the line.

"_Sir_" is all he says.

"Drive her to work," I say. "Stay there with her. Make sure she eats something. I'll be at her place later." I feel like such a shit.

"_Yes Sir."_ Davenport says before he ends the call.

We arrive at Noticom Mobile Communications shortly after I hang up from Davenport. I am feeling three different kinds of shitty for what I did to Butterfly and I am so ready to have someone's head on a platter to make up for it. Once I entered, I was immediately approached by the Executive Administrator Nolan Burns. He's so petrified and surprised by my visit, I could ask him for a kidney right now and he would give me one. I got an impromptu tour of the facilities to strike fear in the hearts of the management staff and employees. I made sure that my arrival was not covert so that the news would travel through the company that the boss's boss's boss's boss's boss was in the building. It spread like wild fire.

I am sitting in the borrowed office of the Executive Administrator of Noticon when Mr. Billings arrives. He sees me sitting behind the desk of the man that he calls "the Big Boss" while Burns stands meekly to the side of me.

"Thank you, Mr. Burns. That will be all. I will summon you when we are done." I say dismissively as if I were talking to my receptionist. Burns is clearly dismayed for being dismissed from his own office and is finding it hard to make his feet move towards the door. No doubt he wants to know why I want to talk to one of his department heads without him being present. Since the command still seems to be stalled between his brain and his feet, I throw the patented CEO glare at him as he looks from me to Billings, desperately hoping to find the answers to his questions on one of our faces. Catching my glare, he quietly excuses himself and scurries out of the office, leaving the door open—no doubt so that he can stand close by so that he can hear.

"Taylor, are we clean?" I ask, referring to listening devices that may be planted in the office.

"Yes, Sir. We've been swept. All clear. You might want to disconnect that though, just in case." He said pointing to the intercom to the receptionist's desk.

"Good. Take it with you."

"Yes, Sir." Taylor disconnects the intercom speaker and takes it with him out to the small reception area. He places it conspicuously on the receptionist's desk and signals me that Burns is standing next to the door.

"Mr. Burns, do you need something?" I say commanding and impatient.

"Um, uh, no sir." He says, slithering into view. Another stuttering idiot. I love to have people under my control but I sure wish a few of them would grow a pair.

"Then I am certain that there is someone or something somewhere in this building that can use your expertise right now. Why don't you go down to sales and find out why the numbers dropped in April?" His face went pale.

"Um, yes Sir! Right away, Mr. Grey." He scampers away to parts unknown, not that I care. Taylor closes the door and I know he is standing on the other side.

"The numbers dropped in April, Mr. Grey? Is that why I'm here?" Billings asked.

"I have no idea if the numbers dropped in April, but he'll be busy enough finding out to stay out of my way." I say curtly.

"What can I do for you, Sir?" He says nervously. I fold my hands on the desk and examine this man—not much younger than me, but still very intimidated.

"I'm going to ask you some questions and I'm hoping that you are going to answer them truthfully." He swallows hard.

"Why would I answer them any other way, Mr. Grey?" He says, his nerves showing through his sweat.

"Because they're personal questions." His eyebrows furrow.

"I respectfully reserve the right not to answer any personal question that don't pertain to my job performance at Noticom, Sir." He says sternly.

"And I reserve the right to hold that against you." I say just as sternly. He swallows again. "You attended the University of Washington for your bachelors degree, did you not?"

"Yes Sir," he answered nervously.

"In 2006, you had a roommate named Edward David, is that correct?" He paused, I could tell he was thinking about it. Then the light of realization dawns on his face.

"Yes, I did…how did you know that?"

"I'm a very important man, Mr. Billings, and I've made more than a few enemies in my line of work. If I wasn't so good about what I do and so accurate about privacy and security and covering my ass, I would have been just a memory a long time ago—in more ways than one. This is why I make it my business to know _everything_ that there is to know about _anyone_ that comes to work for me. In addition to the non-disclosure agreement that you signed when you came to work for me, you also signed a consent form for a background check in you pre-employment package."

"Yes, but I thought that was to check for criminal records and things like that." He says bemused.

"We're very thorough, Mr. Billings. Like I said, I have to cover my ass. Now, one of your acquaintances from college has given me cause for concern. Mr. David…what can you tell me about him?" I say flatly.

"Again, Sir, with all due respect, I've worked for your company for five years now and this has never come up." He protests. I am quickly losing patience with this guy.

"I know what happened in Green Valley in 2001. I know that a young girl was brutally beaten and burned and her name was Anastasia Steele. And I know that you know this too, because you are the same age as Anastasia, you've lived in Green Valley for most of your life until you came here to college, and you graduated from Green Valley High even though Anastasia did not. I completely plan to get to the bottom of what happened to Anastasia Steele. And you need to know that I have the power and the resources such that when I do get to the bottom of this, heads will roll and somebody is going to pay. What I want to know is when I get to the bottom of this, am I going to find you there?" He turns white and rises out of his chair.

"I think I shouldn't continue this conversation without representation, Sir." He says, his voice shaking. I stand up as well and look down at this little man. Then again, most men seem little to me.

"You go and you find representation, Mr. Billings, and while you're doing that, I'm going to put you on the list of people that probably had something to do with what happened to Anastasia...oh, I hope you've enjoyed your employment here." I say glaring at him.

"You can't fire me for this. This is something that happened before I even came to work for you..before I even came to Seattle! I have no criminal record and I had nothing to do with this!" He shoots.

"Mr. Billings, you underestimate me. I can fire you for any reason I want. I can fire you because I don't like that tie you're wearing! And I can make sure that you don't work in the state of Washington ever again. If you have nothing to hide, why do you need representation? Know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am going to get to the bottom of what happened to this girl. Either you are with me, or you are against me. Make your choice...now!" CEO stare—23 seconds and he's sitting back in the chair.

"What do you know and how do you know it? Be thorough because I'm going to follow every lead you give me and if I find out that you lied or left anything out, you have just become my enemy." Billings loosens his tie and the first button of his shirt.

"The whole town was in an uproar about what happened. People didn't know if their kids were _next_ or if their kids were _involved_. Curfew in Green Valley was like 9:00 for over a year. Bonfires became illegal for a while...it was crazy. If you wanted to have any fun that year and part of the next year, you had to leave Green Valley and go to Vegas or Boulder City or Sunrise Manor or...anywhere besides Green Valley. So, I'm at this bonfire on Boulder Hwy with some guys and some girls and my friend Kevin gets a few two many drinks in him. Nobody outside of Green Valley knew what had happened as far as I knew. I mean, you know how stories make the news, but they only stay there for so long. Well, this story had run its course everywhere except in Green Valley.

"So Kevin starts yammering about the girl who was 'punished' last year for running her mouth. It turns out that one of the guys on one of the teams—football, basketball, soccer, I don't know, somebody with some real pull—had some fun with one of the girls..."

"Had some fun?" I say, with disdain. "Is that what they call it?"

"Well, yeah. He took her to the desert and they had sex. Apparently the girl was after some money or something—at least that's what they said—and she told the guy's father that the kid raped her. It didn't go over well to say the least. Everybody knew that the girl was Anastasia Steele. Her pictures were all over the news. They really did a number on her. They could barely identify who she was to tell her parents.

"Well, like I said, Kevin got to running his mouth and said that he was one of the kids at the bonfire. He says it was about 50 of them there but not all of them participated. Some kids even left when they saw what was going on. The way he explained it, it was like a really brutal old-time hazing ritual, only this time there was an audience. They wanted to teach her a lesson, but they almost killed her."

"Your friend, Kevin...what's his last name?" Billings goes pale.

"Mr. Grey, I left Green Valley because I wanted to get away from this. I don't want to make an enemy out of you, Sir, but if I start dropping names, I might as well leave Washington, too." I sit back in my chair. This reaches pretty far and this guy is afraid.

"Then why did you tell Edward David what happened to Anastasia Steele?" I said, playing a long shot.

"Because I recognized her. I couldn't believe that, of all the places she could go, she ended up here." Bingo! David _did_ know! Now I'm _sure_ that he profiled her. Talk about killing two birds with one stone.

"She's _from_ here! Montesano, to be exact. She grew _up_ here. Green Valley wasn't her home. It was her prison, her punishment." I spit. "Have you kept in touch with Edward David?" He shook his head.

"We kept in contact for a little while. He got with Anastasia and I didn't see much more of him after that. When we graduated and he opened his company, I tried to get a job there, but he acted like he didn't know me. So I moved on."

"How much did you tell him about Anastasia?" I inquire.

"I don't know. Probably everything that I knew. We were having drinks in a dorm party and she came walking by in tight jeans and a tank top. You know how guys talk." Since when did someone's rape and torture become beer-drinking conversation!?

"You knew about the brand?" I ask.

"Well, as far as I know, no one had ever seen it, but I know what it's supposed to say." He responds.

"And you told David?"

"Most likely," He says. "It was a long time ago. I most likely told him everything I could remember." I lean in to Billings.

"I give you my word that I will use whatever information that you give me to track down the people that did this to Anastasia, but your name will never come up." He looks at me skeptically. "My word, Mr. Billings. Anastasia is my girlfriend now, and I really want to find who did this to her." Billings face loses some of its color. "I'm _going_ to find who did this to her. Will you help me?" I watch the various emotions go across his face, then he starts talking.

"The kid that she had sex with in the desert was one of the Whitmore boys, I don't know which one. Their dad is still real big down there. Rumor has it that he paid for Anastasia's college to keep them quiet." He may have intended to, but she didn't see a dime of that money.

"Kevin...what's his last name?"

"Van Dyke." He says.

"Did he participate or watch?" I ask. He sighed.

"He said he participated." Kevin Van Dyke. And one of the Whitmore boys. Unless Landon is a really good actor, Cody is most likely the one that I want.

"Did he give you anymore names?" I press

"Michael and them guys..." He stopped realizing that I had no idea who Michael and "them guys" were. He ran down the list of Michael and his cronies, being sure to indicate that he didn't know for sure if these people were really there since he wasn't there. You saved your ass, Mr. Billings, because I would have killed you with my bare hands if I had discovered that you were one of the assholes that hurt my Butterfly. I made a list of various boys and girls—now men and women—who were rumored to have been at the bonfire.

"Is there anything else that you can tell me at all, Mr. Billings?"

"No sir, I've told you everything that I know, Mr. Grey." He repsonds.

"Good." I reach into my jacket. "When I start turning over rocks, bugs are going to start crawling out." I hand him my business card. "If anybody from Green Valley contacts you, particularly if they threaten you, you need to let me know—even if it seems harmless." He looks at my card like he just hit the lottery. I think he knows that someone from Green Valley is going to contact him.

"Thank you, Mr. Grey." He says.

"No, thank you, Ms. Billings." I proffer my hand and he takes it. "Burns is going to be drilling you to find out what discussed. I trust you will keep this information confidential?"

"I will, Sir." He says.

"Tell him that I threatened your job if you reveal the content of our conversation...which I am. Also tell him that I specifically said that if he wants to know, he can feel free to ask me. Being one of my executive administrators, he knows how to reach me. Let me know if he gives you any undo trouble." I add.

"Yes Sir, Mr. Grey. Thank you again, Sir." he leaves the office feeling a bit more secure than when he came in. I open the door and look at Burns' receptionist.

"Page your boss to his office." I say before beckoning Taylor inside. I send off an email to Welch with the list of names that Billings gave me. He's going to have his hands full gathering this information. I also tell him to put a tail on Stephen Morton and Cody Whitmore. I need a little intel on those two before I get there.

"This situation is huge in Green Valley." I say to Taylor.

"Really?" He says, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Very. The situation was much more serious than we thought. Anytime I try to talk to anybody about it, the first thing that they want to do is run. They don't try to evade the topic or pretend like they don't know anything about it, they just want to _run_. They just want to get away from it. So it must have really been something that really shook up the community because even now, 11 years later, people just want to run. Of course it was serious—a young girl was raped, beaten, and burned." I say.

"It's either extreme fear or huge conspiracy." Taylor says.

"It's a little bit of both," I say. "What's more serious is that I don't know the amount of people involved in it. It was the crème de la crème of Green Valley—all of their children were involved. The mob was probably 20 to 30 people. The bonfire was closer to 50. This hunt may never end. Once I start digging and the bugs start running, more and more names are going to surface. I may never catch _everyone_."

"I don't envy your position, Sir."

"Don't worry about me," I say flatly. "Worry about them."

A few moments later, Burns sticks his head in the door. "You wanted to see me, Sir? I've been searching ever since I left and I can't find where the numbers were down in April, Mr. Grey."

"That's why I paged you. I gave you flawed information and I know where it came from, so you can stop looking now." A powdered-up way of telling him that I lied.

"Oh, I'm glad that you were able to locate the problem, Sir." I says. I _was_ the problem, Asshole.

"Yes I did, and I have Billings working on a special project for me." I say to the sniveling little man.

"Oh?" He says waiting for information. "Is there anything I can do to assist, Sir?"

"Yes, there is." He perks up immediately. "You can leave him alone and let him do it." His shoulders fall slightly. "Can I trust that you will not pester or harass Mr. Billings into revealing his work for me?"

"Yes sir." He says, deflated.

"Since you and Billings are the only two people that are aware of this project, I will assume that any difficulty that he faces that he was not facing before today—talks of corporate spying, office politics, demotions, unapproved department changes, harassment...anything—will be a direct result of your actions. Do I make myself clear?" He now realizes that I am removing any power that he has over Mr. Billings except normal disciplinary action, and even that will be limited.

"Yes, Sir. Completely clear." He says, tugging at his tie.

"Good." I stand and leave his office without a word.

* * *

"I want you to find another code name for Anastasia," I say to Taylor as we are parked down the street from her office. "I'm the only one that is allowed to call her 'Butterfly.'"

"Yes sir." He says flatly. We received word from Davenport when we were just about at Grey House that Butterfly was having a bad day and will no doubt be leaving soon. Sure enough we sat there for about twenty minutes and she and Davenport came out of the building. She stops for a moment and takes a deep breath but doesn't seem satisfied with the results.

She turns and looks directly at us and I am certain that she knows it's me, but she turns back to her phone with no light of recognition in her face whatsoever. All of a sudden, she's on the ground, like she stumbled on some invisible stone or obstacle in the street. I almost jump out of the car, but Davenport helps her to her feet and they collect her belongings from the ground. She then looks at her phone and throws it somewhere in the bushes by the office building. Oh boy, she's really coming apart at the scenes. However, nothing drove that point home more that what she did next.

She took off her stilettos.

She's walking in her bare feet. This woman can do anything in stilettos..._anything_. I have seen her cook, clean, work, run, fight, fuck, shop, drive and dance in stilettos and now she's taking them off! She's a mess. Great job, Grey. Fucking great job!

Davenport is in the bushes searching for her phone and she fiercely screams at him to leave it there before executing a military-style about-face and storming down the street in the other direction. Davenport turns around to us, shrugs and shakes his head, then follows Ana down the street to wherever he is parked. She looks like a little girl angrily walking next to her daddy.

I wait until I see the car pull away before I go to the bushes and locate her iPhone. A few scratches, but none worse for wear. I call Barney on the way back to the SUV.

"Barney, how long will it take you to break a password on an iPhone and put tracking software on it?" I ask.

"Twenty minutes tops." Barney says.

"I'll be there in ten."

Just when I end the call with Barney, another call comes is from a 702 area code.

Nevada.

"Grey."

_"Grey. Frank Whitmore."_ Ah, the chief asshole. Most likely, he got the number from his son Landon who apparently has become accustomed to Daddy cleaning up his messes even as an adult.

"And why are you calling me?" I ask flatly.

_"I'll ask the questions here, Grey!"_ He snaps. Oh, this fucker doesn't know who he's dealing with! _"Why are you calling my children asking questions about Anastasia Steele?"_ He spits.

"I think you _know_ why I am asking questions about Anastasia Steele. Why don't _you_ tell _me_?" I growl back at him. Arrogant pompous asshole.

_"I don't think you know who you're dealing with."_ Is this fucker really trying to threaten me?

"Well, I'll be there next week and maybe I can _see_ who I'm dealing with!" I shoot.

_"You might want to do some research on me first, Grey."_ He cautions.

"I already have, Whitmore, and all I found was a small-time insurance executive who has paid off an even smaller-time stepfather for his stepdaughter's silence and now thinks his balls are big enough to get in the ring with the big boys. Feel free to correct me anytime." I spit.

After a long silence, he says, _"Why don't we meet?"_

"Balls in your court." I reply.

_"When are you scheduled to arrive? I'll have a car waiting for you when your flight lands."_ I laugh to myself. Mother fucker, I can out-strut you in my sleep.

"No need." I respond. "I will arrive in my private jet and my security always handles my ground transportation. I will inform you when I will be arriving and we can make arrangements to meet at that time." Cocky little bastard—chew on that for a while.

_"I'll see you next week, Grey."_ He snaps. I end the call.

* * *

When I get to Butterfly's apartment, Davenport is in the parking lot.

"What are you doing down here?" I ask.

"She told me to stay away from her, Sir. She wants to be left alone, but I won't leave her without her phone." I hold up her phone, and Davenport nods.

"How is she?" I ask.

"She's shifting from maudlin to very angry, Sir." He responds. I nod, take a deep breath, and go inside.

When I get to her apartment, there is a note on her door. It's addressed to Al.

_**I'm not dead. My phone is temporarily out of commission. I'm in the exercise room. Ana.**_

I sigh again. Yeah, she's pissed. She just saw Luc yesterday and now she's in the exercise room again. I take the elevator down to sublevel B. I then follow the battle cries I remember hearing that day in the gym when she subdued Luc. She's the only one in the room. If anyone _was_ here when she got here, no doubt, she scared them away. She is giving that punching bag a beating so bad that it would cry if it could. Her technique is obscene—body blows, back kicks, elbow strikes—she is working this thing over. I don't know how long she's been down here, but she works this thing for about another 45 minutes before her blows become brutal, angry and careless. I watch for a few more minutes and I see it coming...on her second to last blow.

She's about to hit the wall.

I slowly start walking into the room towards her and it happens. She hits that bag with the ferocity and strength of ten men—and the wall hits.._.big time!_ She is bent over unable to breathe and I think she may be crying, but this college grad seems to have forgotten about velocity. The bag is coming back, and she is right in the line of fire.

My reflexes take over and I run to her and grab her just in time to avoid the impact of 80 to 100 pounds of angry leather, vinyl, foam, and water. I twist my body so that I take the impact of falling on the floor and she falls on top of me. I'm sure that I knock the wind out of her when I snatch her and we fall, but she recovers quickly and proceeds to beat the hell out of me!

For a moment, I'm stunned! My back and side are hurting from the fall, and I'm covering my face and my head so that she doesn't hurt me while wondering why the fuck she is bludgeoning me. Then I realize that she probably doesn't know who I am, and she is landing some hard ass hits. I'm trying to restrain her and those little hands are like flying fucking missiles!

"Baby, it's me! It's me!" But she can't hear me. She's on autopilot. She's crying and swinging and kicking and she's not going to stop. So much for the fucking wall!

I have to take a few hits to the face so that I can work my way behind her. I get her into a bear hug and subdue her between my body and the floor without hurting her.

"It's me, Ana. It's me!" I keep saying as she's flailing and crying. "Ana, calm down, it's Christian!" At the sound of my name, her body falls limp and she is wailing...I mean _wailing_ like someone died. I roll over on my back and take her with me holding her in my arms—her back to my front. She just lays there, crying and trying to catch her breath while I stroke and kiss her hair. Damn! Taylor is going to have to check me for injuries!

She finally catches her breath enough to speak. "Why did you do that?" She asks.

"Because you've been beating the hell out of that thing for quite some time and it was about to hit you back." I say matter-of-factly.

"How long have been standing there?" She says finally drying her eyes.

"About an hour." I respond.

"Why are you here?" She says, standing up and stepping back from me. Okay, not happy to see me, huh?

"Because I need to apologize." I say, getting to my feet.

"For what?" She says, coldly. She wants her pound of flesh.

"For being an asshole." I say. She looks at me for a few moments and takes off her gloves, tucking them under her arm.

"I'm not ready to hear it." She says, impassively. She picks up her towel from a nearby machine. "Come back another time." She walks out of the room without looking back at me.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Hit the wall - Hitting the wall (aka **_**bonk**_**) is a term that's normally used for runners or cyclers. In certain endurance exercises, the body's glycogen stores are depleted, and the athlete suffers very sudden fatigue and, in most severe cases, can't move without assistance. So when a runner is running and they instantly lose all of their strength, it looks like they literally ran into a wall and dropped, hence the term "hit the wall."**_

_**Ana's work outfit is on Pinterest at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_


	33. Chapter 33:Two Wrongs Don't Make A Right

**_________I have already done this on my profile, but I would like to take the time to thank the OTHER WRITERS that take time out to write fanfiction for our enjoyment. I understand that people have lives and busy schedules outside of this forum and I think it is remarkable that you share a piece of yourself with us when you share your stories, so thank you. _**

**_________I think that is one of the reasons why I am so pissed off when I see disrespectful comments or reviews on my work, on someone else's work, or in any other forum. These people do not have to extend themselves to write these stories so they don't need to be privy to rudeness and unkind, hurtful, or condescending remarks. I won't get on a high horse...I just wanted to say that._**

**_________As always, thanks to all of my readers, reviewers and followers. To my folks that I can't PM - Andie (yes, the meat-and-potatoes and dessert did make sense), Beachycolor, Carol, daniellebowers, Gem, GroovyExcel (a lot of people told me that they couldn't log in...), Leah, LiLi, Mbd, Tempress (LOVE your delicious suggestions!), Teresaromance (girl crush...YAY!), Tj (oh, you flatter me so!), Twinings, to the wonderful guest that had to walk BOLCKS to get internet just to read my story (wow - thank you for that wonderful compliment!), and to all of the guests that read and/or reviewed. I appreciate you very much._**

**_________Now...on with the show!_**

**_________I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too________._**

_Chapter 33—Two Wrongs Don't Make a Right_

_**GREY**_

I have called her.  
I have texted her.  
I sent her flowers.  
I sent her emails.  
I damn near sent her a singing telegram.  
I even enlisted Davenport and Allen to help me...after Al read me the riot act for being such an idiot. I had to give her phone to Davenport to return to her since she refuses to see me.

Ana has been on complete radio silence for nearly 48 hours. It is now Thursday and I haven't heard a peep from her since Tuesday night in the exercise room at her condo. Al explained to her what was going on, although I told him _not_ to apologize for me—I needed to do that myself—just to explain it to her so that she wouldn't be in the dark.

Not sure that was the best idea. I think it pissed her off even worse.

She is utterly livid that I even had the slightest inkling that she would cheat on me, much less with my own brother. I can't blame her, either. In hindsight, the whole idea seems utterly ludicrous. I can only hope that she doesn't inform Elliot of my foolishness, but right now, I just want to get my girl to talk to me.

Wednesday had gone by in a blur. Curse out employees...wonder what Ana is doing.  
Read background checks for Green Valley...did she eat a good lunch?  
Submit the papers to Haviland to pull backing from Lincoln...can she walk in her stilettos again?  
Bark at my staff for staring at me..."Haven't you ever seen a man with a black eye before? My girlfriend gave it to me!" I didn't realize I was stating that like it was a prize.  
Go back to Escala and run until my feet hurt...then run some more. Taylor couldn't keep up.  
Ana.  
Sit in the bathtub until the water is cold and my skin is pruney.  
Ana.  
I know that I should eat something, but there's no room for food with the lump in my stomach.  
Ana.  
Taylor tells me that Davenport has left for the night and that she _seems_ fine overall. Still very angry, but fine.  
No sleep for me tonight.  
I miss her.  
I'm sorry, Ana.  
I love you, Ana.

I spent Wednesday night at my piano again, playing complex concertos—Brahms no. 1 and 2, Beethoven no. 1 and 73, Rachmaninoff no. 3, Tchaikovksy no.1, Chopin no.11...nothing shorter than 30 minutes and nothing soothed me. As I played the last notes of Mozart 21, Taylor's voice has interrupted my thoughts, inquiring if I would be going into the office. The dawn had crept up on me and this was my third day without sleep...and it would be the fourth day without Butterfly—the first was my doing, and she is making me pay for it now.

So, I sit in my office, after none of my sorry, feeble attempts at apologizing work. I haven't shaved—just didn't feel like it—and I have asked not to be disturbed unless the building is on fire.

I don't know what else I can do. I know that I was wrong...and stupid. I just want the chance to apologize properly. I'm sure she is doing this on purpose...giving me a taste of what I put her through. The difference is that I know why she's shunning me; she had no idea why I was doing it to her. I open the liquor cabinet in my office and fill a tumbler with bourbon. I sit down at my desk and scroll through the pictures on my blackberry. I have lots of pictures of Butterfly in my phone that she had no idea I was taking...

Her sleeping soundly in our bed at Escala, her hair splayed sexily over the pillow...  
Her in her sundress and slides cooking dinner in her apartment...  
Her talking to Allen at the dinner party last week in that sexy purple and silver dress...

I take a sip of my bourbon and it's not enough. I take a large swallow and it's like fire going down my throat. Still not enough, but there's really nothing I can do about it.

This hurts.  
This hurts a lot.  
I didn't think I could hurt like this...  
Is this what being in love feels like?  
If so, I can never be without her..._ever!_  
Does she still love me?  
Did I fuck up the best thing that ever happened to me?  
My lifeline? My soulmate?  
It would serve me right—I was really shitty to her.

I have to see that fucker Carlisle tonight. I hope he's prepared for me having a very bad day, because if he's expecting sunshine and rainbows, he has another think coming. I tried to convince Taylor to let me drive my RS7—just to clear my mind a bit. Driving usually helps. However, he kindly reminded me of my liquid lunch which meant that it was probably not a good idea to get behind the wheel. True, I'm not drunk, but the lack of food in my system means that I _am_ impaired. Fuck, I don't care. Just get me there.

I admitted to Carlisle that I was under-the-weather because of a severe personal development. I assured him that I would talk to my own therapist about it and not go around the good city of Seattle punching out its citizens. My attempt at a joke did not put his mind at ease.

"I can tell that you have made some major strides in your life, Mr. Grey, even in the short time that we have known each other." He said. "I would hate to see all of that hard work suffer a setback because of some unavoidable personal issues." Carlisle, if you only knew. I have no desire—or strength—to take _any_ anger out on _any_body. I just want to go home and sit at my piano and look at pictures of my Butterfly. I would much rather see my Butterfly in person, but right now, this is going to have to do.

"I'll be fine," I explain. "I had some very painful truths hit me in the face this week and I am dealing with them the best way I know how. No one has been fired or accosted, so I would say that I am doing pretty well so far, wouldn't you?"

"What about _that_?" He says, pointing at my eye. "Were you on the wrong end of a fight?" I laugh, touching my bruised eye almost affectionately.

"Yeah, but it's not what you think. Let's just say this was an unexpected event involving a boxing glove and a punching bag."

"Ah," he says nodding. "Well, at least you're still taking care of yourself during this ordeal...whatever it is. I would recommend that you get some more sleep, though. You're not looking well at all." I didn't bother telling him that I wasn't working out when I got the black eye or that I really _wasn't_ taking the best care of myself during this "ordeal." He really didn't need to know all of that.

"I'll do my best. Sleep seems to be evading me a bit lately." I admit, sadly.

"Well, you might want to take a sleep aid of some kind. Your body—and your mind—can only function so long without enough sleep." Don't I know it. "Growing in a beard, are you?" Yes, Asshole, I know that I am sporting a little extra hair these days.

"I thought I'd see how it looked on me. I'm not really sure about it." I lie. "What do _you_ think of it?"

"I'm not the one that has to look at it." He says. "What does your girlfriend think?"

I don't know how to answer that question. I haven't overtly told Carlisle that Ana is my girlfriend now, but I would put a wager on it that he knows or has some kind of idea. Nonetheless, I'm not going to fill in the blanks for him, especially not now.

"I don't think she likes it," I lie. "I'll probably shave it off." I throw my hand dismissively. "By the way, I have to go out of town on business next Wednesday which means I won't be here for next Thursday's session. I can't reschedule this trip—I would if I could. Is there anything that I can do?" I ask sincerely. I'm still going to Green Valley to get the mother fuckers that hurt my Buttefly. "I can see you upon my return if that's possible. I'll be back on Friday evening and I can come in the following Monday..."

"I don't think that's necessary," he says. "You come in every session without fail, and I can see that you are working on your anger issues—even in the midst of whatever is going on in your life. So why don't you come in on Monday and we'll see how you're doing and make that your last session?" Thank fuck for that!

"I really appreciate that. Thank you."

I am relieved to get back to the seclusion of Escala. Gail has left dinner in the microwave, but the thought of food is causing my stomach to churn violently. Maybe I'll eat later when I'm feeling a little better. Instead, I pour a glass of Bourbon and sit it on a coaster on my piano, like I have done every night for the past three nights. I drank it once; the other two nights, it just sat there. I don't know it yet, but this glass will sit here, too. I start to play a familiar tune, my fingertips gliding effortlessly across the black and white keys. The song is very short...maybe two minutes...and I am amazed that it brings me such comfort as I play. I start the song again when it is finished...and again...and again...

It's not until somewhere around the 200th or 300th time I have played the song that I realize I am playing "Moon River." I close my eyes and I see her...asleep on the floor in my closet, wearing my blue blazer and her tiara and holding a blue rose. I play the song again...and again...and again...

Please don't leave me, Butterfly. Please don't leave me...

* * *

_**STEELE**_

How fucking dare he think I was sleeping with his damn brother! And then cut me off without a word and don't even give me the opportunity to defend myself! Asshole!

_You love him. How long are you going to stay mad at him?  
_Until I'm not mad at him anymore. Now leave me the fuck alone because I don't want to hear the voice of reason right now! I'm pissed!

For some reason, I end up in this little sitting room near the back of my apartment with this ghastly gold chaise in it. What the hell was I thinking when I put _this_ thing in here? I'm being flooded with thoughts of blue. Before I know it. I'm online picking paint colors and furniture and hiring painters to get that room changed as soon as possible! I'll give that awful chaise and table to charity. Hell, it's so ugly, _they_ might not want it either. What was I thinking?

Early Thursday afternoon the painters showed up to paint the sitting room and I enlisted Al to sit with me while I waited for them to finish.

"So how long do you plan on making Adonis suffer?" He asked.

'I don't know." I answer. "I'm not _trying_ to make him suffer. I'm trying to not be upset and hurt that he would think I would do something like that to him and then shut me down without a word."

"Do you want to break up with him, Jewel?"

"No, I don't want to break up with him!" I answer. " I just...he can't treat me like this, Al."

"But it's okay for _you_ to treat _him_ like this." He says flatly. I glare at him.

"Al, whose side are you on?" I ask, a little hurt. I have to admit, I'm slightly offended.

"I'm on your side, you know that, but you have to see that you're doing the same thing to him that he did to you. And you're saying it's wrong when he did it to you, but not when you do it to him."

"It's different. Our reasons are different." I defend.

"Does that make it _right_, Jewel?" He asks. I sigh angrily at him. "He had a lapse in judgment. Granted, it was a _huge_ lapse in judgment, but that's what it was. He's miserable, Jewel. How long are you going to make him pay for it?" I'm running out of steam here.

"Well, I was miserable, too." I say, almost pouting.

"I know, Jewel. I was there. It was very hard to see you that way." He put his arm around me. I lean into his chest. I miss Christian. I do. But he can't do this to me again, and I don't know how to tell him that so that he will understand. The best way for me to drive that point home is with my silence. "I want you to think about something, Jewel, and then I promise I'll let it go." I sigh again.

"Okay."

"You remember how you felt when you didn't know what was going on? How much it hurt inside when you didn't know what he was thinking or what he was going to do for a whole day? When you threw your phone in the bushes, do you remember how you felt right before you looked at the phone and saw that there was no contact?" Yeah, I felt like pure shit.

"Yes, it was pretty bad."

"Christian's been feeling that way for a _few_ days...probably worse because he also has to deal with the fact that he hurt you."

I don't know what to say to that. I drop my head because I can't really make eye contact with him right now. Whose pain is worse? And does that really matter if I am hurting the man that I love? I don't know what to think. Al kisses me on my forehead and wanders off into parts unknown, probably to flirt with the painters. He gets a kick out of flirting with straight guys because he knows how uncomfortable it makes them. He is completely dedicated to James, but he loves to have fun at their expense. I go over to my window and look out over Elliot Bay.

I feel like I can't just get up and go over there like everything is okay. He took a day away from my life—I drank until I was stupid, I couldn't see my patients, I launched my phone into the bushes, and I was almost accosted by a punching bag. My judgment went to shit, my sense of self-preservation died. Hell, I tripped over _nothing_ in the middle of the street cold sober and almost strangled myself with a $300 tie while wine drunk. How do you make someone see that it is unacceptable to make somebody feel that way?

By making them feel that way, too?

I hug myself because of the chill that just came over me.

* * *

My new blue sitting room is very pretty. I can't for the life of me figure out why I all of a sudden had to have a blue sitting room. Anyway, it's done now. Federal blue walls—the deepest blue I could get without going navy or midnight. Cream furniture with blue, cream, and gray pillows and accessories are combined with deep brown oversized end tables, off-white table lamps, and a short-legged walnut coffee table. The neutral earthly colors against the contrasting blue walls gives the room an almost beachy color scheme—the tan and white area rug with blue designs reminiscent of light, sea-water-soaked sand. Bye-bye horrible gold chaise!

I only had two patients this morning and none this afternoon since Friday is usually a light day. It's a good thing, too because I sat in my apartment all afternoon, pondering what I was going to say to Christian. I know it's time that I said something, but I don't know how to open the lines of communication.

Do I call him? Not sure I'm ready for that.

Do I text him? Too impersonal.

Do I show up at his door? Hell, no! I'm _definitely_ not ready for that!

Send an email. I can get out everything that I need to say and I don't have to look in his eyes and be tempted to kiss him.

I sit down at my laptop to type the words. I sit there for hours and there is still nothing on the screen. What the fuck am I going to do? I don't know what to say to him. I'm rubbing a fire into my forehead when there is a knock at my door. I look through the peep-hole to see who it is. What the...? I open the door.

"Taylor!?" His presence here without Christian sets off frightening alarms in my head. "Is he okay?"

"No," Taylor says succinctly and without hesitation. "I have worked for him for seven years and I have never seen him like this. He hasn't slept in four days—he's on day five now. He goes to work, locks himself in his office and does nothing. Today, he only stayed there for a few hours and he's been at his piano ever since. If he's eating, I haven't seen it. Gail wants to call his mother, but he has expressly forbid it. If I didn't know any better, I would say he just wants to fade away." I sigh heavily and pick up my purse.

"Take me to him, Taylor." I say as I follow him out the door.

* * *

I was preparing myself for the worst, but I don't think anything could have prepared me for what I saw. We rode the elevator to Christian's apartment in silence. The great room was a tomb—an homage to happier days, it seemed. I could hear broken notes being played on the piano in the distance, like a small child was randomly hitting with the keys.

"He's through there." Taylor points in the direction of the broken music. "If you need me, pick up any landline and dial 31." I nod at him and head in the direction he pointed. The sun is setting on Friday night and Christian is sitting in a nearly dark room at the piano, the evening light shining in from the glass wall. An untouched drink of some alcoholic variety sits on a coaster on the piano. His hair looks longer. It's always flopsy and unkempt but it seems to be falling past his eyes now. It's never been _that_ long. What is normally designer stubble has filled in quite a bit to a nearly full-grown beard. He's still wearing a three-piece suit, minus the suit coat, although I swear it looks like he slept in his clothes. Even by the slight light of sunset, I can tell that he looks like shit. I turn on the lamp near the wall and Christian stops his choppy playing.

"I told them not to call you, Mom. I'm fine." He says without turning around. He voice is hoarse and dry and I could barely hear what he said. He tried to clear his throat and repeat his words, but they didn't come out any better. I walk over to him and stand in his line of vision, but he doesn't raise his head. His hands are resting in his lap now like a child being scolded.

"It's not Grace." I say softly but sternly. He raises his head and I have to take a deep breath to keep from reacting to what I saw.

He looks like a ghost! His face is pale and drawn. There's hair everywhere...I could probably pull it back into a ponytail! He hasn't shaved since the last time I saw him. His lips look dry and cracked. He has dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and the gray is almost white. They're empty. Oh, and he's sporting a black eye.

"Butterfly." He says like it's taking all of his strength to speak. What has he done to himself?

_Probably the same thing you did to yourself when he did this to you, only you had a friend to come and help you...and an assistant...and a bodyguard that _he_ gave you...  
_Okay! Fuck! Shut the hell up and let me figure this out!_  
_

"Hi." I respond. "What happened there?" I ask pointing to the black eye.

"You." He responded softly.

"Me!?" I ask incredulously. I haven't _seen_ the man in five days!

"The exercise room." He says, reaching for his drink, but setting it back down again without drinking it. I wonder how many times he's done that?

"Sorry." I say. I forgot about the exercise room incident.

"It's okay. It's kept me company." He smiled faintly. It looks like it even takes effort for him to do _that _and his voice sounds like gravel! I step closer to him and lean on the piano.

"Elliot, huh?" I say. I don't know what else to say about it.

"Yes. Stupid. I should have known better. I'm sorry." He croaks all in one breath. He dropped his head as if he couldn't get anymore out. He's not doing well at all.

"You're a real asshole, Christian, you know that?" I say, half joking and half serious.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Baby. I'm just tired." And without warning, down he goes—he has fallen off the piano bench and onto the floor.

What the hell just happened?

"Taylor!" I run to Christian and turn him over on his back. He is out cold! Taylor is not coming fast enough. I remember what he said when I came into the apartment. I look for a landline and the only one that I remember is in the kitchen. I quickly dial 31 and Taylor answers.

"Christian is passed out. I need your help, please!" I say frantically into the phone.

"I'll be right there." He hangs up. I run back to Christian and loosen his tie and undo the top button of his shirt.

"Christian, can you hear me?" Nothing. No eye flutter, no sound, nothing. Taylor comes from the other end of the room and Gail is right behind him, covering her mouth with her hands.

"What happened?" Taylor asked opening Christian's eyes and examining his pupils.

"We were just talking and the next thing I knew, he just dropped!" I say. Taylor picks Christian up and carries him to the bedroom.

"I'm going to call Dr. Grey." Gail says before leaving the room.

"I think it's exhaustion and dehydration." Taylor says. I look over at Christian, lying in bed fully dressed and helpless. I take off his shoes and socks. The skin on his feet looks better than the skin on his face.

"Oh, Christian," I say. Taylor's right. He's dehydrated and exhausted. Probably starving, too. I remove his vest and tie, then his shirt. He still hasn't budged and he's lying on the clothes that I have removed. "He's concentrating very hard on the exhaustion part, so let's worry about that until Grace gets here. I'm going to need you to help me here." I say gesturing at Christian's pants. Taylor looks at the pants and then at me.

"I have to draw the line somewhere, Ms. Steele!" He protests.

"Look. I'm praying to God that he's not commando under there. That's not his style. But I can't get these off on my own. I usually have some help if I'm doing this." Taylor scrunches his face.

"Oh! TMI! TMI!" Taylor says.

"Just please, help me. You roll the mountain and I'll take the pants off. The first sign of bare ass, and you're relieved!" Taylor accepts the terms and helps me get Christian out of his pants. No bare ass, thank God. Black boxer briefs. Sexy black Hugo Boss boxer briefs.

Damn, get it together, Steele. The man is nearly comatose!

Taylor helped me to get his other clothes off of the bed and put him under the duvet. He didn't even grunt while we were rolling him around and taking his clothes off.

"Dr. Grey will be here shortly. She's pretty convinced that he most likely needs sleep and fluids, but we may need to get him to the hospital to put him on an IV to rehydrate him. She'll assess when she gets here." Gail explains when she returns to the bedroom.

"I need water-based soup." I tell Gail.

"I have some homemade chicken soup in the freezer. It can be ready in 20 minutes, but we may want to wait to see what Dr. Grey says." She replies. I nod.

"You're right. I'm glad we have it handy, though." I walk over to the bed and sit down next to him. I run my fingers through his hair, brushing it off his face."You're a real asshole, Grey." I say softly. I examine his features more closely now that he's lying down. His eyes are sunk into his head and his lips are parted. He doesn't look like himself at all—he looks dead. I don't like this look at all.

"I'm very angry with you, Christian Grey." I say, tears flowing down my face, still stroking his hair. "You accuse me of having an affair with your brother, you cut me off for a whole day, and then you slowly try to kill yourself." I sob quietly. "And now when I'm finally ready to give you a piece of my mind, you're all weak and feeble and needy and all I want to do is take care of you and love you. You don't play fair, Sir!" I say through my sniffles. "We are going to have to talk about these things in the future because this is simply unacceptable!" I say, banging my fist on my knee. I brush his hair out of his face and kiss his forehead, closing my eyes and feeling the clamminess of his skin as I drag his hand into my lap. I look around to notice that Taylor and Gail have left the room.

"You don't take rejection well, do you, Sir?" I say to his unconscious form. "Well, if you can't take it, you shouldn't dish it out! You can't do that to people, Christian. You cant treat us like we're one of your companies. If you do, they will leave, and you will look up and they are wine-drunk on the sofa after having choked to death on one of your designer ties...or unconscious on the floor by the piano after no food, water, or sleep for five days." I kiss him on the forehead again. "Please be okay, Christian, please..." I squeak, barely able to get the words out.

"He'll be fine, Dear." A gentle voice says from behind me. I turn my tear-stained face to meet Grace's gaze and I just fall apart. I bury my face in my hands and I just weep. This man needs to learn the rules and play by them.

You are not allowed to accuse me of something without allowing me the opportunity to defend myself.  
You are not allowed to cut me off and leave me wondering what the hell is going on with no explanation.  
You are not allowed to hurt yourself or do things to deliberately cause yourself harm.

Number three is more important than the rest...

Grace puts her hand on my shoulder. "I need you to be strong for me, Ana. I need to check him out and see what's going on. Okay?" I nod and move over to the dresser without taking my hands from my face. When he's gets better, I'm going to kill him! Grace examines Christian's face, hands and mouth then shines a light in his eyes. After a few moments, she takes out her cell phone and hits some number on speed-dial.

"This is Dr. Grace Trevelyan. I'm bringing in an adult male, 6' 2", approximately 175 lbs, 29 years old suffering from severe dehydration. Please prepare a private room and have 0.9% sodium chloride solution ready for intravenous fluid replacement and let Dr. Fischer know that I need him on standby. This is a family member of mine." After giving some additional information to whomever was on the phone, Grace calls for Taylor.

Things seemed to move in slow motion after that. I can't remember hearing anything for a while...seconds? Minutes? I don't know. I remember Grace doing something to Christian and then seeing Taylor lift his limp form—blanket and all—and carry him from the room. I see Grace standing in front of me and she's saying something but I can't hear her. Her mouth is moving, but there's no sound. The room is shaking a bit and a few moments later, I realize that it's not the room that shaking...it's _me_. Grace is clutching my arms shaking me almost violently.

"Ana!" I can hear her screaming at me. "Ana! Come back to me, now!" Okay, where the hell was I gone?

"I'm sorry..." I squeak. Grace frowns.

"Sorry for what?" She says.

"I did this. We were fighting. I was angry..." She shook her head.

"The only one who did this to Christian is Christian. Now we can talk about this later. Right now, we have to go. He needs fluids quickly. Come on, Dear...now!" She is pushing out of the door. Taylor has already left the apartment and I am assuming that during my little conscious blackout, he most likely has already gotten Christian to the hospital.

I ride quietly in the car next to Grace. I am so angry at Christian for doing this to himself and so guilty for doing this _to_ him. The opposing sides are fighting with each other and sending my head into a tailspin. Grace is trying to comfort me while she's driving by telling me that Christian will be just fine after a few hours of a saline drip and some food, but I can barely hear her. He simply cannot _do_ this again! I have to get him to understand that.

What is it about rejection that causes people to lose their ever-loving, rabbit-ass minds? She-Thing can't control herself to save her life. Edward acts like he doesn't have the good sense God gave a watermelon. Even Bethany decides that instead of leaving with part of her dignity intact, she would try to convince me that she gave my man a blowjob before he kicked her out of his apartment. For Christ's sake, People, go out and buy some self-respect!

And Christian...beautiful, strong, powerful, dominant, rich Christian...reduced to nothing because I wouldn't speak to him. Maybe She-Thing was right. Maybe I am weakening him...maybe I'm no good for him...

_Seriously? You're going to defer to _her_ logic on this? Seriously?  
_Yeah...sorry...brain fart moment.  
_That wasn't a brain fart! That was a brain crash-and-burn! What the fuck is wrong with you!?  
_Yeah...not quite myself right now.  
_Well, come the fuck back! That was some scary shit! Do you want me to move out!?  
_Okay, so I went in the wrong direction, but I just don't know what to do right now. This man is sending me on a damn merry-go-round! I don't have my wits about me, okay?

I would try to convince the Bitch some more, but Grace has pulled into doctor's parking at the hospital and we are now running full speed through the halls of this medical institution. As if they couldn't see me running close behind Dr. Trevelyan, she had to tell four different people to back off because I was with her. By the fifth time, we were just screaming "We're together" in sync without stopping.

Although I know it only took a couple of minutes at the most, it seemed like it took forever to get to Christian's room. Taylor had just gotten him there moments before we arrived and they only just started taking his vital signs and attaching the IV. Taylor and I weren't allowed in the room while they were doing these things, so I can only pace the waiting room until Grace comes to give me an update.

"Ma'am..." Taylor began. I wanted to throw this man against the wall for calling me that, but I was just too worried about Christian.

"Yes, Taylor?" I answer.

"If I may ask, what happened?" I'm confused.

"I told you what happened. He was sitting on the piano bench and then he wasn't." I answer bemused.

"No, I mean, what happened...between the two of you...that it got to this point?" He clarified. I glared at him. "I wouldn't ask, Ma'am, but I've just never seen him like this. I don't mean to overstep my boundaries..." I'm horrified by this question.

"You have no idea?" I ask. You spend damn near 25 hours a day, eight days a week with my boyfriend and you have no idea why we are not speaking!?

"I know that there was a misunderstanding about Elliot, Ma'am, but I thought that was cleared up." That word is starting to make my skin crawl. I sigh.

"Yeah, your otherwise brilliant boss thought I was sleeping with his brother." I say. "I was talking to Elliot in my office on Monday and instead of asking me what was going on, Mr. CEO jumped to conclusions and cut me off!" I say, throwing my hands in the air.

"Ooooh, that explains a lot." Taylor says. "I wondered why he didn't get out of the car when you threw your phone against the wall."

He _was_ there! I _knew_ that was him! I _knew _it! Asshole!

"Well, I wasn't ready to talk to him when he showed up at my apartment so I pretty much told him to leave me alone...that was Tuesday..."

"So...no contact since then?" I shook my head. "You were trying to teach him I lesson?" I sighed. I want to say "no," but I can't in clear conscience.

"It didn't start out that way," I explain. "I was hurt. I still didn't know why he shunned me because I didn't give him a chance to explain—which turned out to be a good thing because when I _did_ find out, a wine glass hit the wall and I can't guarantee that it would not have been _his head_ had he been present." Taylor chuckled a bit, then I continue. "I just wanted to stop hurting, to stop feeling angry and betrayed."

"Betrayed?" Taylor questioned.

"How could he _not_ believe everything I told him about how I feel? How could he let everything I've told him—everything we feel for each other—just fly out of the window at a moment's notice because of an insecurity? An _unfounded_ insecurity?" Taylor rubs his 5:00 shadow and nods.

"Can I give you another perspective?" Oh great! Another voice of reason.

"Sure. Why not?" I say, taking a seat next to him in one of those awful uncomfortable hospital chairs.

"How many times have you been in love?" He asked. That's a highly personal question, but I guess no more personal than the conversation that we've _been_ having this evening.

"Um, besides puppy-love, I guess it would only be Edward." I answer.

"So, once." He says. I nod. "Ended pretty badly." He adds. I glare at him.

"I have a current restraining order against the guy! I'd say it ended badly!" I say stating the obvious. He scratches his stubble.

"Did you learn anything from that relationship? I'm not being sarcastic, it's a real question." He says.

"Yes, how to duck a sucker!" I answer and he chuckled again. "I learned how _not_ to treat someone. I got a full picture of what I _didn't_ want in a man. I learned to trust my instincts and not let my feelings blind me to the obvious anymore."

"So even though it was a bad experience for you, you still got something from it...you got some kind of yardstick." He pointed out. I nodded.

"True, yeah. It was rough, but I learned." What's his point?

"Well, that at least was worth the trouble, but let me ask you...what's Mr. Grey's yardstick?"

I fall silent for a moment while I try to process what Taylor just said. _What's Mr. Grey's yardstick?_ Fuck, he doesn't have one! He has no experience with relationships! And I have noticed that Christian takes great pains to predict what may happen next because he does not like the unknown. Uncertainty scares the shit out of him. He had no idea what was going on with Elliot and he didn't know how to handle it. Then, I shut him down...for _days!_ He's just like a child when it comes to relationships. I gave him a shiny new toy and he dropped it. So instead of teaching him that he needs to take better care of his toys, I just took the toy away...with no indication that he would ever get it back. I'm already balancing my very delicate sanity on the head of a pin. It doesn't take much to set me off right now.

_That_ did it.

I am bent over in my chair, face buried in my hands, hands buried in my knees..._balling_! Christian could have really done some serious harm to himself and it's all because I don't have the good sense to understand that _he_ is following _me_ in the darkness—I am leading him down an unknown path and if I leave him there, he's completely lost.

"How could I be so _stupid_?" I yell into my hands.

"You're not stupid, Ma'am..." He begins. I sit straight up.

"Stop calling me that!" I scream through my tears.

"Wha...?" He begins, and I interrupt him.

"Call me Ana! Suzie! Carol! Pookie! Spot! Doctor Lady! Your Highness! I don't care! Just stop calling me 'Ma'am!'" I bark in my weepy voice. I take a moment to register his shock, then drop my face back down to my knees and cry some more.

"Fine, you're not stupid, Spot." My shoulders shook with my laughter-tears. "You say that he has some lessons to learn about being in a relationship. You're right, and it's moments like this where you have to remember that. And Doctor Lady, _you_ have some lessons to learn, too. You need to learn how to be in a relationship with a man that's never been in a relationship. True, you are going to have to teach him, but you have to remember that even though it may seem like common sense, it's not common sense to _him_. When he thought you were having an affair with his brother, he was hurt, ashamed, and betrayed. He didn't know how to face it...so he just didn't face it at all. I'm not sure that he ever _would_ have if he didn't get the call on Tuesday morning that you were MIA. Anybody who has ever betrayed him, harmed him, hurt him, or disappointed him, he kicked them out of his life. He's not prepared to do that with _you_." I'm still shaking with tears and I'm sure that Taylor doesn't know quite how to handle me. "I didn't say this so that you can fall apart at the seams, but the two of you need to get it together. In the fight to protect yourselves, you're hurting each other..._and_ yourselves!" I have to pull it together. I'm going to have an unbelievable headache if I keep this up.

"Oh, good Lord, give me strength!" I cry as I sit up and Taylor hands me a handkerchief. "How did _you_ get so smart?" I ask.

"I'm divorced." He answers. I look up at him. I see an unnamed emotion hiding behind the strength that is Jason Taylor.

"Do you still love her?" I ask, wiping my eyes.

"No, but I still wish I didn't have to go through the divorce. It was brutal on Sophie."

"Sophie? Is that your ex-wife?" I ask.

"No, that's my daughter." He answers. What?

"You have a daughter? You _work_ all the time. When do you ever see her?" I ask. He laughs.

"I don't work all the time, Pookie. It just looks like I do." Oh, he's going to have his pound of flesh, I see.

"_Pookie_ is cute. I like _Pookie_. Christian won't, though." I say. "How old is Sophie?" I ask, as I lay down on the sofa in the waiting room.

"She's ten." He says. "Very smart, but then I'm biased." All of a sudden, I'm feeling homesick for Ray. I can imagine Taylor being a very protective dad to Sophie.

"Do you have a picture of her?" I ask with a yawn. Taylor scrolls through his phone and hands it to me. There is a picture of a gorgeous little girl with golden curls all over her head.

"Oh, she's so pretty." I say, I feel my eyes closing but they dart open immediately when I see Grace enter the waiting room.

"Grace!" I sit straight up. Every bit of exhaustion gone from my body instantly. "How is he?"

"Still resting, Dear. Come with me." Taylor, Grace, and I walk down to Christian's room. He looks a little better since he has been on the IV, but still very peaked. He's still out like a light. His mouth is closed and his lips don't look so dry. There is a doctor looking at his chart when we enter.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Fischer. You must be Ana." He proffers his hand to me. I shake his hand, confused. "Dr. Trevelyan has told me about you."

"Oh, okay. I'm sorry Dr. Fischer. It's been a long night." I say, rubbing my forehead.

"Well, I think this one will be okay now." He says, pointing his pen at Christian. "His blood pressure is low, and he's suffering from hypovolemia. It's a fancy name for an advanced form of dehydration. He is probably very fatigued if you said he hasn't slept in five days, but he didn't pass out from the exhaustion—he passed out from the dehydration. It's a good thing that you brought him in." He said to Grace. "As you know, Dr. Trevelyan, the kind of rehydration that he needs can't be done orally. It needs to be a slow process—reintroducing fluids and electrolytes to his body gradually. He needs to replace the volume of his blood plasma and doing this too quickly or simply by giving him water could result in osmotic cerebral edema."

At my look of confusion, the doctor puts his arm around my shoulders and says, "Water on the brain. An IV drip overnight should be enough, but we'll have to see how he's doing in the morning. When he wakes, he's going to be very thirsty and will most likely have a _really_ bad headache. Page one of the nurses for painkillers and give him sips of water. Crushed ice is actually better." He pats me on the back and smiles. "Dr. Trevelyan." He nods at Grace.

"Thank you, Dr. Fischer." She says before he leaves the room. I turn back to Christian. He looks like he's sleeping peacefully now.

"So...from what he said...Christian didn't fall asleep. He passed out." I ask. Grace nods.

"That's right."

"So, he's not asleep right now...he's actually unconscious." I deduce.

"Yes, that's right." She responds softly.

"Why did this happen right when_ I_ walked in the room? Why didn't it happen right before or sometime after? He said maybe three sentences to me, and then he was gone." I snap my fingers to illustrate the speed in which Christian passed out.

"That I can't answer, Ana. The only answer that I could give you is that this was going to happen whether you were there or not. The fact that it happened at the moment that it did could have something to do with a spike in adrenaline when he saw you and then the subsequent crash of not having enough strength in the first place. Again, I'm only guessing, but at the rate he was going, he was going to pass out anyway." She brushes the hair from his forehead and I am fighting not to burst into tears again. I am sick of crying, dammit! I look around and see a sofa against the wall a few feet from Christian's bed.

"I'll sleep there." I say pointing to the sofa.

"Ana, why don't you go home and come back in the morning? He's not likely to wake up before then." Grace coaxes.

"I'm not leaving him." I say gently. "And if he's going to wake up in the morning, then I'll be here when he wakes up." I say, standing next to his bed. Grace nods.

"Very well," She says. "There is a blanket and pillow in that cabinet. I am going home because I have to be back on shift in the morning. You'll call me if you need anything?"

"Yes, Grace. Thank you." I smile and she kisses me on the cheek before she leaves.

"I'll be outside the door. I'll have another guard, Yancy Jackson, come in to relieve me shortly, but I'll be back in the morning too. Let me see your phone." I unlock my iPhone and hand it to him. He dials a number and his phone starts to ring. "Now you have my number in your phone and I have yours in mine." He hands my phone back to me. "You know, Tuesday night, he had your phone until he gave it to Chuck to return to you the next morning. He called it at least 80 times so that he could hear that damn ringtone. What's the name of that song?" Well, that explains all the missed calls. I couldn't understand why there were so many when _he_ had my phone.

"He called it 112 times and the song is called 'Love All The Hurt Away.'" I say, softly. He nods.

"Call me if you need me." He says.

"Thanks, Jason." I say with a smile.

"You're welcome, Your Highness." And he's gone.

My head is so heavy from the crying that I cannot resist sleep for one more moment. I get the blanket and sorry excuse for a pillow from the cabinet and lay them on the sofa.

"Goodnight, Christian." I say before kissing him on his forehead, then his cheek. "I love you."

I lay on the couch and I am asleep before my head hits the pillow.

I feel like I'm floating. Strong arms are carrying me.

Christian?

I can't open my eyes. I am just too exhausted. I'm laying down again and strong arms are wrapped around me. Sleep takes me away again.

When I can finally open my eyes, I can tell that it's morning even though the sun has not quite risen yet. I'm a little disoriented as I am looking at the sofa that I know I fell asleep on last night. My head hurts and my eyes hurt and I am not going to try to focus, but as I attempt to move, a very heavy arm holds me down. I lift my head just enough not to be painful to see a familiar hand clutching me around my waist. I feel the heat from his body on my back, and the warmth of his breath on my neck. His breathing is rhythmic, comfortable..and I don't want to wake him. I have no idea how I got here, but I lay my head on the pillow and go back to sleep in the comfort of my man's arms.

* * *

_**GREY**_

My throat hurts like hell and head weighs a thousand pounds! Where the fuck am I? The last thing I remember, I was at my piano and Butterfly was standing there. Now I'm here...wherever _here_ is. And unless my ears deceive me, I am in the damn hospital—and the conversation with Butterfly was probably the result of delirium. The hell if I'm staying here.

I try to lift my head and nothing happens. Like I said, _a thousand pounds._ "Taylor!" Nothing above a whisper. Shit! I'm stuck in this damn jail. And what's with the fucking IV? What's wrong with me anyway? I press the call button so that I can get some damn answers. I'm getting the hell out of this bed one way or the other. I roll over onto my side, painfully. Fuck...my head. I can now see a small form lying on the sofa about five feet in front of me. I can't see her face or any part of her body. I can only see her hair.

"Butterfly..." Again, nothing above a whisper. I clear my throat and try again. "Butterfly!" Even less than before. At that moment, the nurse comes into the room with Taylor close behind. Thank God.

"Mr. Grey, how are you feeling?" I can't even pay attention to her right now. I look at Taylor and point to Butterfly.

"How long..." I can't get the words out.

"She's been here since we brought you in. You passed out while she was talking to you." He answered.

"Sleeping..." I croak.

"About an hour, Sir. She spent more time crying than not. She's exhausted."

"Bring her to me." I squeeze the words out.

"Mr. Grey, she can't sleep with you!" Nurse Whatever-Her-Name-Is says. Taylor looks from the nurse to me.

"Bring her to me." I repeat, what little bit of voice I have left leaving with each word.

"She can't sleep with him." She tries to tell Taylor.

"Nurse..." Taylor looks at her name tag, "Alexa. When did your shift start?"

"It just started." She answers.

"And you have, what, seven or so more hours left?" he asks her.

"Nine, actually." She answers, bemused.

"I can guarantee you that this is going to be the _longest_ nine hours of your _life_ if you do let me put that woman in the bed with this man." She looks like she is about to protest again and I am ready to get out of this fucking bed. If they won't let my Butterfly come to me, I'm going to go to my Butterfly. "Sir, please, lie still." Taylor says. I'll do this for now because I don't know what's wrong with me, but they have about 60 seconds to rectify this situation, or I am going to become a problem, weak or not!

"He's weak and dehydrated. She's exhausted. They are only going to _sleep_. If you want him to get back to sleep, you better let me put her in the bed with him." Taylor warns her. This is the last time I'm going to listen to him warn her, then I am going to become the patient from hell. I can finally see the defeat in her eyes when she says, "Fine! But enjoy it while you can because I am going to fill your IV with painkillers. Your head must weigh a ton."

"It does." I croak and look back to Taylor and reach for my Butterfly. He picks her up from the sofa and brings her to the bed.

"Christian..." She murmurs. Oh God, I need her next to me _now_. I hold my arms out to her and Taylor lays her in my arms. I cling to her, pulling her close to me. Oh, Butterfly! It feels like my chest is caving in. I inhale her smell deeply. My Butterfly. Suddenly, my head isn't hurting anymore and I feel light as air. I lay my head back on my pillow and pull her as close to me as I can get her.

"I love you, Butterfly." I croak as I fall heavily back to sleep.

* * *

My head isn't any lighter when I open my eyes, and now I have to contend with sunlight. My throat is so dry and scratchy that it's painful to even breathe. Fuck! This ridiculous! I'm a big, strapping man—brought to my knees because of a little thirst? I just doesn't make any damn sense. I open my eyes a bit to see that Butterfly is no longer lying next to me, I momentarily panic until I shift my head slightly and see her sitting on the edge of the bed talking on her iPhone and yawning.

"I don't know, five or ten...and some underwear...you know, like I'm going on a trip for two weeks or so..." Who is she talking to and why is she packing? Don't panic, Grey. Just listen. If this little fiasco has taught me anything, it's to no longer jump to any conclusions when it comes to Butterfly.

"Oh, and don't forget nightclothes...I love his t-shirts, but I'm not sleeping in them every night." Okay this sounding better...I think. "Oh, I don't know. It's Saturday...a goddess dress and some wedges, I guess...and something to hold this hair off my damn neck. It's driving me nuts!...Well, you know me...you know what to do." She yawns again, rubbing her eyes. She looks like she's only been awake for a few minutes herself.

"I don't know how long I'm going to be here, so can you pack me an overnight case with the essentials just in case? And bring me some supplies. I'm on my period and I hate these hospital pads...how does anybody _wear_ these things?...I know, I know. Can you please not berate me? I feel bad enough already...Yeah, sure, whatever. Security will meet you over there...Love you, too..."

_Love you, too?_ What the hell?

"Oh, and Al? Get me another key made!" See? Conclusions...

Taylor walks in just as she is hanging up her phone. "Good morning, Sunshine." He says. Sunshine? That's a little _friendly_, don't you think?

"Yeah, that's a matter of opinion." She replies. "Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Yes, I did, Pookie." POOKIE!? What. Thee. Ever. Loving. Fuck!

"Do _not_ do that! _Un_acceptable!" She's waving a finger at him. You tell him, Butterfly. I'm going to fire his ass when I'm coherent. "Don't even _play_ like that!"

"Well, you started it!" The fucker is laughing. And what does he mean _she_ started it?

"Yeah, well, stop it, Jason!" Jason!? Oh hell, this is getting worse... "Gail is a wonderful woman. But if she heard you call me that, I have a feeling that she would serve me on a platter like Thanksgiving dinner." Butterfly snaps. Oh, what the hell is going on here? "And I have a man here that I have to nurse back to health so that he can run his company on Monday. I don't need him having a conniption because you got _jokes_!" She adds. Well, that's good news, but I'm going to ask her about this Jason/Pookie thing!

"Yes. Your Highness." Oh, he's got million of them, huh?

"That's better." That's better? No, it's not! He's way too comfortable with my girl. What the hell happened while I was out cold? "I don't know if they're going to be discharging him today, so bring him some pajama pants, a t-shirt, and some clean underwear. And bring him some clothes just in case—jeans, a comfortable shirt, his kicks..." Boy, she could run my company! "Bring his blackberry. If he doesn't at least have it in arms reach, he's going to flip out—although if he thinks I'm going to let him work anytime today he's out of his mind!"

"Anything else?" Taylor asks.

"Yes, shampoo and a grooming kit. He's starting to look like a mountain man." She replies. Taylor laughs a little.

"Yes, Your Highness." He's smiling at her. _Fucker_.

"You know what?" She snaps. "That's what you have to call me from now on! That's what I'll answer to..._Your Highness_. That's your address to me from now on, Smart Ass!" Taylor's laughing again.

"That's fine by me, but you get to tell _him_!" He says. Oh, this should be good.

"Oh, I'll tell him. Now go do what I told you!" Taylor pauses.

"You'll be good for him." He says to her. She drops her head and does that thing she does on her forehead when she's stressed.

"Yeah, we'll see, if I don't kill him first." Her voice sounds defeated. "We've got some talking to do. We can _not_ have this happen again."

"Well, you've both got some lessons to learn. So now, you'll learn them together." He puts his hand on her shoulder. Down, Grey. Down, boy.

"Well, I've got a lot to do today. Al is bringing some of my things to Escala and I doubt that Christian's closet can hold much more, so can you ask Gail to help him find someplace to put them? Maybe one of the guest closets or something?" The hell you will! Your stuff is going into _our_ closet in _our_ room...as soon as I find the strength and the voice to order someone around.

"No problem, we'll take care of it."

"Is Grace in the hospital yet?" She asks.

"I'm not sure, but I'll find out." He heads for the door.

"Oh, Jason..." _That's_ going to bother me. "Bring me some food!"

"What would you like?"

"Something quick and dead! I don't care...as long as it's not hospital food. In the commotion last night, I didn't eat dinner. Now I feel like my stomach is eating itself! I have no idea how that man could do this for five days!" I can only see her profile, but a range of emotions flash across her face. "Then again, yes I do." Her head drops again and the hand goes to the forehead. "When you get a chance, bring him some of Gail's chicken soup." She sounds defeated again. I see Taylor looking at her with sympathy in his eyes. It's amazing that neither of them notices that I'm awake yet.

"Yes, Your Highness." He says softly before leaving the room. She hasn't raised her head yet. She rubs her hands over her whole face.

"I'm sorry, Christian," she says almost to herself. She's beating herself up for what _I_ did? Oh, hell no, we can't have that. I reach out and touch her hand and her eyes meet mine.

"Hi, Baby." She says in a voice like she's talking to a small child. She moves closer to me and brushes the hair off my forehead. "How are you feeling?" I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I think I knew this would happen. Christian Grey without a voice...that's a first for me. "No voice, huh?" I shake my head. "So I could berate you all day if I wanted to and there's nothing you could do but sit here and listen." I try to laugh, but it comes out as a pathetic whimper. She leans down and kisses me on the forehead and then both cheeks before laying her forehead on mine and closing her eyes.

"Please don't ever do this again." She says, her voice cracking. I have to hold her. With the little strength that I have I pull her close to me. She's my medicine. I don't need the IV or the painkillers or the monitors or the doctors. I just need her. Only her...

My Butterfly.

* * *

When I open my eyes again, Butterfly is curled into my chest and Nurse Whatever-Her-Name-Is is trying to wake her up. Shouldn't your shift be over by now? I wave her hand away...leave my Butterfly alone.

"Mr. Grey, I'm sorry. I don't mean to disturb you. But I have to change you IV bag and check your vitals. Please let me do my job and I promise, I'll be out of your way in no time." I sigh. Butterfly wouldn't want me to give her a hard time, so I hold up a finger to her to wait for a minute.

I start to stroke Butterfly's hair to wake her. Normally I would say something in her ear, but I have no fucking voice. I kiss her hair and gently rouse her from her sleep.

"Christian...?" She says, sleepily before opening her eyes. "Are you okay?" She asks looking up at me. I nod and point to Nurse WHNI. Butterfly looks over at her and says, "Oh! I'm sorry!" and gently removes herself from my bed.

"That's quite alright, Miss. I don't think he would cooperate without you." She smiles. Yeah, Butterfly has that effect on everybody...except the Pedophile...and Katherine Kavanaugh...although I'm going to have to ask her about those flowers. "So how are you feeling this morning, Mr. Grey?" I shake my head and hold my throat. "Yes, that's normal for dehydration. We need to start getting some food in you, but before we do, you'll need to get a little fluid in your throat. I'll go get the doctor for you and I'll be back with some crushed ice."

When she's gone, Butterfly climbs back in the bed with me and cradles my head in her chest. "I won't be able to say this once you can talk, so I'm going to say this now while you can't protest." She's running her fingers through my overgrown hair. Her hands feel so good on my scalp and I rest my head on her warm body. "I'm sorry, Christian." _No! I'm_ the asshole, here. I try to shake my head and she's scolds me. "You're going to listen to me. Do you understand?" She says, looking into my eyes.

I guess I'm going to listen...

"I shouldn't have deserted you. You hurt me. You hurt me very badly. I have a lot of experience with being hurt and I didn't like it. But when the time came for me to show you the same understanding that I needed from you, I shut you out. I ran away and ignored you. I should have explained to you that you can't treat the people you love that way, but I couldn't find the words. I just wanted to _not_ hurt anymore and I didn't take time to think about you and your feelings." She pulls me close to her and combs my hair with her fingers.

"I know that you are new to this. And there are still some things that I need to learn, too. But we can't let this happen again, Christian. We have to talk to one another and get these things out in the open...even when we feel like we _can't_ talk to one another. You could have done irreparable damage to yourself with this stunt, and believe it or not, I could have, too." What does she mean? I turn my head to look at her, questioning her with my eyes.

"I drank two _large_ bottles of wine by myself, my phone was dead, and I tied your Anderson Sheppard in some kind of sailor's knot around my bare neck. It had to be cut off of me! I could have choked to death and I couldn't even call for help. What's worse is that I don't even remember tying the damn tie!" If it hadn't been so dangerous for her, it would be funny. I remember yelling through the phone for them to cut the tie off of her neck—her biggest concern being whether or not I would think she mangled my tie on purpose.

Please, Butterfly. Don't blame yourself for this anymore. I'm the idiot who wrongfully convicted you of wanting my brother. I'm the idiot who shut you down without a word or an explanation, and I'm the idiot who didn't have enough sense to eat and drink something for the past five days.

I pull her into me and bury my face in her neck and nod. Please. No more talking right now, Butterfly. I understand. I kiss her neck over and over, her cheeks, her lips, mouthing "I love you" in each area. She tangles her hands in my hair and wraps her leg around me.

"I love you, too, Christian."

* * *

**_A/N: _**

**_A small reminder, Audrey Hepburn sings "Moon River" on the balcony in _Breakfast At Tiffany's_ which, of course, reminds Christian of Ana._**

**_For the record, the moment that Taylor laid Ana in the bed with Christian, the nurse doped him up (remember, she said she would). So that's why his head stopped hurting and he felt like he was floating, but he doesn't know that...he thinks it's because of Ana. No doubt, her presence helped, though._**

**_Ana's new wine-drunk-inspired blue room is on my Pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/ _**

**_I tried to find the gold chaise, but the one that I had in mind was so ugly that the only one that I could find that looked like it was a cartoon. So just imagine the ugliest gold chest you can think of coupled with a hideous, blocky brown coffee table in a room with frighteningly stark white wall and you may have an idea of just how ugly this room was before she changed it..._**

**_Please review!_**

**_Love and handcuffs!  
Lynn x_**


	34. Chapter 34: Mending Fences

**__________****_________ATTENTION! ATTENTION! ATTENTION! IMPORTANT INFORMATION HERE! Fanfiction was acting crazy this weekend and did not notify people of chapter updates. So please note - I DID POST CHAPTER 33 ON SATURDAY, MAY 11! THIS IS CHAPTER 34! _**

**__________****_________If you did not get a notification for chapter 33, it was posted on Saturday, May 11, and you may want to GO BACK AND READ IT before you read this chapter or you are definitely going to be confused and wonder what the hell happened!_**

**__________****_________People were very unhappy about not getting alerts for their favorite stories in their emails, so I made a little video to show you how to see if your favorite stores have updated EVEN IF FANFICTION IS NOT SENDING OUT NOTIFICATIONS. I was surprised how many people messaged me and told me that they didn't know this information, so it can be found at youtube dot com/watch?v=gJZcWwz5RH4 if you are interested._**

**__________****_________Happy Belated Birthday Celestial Star12!_**

**__________****_________Sending out strength and good thoughts to MelDWake who had two deaths in the family during the same week - cyber hugs, Mel! :-(_**

**_________I have readers who tell me that they have to walk to Mickey D's (McDonald's) or somewhere with a hotspot so that they can pick up Wifi and read my story. Don't feel bad - if something happened with my wifi, I would do the exact same thing! (Hi, my name is Lynn and I am addicted to FSOG Fanfiction...)_**

**_________Thank you to Beachycolor (so glad you liked the "beachy color" theme), Carol, CG Girl, Fifty Brilliants, Gwen (hey Froggy-FF stil acting stupid, huh?), JN ("Golden Goddess...I LOVE that!), Michelle (welcome to the jungle and thank you for joining me!), Rachel from Boston (thank you!), Rauguste, Tempress, Teresaromance and to my guest reviewers that I was unable to respond to by PM. I so appreciate your encouragement and input._**

**_________To my guest who requested a lemon - I understand. One is coming soon...a BIG one. I promise. Patience..._**

**_________I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too________._**

_Chapter 34—Mending Fences_

_**STEELE**_

Well, I'm glad he's doing better but I am still incredibly pissed off that Christian did this to himself. His throat is so irritated that the doctor has told him not to talk for the next two days unless it is utterly necessary, so he has been reduced to some form of charades or texting people that are sitting in the same room with him. Christian Grey with no voice. Oh, this is going to be fun.

He hasn't gotten all of his strength back, either. That's because he has lost a little muscle mass from not eating in addition to the dangerous dehydration—which weren't helped much by the occasion bouts with bourbon.

I could just slap him!

Taylor thankfully arrived with food for us as well as clothes and toiletries for Christian. Christian slowly eats the homemade chicken soup as his stomach can't take too much too soon after having nothing for five days. I, on the other hand, tear ravenously into the pancakes, eggs, sausage, biscuits, hashbrowns, juice and coffee that Gail sent over for me, because by the time Taylor gets back to the hospital, it's lunchtime. Christian and Taylor both gawk at me as I devour my food shamelessly to which I snap with a mouth full of food, "Stop staring at me, I'm starving!" At that time, both men found anything else in the room more interesting than my making a glutton of myself.

After brunch, Al has showed up with my clothes and supplies so I excuse myself to the shower and let him talk to Christian. The doctor has informed us that once he looks at Christian's saturations and stats, Christian should be okay to go home. I had a small surprise for them when I came out of the bathroom. Al burst into laughter and Christian just sat there looking at me like I was something fresh out of _Area 51_. I have borrowed a set of hospital scrubs from Alexa with the strict warning that _no one_ will be touching my man but me.

"Well, well, well, Nurse Ana. Are you here to give me my sponge bath?" Al says in that over-dramatic southern drawl gay voice that I love so much.

"That is exactly my intention," I say with a smirk, "but not you." I say before turning my attention to Christian. Realization dawns and he is feverishly tapping on his blackberry while shaking his head. I have to retrieve my iPhone to see what he said.

_****You cannot give me a sponge bath. There will be problems!****_

"Well, suck it up, Grey, because if you think I'm letting someone else do it, you are out of your mind! Al, will you help me get him to the bathroom, please?" Al's eyes get big.

"Uh, Jewel, I don't think you want me to see that." Al cautions, and Christian's eyes grow large.

"I'm not telling you to undress the man!" I snap! "I just want to make sure that he doesn't fall before I get him there!" Christian starts waving his hands and typing away.

_****I can walk. I'll sit down when I get there.****_

"Okay. Fine. Al, stick around until I get him into the bathroom so that my boyfriend doesn't fall and bust his hard head!" I shoot.

"That I can do." Al agrees, standing up. "You're a hot guy, Chris, but I don't want to know you that way." He winks at Christian.

"Ditto." Christian says in a hoarse, raspy voice.

"Hey!" I scold. "You be quiet. The doctor said only when necessary!" He throws his hands up in a "What did I do" shrug. "Get your ass out of the bed." I say in mock disdain.

"Come on, Chris. The faster you get this done, the better." Al says. Christian finally surrenders and throws the blankets off his legs. He cautiously puts his feet on the ground and then tests his weight on his legs before standing. Once he realizes that he is standing with no vertigo or weakness in his legs, he nods and walks to the bathroom.

"Thanks, Al. I'll see you later?" I say.

"You bet, Babe." He says before kissing me on the cheek and leaving the room. I go into the bathroom with Christian and lock the door. Like I said, _nobody_ sees my man but me.

"Can you get undressed?" I ask and he nods. While he removes his boxer briefs and the awful hospital gown, I make sure the water is warm enough and situate the shower chair. I turn around and he is standing there in all of his glory.

Holy. Cow. Batman. Focus, Steele. We've got a job to do here.

I assist him in getting into the shower chair and begin to wet his skin with the detachable shower head so that I can clean him. I think this will be easier with gloves than a washcloth, so I remove my microfiber gloves from my overnight bag and put them on, spreading some of Christian's Armani Code bodywash thankfully provided by Taylor. I start with his back since that will be the easiest place to wash without getting groped...or so I thought. My boyfriend is all hands while I'm trying to clean him up, and I don't have the heart to tell him that playtime is postponed since I got the visit from my monthly friend.

"Christian, behave!" I scold as I move over his shoulders and to his chest. He doesn't seem to care that I will be covered with wet handprints that will make these green scrubs look like a crime scene. I just give up the fight and work to get this man clean. I gently scrub his chest and arms and move down to his abs. As soon as I get to his pubic hair, his little soldier is standing at full attention.

Did I say _little_ soldier? Good God!

I know neither of us is going to be able to move forward if we don't do something about _that_.

I take him gently in my hands and massage with the microfiber glove and a generous amount of soap. He gasps audibly at the sensation and clutches the arms of the shower chair. At first he is trying to restrain himself, holding his breath and pushing back into the chair until he sees that the gentle massage has turned into a firm rhythmic stroke. He drops his head back, the water coming up like a fountain from the discarded shower head lightly wetting his too-long copper locks. He slightly loosens his grip on the shower chair and begins to thrust into my hands.

"Ana..." he croaks as I feel his member stiffen in my hands.

"Sssshhh." I gently silence him. I stroke him hard from base to rim with one hand while I use the palm of the other hand to torment the head in delicious, teasing circles. Christian presses his tongue to his top lip as he silently absorbs the pleasure and tries not to push out of the shower chair. I love to watch him come apart in my hands, helpless in the throes of passion while his balls stiffen and rise and his cock is a delicious dark pink, ready to explode. His leg starts to tremble and I know he can't take too much more.

"Come on, Baby." I whisper in his ear and gently suck and bite his lobe. "Give it to me..."

Christian erupts fantastically in my hands—thick, long, white streams of semen escaping from his pulsating erection as he fights to stay in the chair and not make a sound. His breaths are loud and brutal as I stroke him deep and hard until the last of his ejaculation springs from his manhood. I convert to gentle massage again as he comes down from his orgasm and starts to catch his breath.

"Better?" I say, kissing him gently on the lips and cheek.

"You're trying to kill me." He squeaks as he lays helplessly in the shower chair.

"No, I'm not. I'm trying to make you relax and it looks like it worked since you are in the perfect position for me to wash your hair." I smile at his contented form sprawled in the shower chair as I rinse the glove and reapply shower gel to finish cleansing him. Once his body has been cleaned and rinsed thoroughly, it's time to attack this ridiculous mane that has accumulated on his head. This could not have happened in just five days! Maybe these outrageous whiskers are making it seem longer than normal. Nonetheless, I want my man back, so all this damn hair has to go.

He purrs softly as I apply the shampoo and lovingly scratch his scalp. I'm sure that no one has every washed his hair, at least as an adult anyway. So I take great care in scratching and massaging his scalp and manipulating his neck. He has fallen completely silent, his eyes closed. I don't think I've ever seen him this content unless he was asleep—and if I keep this up, he soon will be. I rinse the shampoo out and towel dry his hair. I use a second towel to dry his body and help him out of the shower. Since there doesn't seem to be another chair in the bathroom, the shower chair will have to do.

I remove the shower chair from the shower and place it in the middle of the bathroom as he wraps the second towel around his waist. "Sit." I command. He looks at me, confused. "I love you dearly but _this_..." I gesture to his beard and punk-rocker hair, "...has _got_ to go!" He smiles at me and takes a seat in the shower chair. I apply some of the shaving cream from the warmer to his face and slowly and gently remove the lumber jack look he has acquired, taking care not to cut him.

"There's the man I love," I proclaim as I wipe the excess shaving cream from his face. I run my cheek along his to test for smoothness. "Perfect." I say as I kiss his cheek and reach for his aftershave. "Do you want to do this or shall I?" He points to me with a content smile. I put the lotion on my hands and apply it to his face and neck. He slips arms around my waist and pulls me onto his lap. There is an unnamed emotion in his eyes...it's almost painful. I don't think I want to know what it is. Instead, I kiss him lovingly on the lips and say, "I'm not done yet. I've got to tame the mane." I run my fingers through his hair and pick up the scissors from the counter. He nods, kisses me quickly, and lets me get up.

I work my way around his head, taking off about an inch and a half of long curly hair all around. When I'm done, I admire my handiwork. He looks _good_! Maybe _too_ damn good. I may have to beat off a nurse or three on our way out. I hand him his Hugo Boss boxer briefs and his black Diesel black gold Superbia jeans so he can cover up the deliciousness hanging between his legs. He catches me eye-balling him and plants that smug smile on his face. "Yeah, yeah, put your clothes on. They're going to be discharging you any minute now." I scold.

He puts me my out of my misery and dons his boxer briefs and his jeans. He bends down and allows me to pull his black t-shirt over his head. I help him get his arms in and just as I am pulling it down over his delicious abs, his hands gently cup my face...and there's that look again. His eyes are a deep ash gray and his pupils are dilating and constricting. Is he upset? Hurt? Afraid?

"What is it, Baby?" I say, afraid of the answer that I will receive. Without a word, he pulls me into his arms and holds me close to him. The embrace becomes stronger, warmer, deeper. I am losing my breath—not because he is squeezing me, but because I feel every emotion that he is relaying to me through this embrace.

"Christian..." I breathe. As if he knows it's overwhelming me, me pulls me back and rubs his nose along mine. I tangle my fingers in his still damp hair and pull his face to mine, kissing him deeply, our tongues tangled desperately into one another. When I pull back for air, I look into his deep gray eyes. "Do you know how precious you are to me?" I ask. He nods, without breaking eye contact. "Then don't ever forget it again." He nods again and pulls me in once more for a hungry, longing kiss.

When I come out of the bathroom, Taylor is looking at me like a father catching his daughter out past curfew. "What?" I ask.

"You look like you just bathed a 2-year-old...with really large hands!" He says. That's when I look down and examine the forest green handprints all over the lime scrubs I am wearing.

"Yeah, yeah, he's gropey!" I say dismissively. "Will you please get his socks and shoes, _Mr_. Taylor?"

"Yes, Your Highness." He reaches into the duffel bag of Christian's things and pulls out white tube socks and black and gray sneakers. I look back in the bathroom and catch Christian primping in the mirror admiring his new haircut. "Alright GQ man, Get out here and put your shoes on." Christian emerges from the bathroom and Taylor nods his approval.

"Much better, Sir." Taylor says. Christian points to me. "Good job, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Jason. Now excuse me while I get out of these." I take my duffel bag and go the bathroom to change out of my crime scene clothes.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Taylor has brought some much needed things from home—including food. For some reason, I'm still not very hungry. It's probably the initial signs of starvation, but I better not tell Butterfly that—especially since she knows what a stickler I am about food and I should know better. She, however, has _no_ loss of appetite. If Taylor or I were to _dare_ stick our hand in her plate right now, we may pull back a nub!

Al tears into me right after Butterfly closes the bathroom door to take her shower.

"Chris, I thought you were a smart man. What the hell was this about?" He scolds. I tap into my blackberry to send him a text.

_****I didn't do it on purpose, Man. I thought I was eating when I was hungry. It didn't even occur to me that I hadn't eaten in that many days.****_

After reading my text in his cell, Al lit into me again. "Where the hell was your mind? Do you have any idea how badly this could have turned out?"

_****I know it was dumb, but with all my staff, it wouldn't have turned out that bad.****_

"For _you_, maybe. What about for her? How do you think she would have felt if this had happened and she wasn't there? How do you think she feels now? Dude, what happened in your head? You say you didn't do this on purpose but what happened?"

I didn't have an answer for him. All I knew was that Butterfly wasn't talking to me and I had hurt her and pissed her off. I didn't know if she was _ever_ going to speak to me again because she wasn't responding to any of my communication. None of the regular things that I did was making me feel any better and a sub was absolutely out of the question! I couldn't find any relief. I couldn't sleep, I was drinking too much, and nothing relieved me. I finally tapped into my blackberry.

_****I'm fucked. I'm lost without her, Man. I don't know what I would ever do if she left me.****_

I watched him waiting for a response and he just looked at his phone for several moments. He finally says, "What do you think she would do without _you_? How do you think she would feel if she lost you?" I shook my head and dropped my gaze. I know she loves me, but can she possibly love me as much as I love her? Could she possibly be as dysfunctional without me as I am without her...after such a short period of time? "Do you want to know how she felt without you, Chris?" I looked up to meet his gaze. He handed me his phone.

I looked at it and read my own text.

"I haven't seen her that broken in years and there was nothing that I could do about it. You shut her down and she had no idea why, and she fell apart. And then she shut you down and you almost _died_. And honestly, Chris...if this hadn't happened to you, I would have kicked your ass." I pop my head back and look at him. What the fuck...? "Don't look at me like that. I never knew my father. My mother died when I was 18. I don't have any siblings and if I do, I don't know where they are. Jewel is the only family that I have, and I _told_ you not to hurt her!" Okay, I have to say, this man is scaring me a bit. This is a personality that I have never seen. I have seen gay, playful Al. I have seen professional Al. I have seen sociable Al. This is I'm-going-to-kick-your-mother-fucking-ass Al, and I wasn't prepared to meet him!

_****I'm sorry! Really!****_

"Well, you better fucking well be, because she'll be pissed as hell at me for whipping your ass but don't think that will stop me!" He snaps.

_****Okay! I get it! I get it!****_

It's not that I'm afraid of him, but I don't want to get into _any_ disagreement of _any_ kind with Butterfly's best friend. That's a choice that I would never ask her to make so I will never put her in that position.

"As long as we understand each other. No doubt, Jewel will be staying with you for a while..." I shrug. I'm not completely sure what her plans are. "I just took about a month's worth of her clothes to your house. She's going to be staying with you." I try—and fail—not to show my extreme pleasure with this statement.

_****Where did you put her clothes?****_

"Mrs. Jones showed me to one of the guest rooms so I put them in there."

_****Not enough room in my closet?****_

"I didn't check, but I doubt it."

_****I'll knock out a wall then.****_

He shakes his head, "Yeah, you got it bad. It's just clothes, Chris."

_****It's the principle.****_

Subs never slept in my bed. Subs never touched me. I never made love to subs, gave them nicknames, or shared special songs with them. But subs had clothes in other closets in Escala...that _won't_ be Butterfly. At that moment, Butterfly came out of the bathroom...dressed is scrubs! Okay, what's this!?

"Well, well, well, Nurse Ana. Are you here to give me my sponge bath?" Okay, that's one of the "Al's" that I know.

"That is exactly my intention, but not you." She says with a grin. Oh, hell, is she talking about me? Baby, you can't touch me naked if we're not fucking. I'm _aching_ for you.

_****You cannot give me a sponge bath. There will be problems!****_

"Well, suck it up, Grey, because if you think I'm letting someone else do it, you are out of your mind! Al, will you help me get him to the bathroom, please?"

Al protests profusely, as do I, but Butterfly assures us that she just doesn't want me to take a spill on the way to the bathroom. Once I showed her I could get there on my own, she and Al said their goodbyes and we proceeded with clean-up.

I don't know if I have indicated how remarkable this woman is but as she was giving me a shower, physical things started to happen no matter how hard I tried to concentrate. I'm trying to get Greystone to calm his damn nerves and the next thing I know, she got a soapy microfiber glove clamped onto my dick.

Have you ever felt a microfiber glove? Fuck! I swear they make those things out of the dreams of babies!

I am trying to climb through the back of this shower chair and she is not letting up. I try to tell her what she's doing—just in case she doesn't know—and she shushes me. So whatever happens happens. It has been six days—_six days_—since I touched her and she is stroking my dick with warm soapy water and a microfiber towel...and she is doing it _well_.

This is only going to take a minute!

I tried, Lord knows I tried, because I didn't want it to end yet. But when she bit my earlobe, it was _OVER_! The fountain sprang forth and I came so hard, it hurt! It didn't matter that I couldn't talk because I wasn't able to make a sound anyway. I'm trying to breathe through this shit but it seemed like the more I nutted, the harder she pulled and I nutted some more. I don't know how long it lasted but it felt like a full minute! By the time I finally collapsed on that fucking chair, I was completely spent.

Butterfly finished washing me and then she washed my hair. It was a glorious experience. Her little fingers seemed to soothe away every bad thing that happened this week—every wrong conclusion, every misunderstanding, every selfish action..._everything_. I was disappointed when she stopped, but I knew that we couldn't stay here forever. She lovingly dried me and proceeded to shave me. When she was done, I only wanted her to know how much I love her; how sorry I was for putting her through the pain that I had caused—both by being a stupid asshole when it came to her and Elliot _and_ by hurting myself this week by not taking care of myself. I pull her onto my lap but I can't find the words—even if I could speak them all.

I love you, Butterfly. I'm a stupid fucking asshole shell of a man and I would die without you! Please forgive me for being a complete and utter jackass...

She lightens the mood by telling me that she has to cut my hair. So I kiss her and let her do it.

Nobody but Franco has cut my hair in the last several years. Since I won't be frequenting the Pedophile's salons anymore, I guess I better find a new barber. Butterfly hands me my bottoms and tries to pretend not to stare at Greystone hanging just below half-mast. She waves it off and helps me get dressed. Once I am clothed, I have to hold her. I can't tell her how I feel so I have to show her the best way that I can in this awful hospital bathroom. Once again, I wish I could meld her into me so that I could have her with me every single second of every single day. I don't care that we have only been together for two weeks. She is my everything. I want to spend my life with her, to grow old with her, to have babies with her. I want her forever.

"Christian..." My name is a song on her lips. It lifts my heart and makes me fly...when it's not making me come. She grabs my hair and buries her lips in mine. This is all I've ever wanted. Even when I didn't know what I wanted, this was it—to feel this way in someone's arms, to feel like this was the most perfect place in the whole world. I would walk through fire, take numerous cigarette burns and endure 50 Elena Lincolns...if it meant that I would end up here, in this place, with her.

"Do you know how precious you are to me?"

Yes, Butterfly, I know.

"Then don't ever forget it again."

I won't Butterfly, I promise.

* * *

_****So, JASON, what's with the Your Highness shit?****_

Taylor seems a bit uncomfortable seeing his first name in print while Butterfly is changing clothes.

"You may want to ask _her_ how that came about, Sir. Quite frankly, sitting in a waiting room waiting to see if your boss and her lover is going to die tends to make people bond a bit." He says.

Sarcastic asshole.

"She doesn't like Ma'am and during a crying fit where I was telling her that she needed to give you a break, she barked at me to call her anything but Ma'am. Among the choices were Spot, Dr. Lady, and Pookie—_her_ suggestions, not mine. She had a rather violent reaction to Pookie, so we landed on _Your Highness_." He says with a bow. "And _she_ was supposed to tell you this, not _me_!" I want to laugh, but I don't know if I'm comfortable with him being so casual with her.

_****You do remember that you are in my employ?****_

"I'll never forget that I am in your employ, Sir. But where your well-being is concerned, I will take certain liberties. Feel free to fire me." Oooo, you're walking a tightrope, _Jason_.

**_**What does your over-familiarity with my girlfriend have to do with my well-being?**_**

"It has _everything_ to do with it!" He snaps. Does he have the nerve to be losing his patience with me? "Do you know how she ended up at Escala last night?" Come to think of it, I don't. "I went and got her. Do you think that she would have come if we didn't at least have _some_ familiarity?"

Why the fuck is everybody so much more logical that I am right now? Did I lose brain cells?

"She's sitting in the bedroom scolding your unconscious body like you willingly starved yourself. I know this may be your first time at the dance, but I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't purposely do that. The problem is that she never considered that you wouldn't know how to handle this so your sense of self-preservation went down the tubes. And to be quite honest with you, Sir, if I had not gone to get her last night, I believe that you would still be sitting at home starving yourself." He says.

**_**Of course I wouldn't. If nothing else, I would have passed out by now.**_**

"Maybe, maybe not. I believe seeing her brought your mental and emotional defenses completely down. And once your brain registered comfort, your body wasn't fighting anymore. True, your voice was damn near gone, and you're right, you would have passed out sooner or later...but Friday? Tomorrow? Next week? And here's what else. You've lost at least five pounds—maybe more. And you are zero percent body fat...so what do you think your body was eating, and how much longer do you think it could have eaten it?"

Am I going to have to hear this same beatdown every time I talk to someone?

**_**If one more person gives me that speech, I'm going to start firing people!**_**

"Well get your pink slips ready, because I'm sure Gail may have a word or two for you, your mother hasn't gotten a hold of you yet, and anybody that cares about you or _Her Highness _is going to have something to say about it...although I'm sure she gave you a piece of her mind." Oh, shit.

_****Actually all she did was apologize.****_

"_To you_?" He's glaring at me and I nod. "She apologized t_o you_?" I nod again. I know, Taylor, I know. He just shook his head. "And you still wonder why everybody wants to be her friend? You might as well get used to it, that's just who she is. She draws good people to her and she's a bad people repellent! I bet not one of those Chain Dames you had coming around could produce two friends to come to your house at a moment's notice and she produced _seven_—not including the one that left in a hurry. Gail adores her, Lincoln hates her, you stayed the whole weekend at your parents' so I know they liked her, and she was calling Chuck by his nickname after a couple of hours."

Oh fuck! I _am_ going to have to get used to this, aren't I?

"By the way, that's her new code name." I furrow my brow. "Her Highness."

**_**Somebody's getting fired.**_**

"Well, fire _her_ because she picked it, Sir...and you didn't want us to use Butterfly." Damn, that's right. _Her Highness_ will have to do. I run my hand through my shorter hair. Hmmm...I actually like it like this. Maybe I'll just let Butterfly cut my hair...if she wants to.

"It's a good look on you, Sir...and so is she."

"Yeah, I know, Asshole."I squeak.

"Hey!" She caught me again! I didn't say one word the entire time that she was in the bathroom and the minute I say something, she catches me! "Are you going to talk every time I turn my back!?" I just wave my hands and put my head down. "What's that all about?"

"Probably because that's the first thing that he has said since you've been in the bathroom." Taylor laughs as I flailing my hands around hoping my gestures show my frustration. When she leaves the room from now on, I'm just going to start talking so that she can come back.

"You don't have to cover for him, Jason!" She says.

"Trust me, I'm not! And why didn't you tell him about _Your Highness_?" He asked.

"I didn't get a chance!" She says flailing her own arms this time. "Here, Dear, while I'm cutting wisps of your hair, let me tell you that your head of security calls me _Your Highness._" She imitates me turning my head at that crucial moment. "He'd be wearing baseball caps for a month."

As she sits on the sofa, I get a better look at her outfit. My Butterfly has such great style. She is wearing a cream halter goddess dress with cream and brownish buttons on the chest arranged to look like a necklace. She is also wearing a pair of the Louboutins I bought her—the peep-toe Gladiator wedge sandals. I love to see her wearing those shoes. Not only is it something that I'm glad I bought her but she has sexy little feet.

"Sooooo, when do we get to blow this popsicle stand anyway?" As if on cue, Dr. Fischer walks in with the day nurse, who gets one look at cleaned and shaved Christian and almost loses her balance, standing there with her mouth agape and showing absolutely no restraint or decorum whatsoever. Oh hell, Butterfly is not going to like this...

* * *

_**STEELE**_

What the hell...Bitch, pick your bottom lip up off the floor!

I'm going to assume that this trick is looking at my man like she's starving and he's a Happy Meal because she doesn't see me sitting here. So I stand and walk over to Christian who quickly tucks me under his arm. I wrap one arm around his back and put the other hand on his chest. Did this stop her? Of course not! She is still gawking at my man like I'm not even there. Well, I'm not going to act like the jealous girlfriend, because he is going home with _me_. And I can't blame her for staring. He is one fine specimen. However, she had better get her shit together and _soon_, because this is getting _very_ irritating, _very_ quickly!

"So, Mr. Grey, you should be feeling much better now." Dr. Fischer says looking at Christian's chart. Christian does a thumbs up with his free hand. "Good. I see that you are saving your voice like I told you." He throws a look at me to which I just respond, "umm-hmm" with my lips twisted at him. He's been talking every time I came into the room, but I won't squeal to Dr. Fischer. "So, like I said, no talking unless utterly necessary for the next couple of days. You should be much better by Monday, but if you are not, you need to come back and see me. Slowly reintroduce food...you may have some mild stomach cramping today. It will be worse if you move too fast too soon with what you are eating. I say stick to soups and things easy to digest for today—nutritional drinks or shakes would be a good idea, too. If you feel any dizziness, nausea, or light-headed you need to come back in. You may feel some weakness from lack of nourishment and fluids—that's normal. But like I said, that should go away especially once you start eating properly again. Do you have any questions for me?"

Christian said nothing but frowned and pointed to the "deer-stuck-in-headlights" nurse, his silent question clear: What the fuck is her problem? I understand being struck by his beauty, but with me standing here tucked under his arm, we have moved from _absent-minded_ to _disrespectful_. Dr. Fischer looks puzzled at the the nurse standing next to him, staring blankly at my man. He makes to say something to her when I come with a better idea. I tell Christian to slowly move behind me and then duck down until he is eye level to me. He followed my directions until Nurse Oh-My-God-He's-So-Yummy was eyeball to eyeball with me. Her head snapped in that "Oh shit, what the fuck did I just do" way as realization dawns on her what just happened. I tilt my head letting her know that _I know what you just did, too._

"You okay, now?" I say to her, sarcastically. She just clears her throat and tries to look away. Dr. Fischer again starts to say something and I put a finger up to ask permission to say something before he did. When he nodded his permission, I said:

"Nurse..." waiting for her to fill in the blank. Still looking everywhere else but at me she says:

"Johnson." Hmmm...everybody else was first name. She's _Johnson_. No worries.

"Nurse Johnson, I am a grown woman about to speak to another grown woman. So would you please afford me the courtesy of looking me in the eye? I know that you can do it, because you were just doing it to Mr. Grey a moment ago." She slowly raised her gaze to me, a mixture of shame and resentment. Fuck if I care.

"I'm going to forgive you your unprofessional and disrespectful behavior just now only because I realize the effect that he has on women. However, in the future, you may want to control yourself and refrain from that kind of desperate and unattractive ogling when someone's wife or girlfriend is in the room, because the next woman may not be as tolerant and I am!" I spit. Now take that shitty expression and shove it up your ass!

The room falls silent while everyone waits to see what will happen next. Nurse Ogle finally mutters, "Sorry."

"Oh, no," Dr. Fischer says, folding Christian's chart in his arms. "I'm sure you can do _much_ better than that." She looks at the doctor, then back at me.

"Please accept my apology for my unprofessional behavior, Ma'am. I am very sorry." She said, curtly. The doctor presses her about her tone, and I stop him.

"That's fine, Dr. Fischer. I do not want an insincere apology. I just wanted to shed light on her unflattering behavior, and to let her know that if I were any less than the lady that I am that we would most likely be rolling around on the floor right now in a fight that she would be losing." Both Christian and Taylor gave in to an uncontrollable snicker at that moment, no doubt remembering the unfortunate CCTV footage I have left for posterity. "And to indicate that the next time she finds herself in this situation, she might want to exercise some self-control because the next woman she comes up against may not have my restraint, class, and sophistication." I finish, never moving my eyes from her. You want a standoff, Bitch, you got the right one. Her eyes narrow at me and mine narrow right back at her.

"Nurse Emily!" Dr. Fischer snaps. _Emily_...okay. Once again, she seems to have remembered herself and is now looking at Dr. Fischer. "Have you taken complete leave of your senses? Am I really standing here watching you treat a patient's family this way?"

"I tried to apologize, Dr. Fischer," she says, her voice dripping with fake contrition. My iPhone buzzes and at the same time, Taylor's phone indicates a text. I look at my phone and then up at Taylor who is looking at me with the same bemusement. We both look at Christian who gestures us back to our phones. Our behavior having gotten the attention of Dr. Fischer and Nurse Ogle, we both read his text aloud:

_****Dr. Fischer, may I, my Butterfly, and my security please leave now? Present company is making me very uncomfortable...stress on the "very."****_

We all look at Dr. Fischer, who sneers at Nurse Ogle and says, "Yes, Mr. Grey. If you have no further questions..."

Christian shakes his head and proffers his hand to Dr. Fischer who accepts his handshake with another apology to Christian. I don't even bother looking at the non-person in the scrubs although Christian throws her a look of death that could bring a damn Viking to his knees. We quietly leave the room after receiving his discharge papers.

* * *

Escala is very quiet when we arrive. Christian comes in and immediately sits on the sofa in the great room, clearly glad to be back home. I walk over and put my hands on his shoulders.

"I'm going to go put these things away. Do you need anything before I leave?" He squeezes my hand and shakes his head. "I'll be right back." I go to the first guest room I find and my clothes are not in the closet. I go to the second guest room and there they are. Good God, Al—making sure I had a large selection, huh? I put my overnight bag in the closet with my clothes, and I hear a buzzing in my purse. I pull out my phone.

_****I'm sorry.****_

I guess he doesn't want the elephant to stay in the room longer than it has to. If I'm honest with myself, I don't either. I refresh myself in the bathroom and go out to the great room with Christian.

"Of course, we need to talk." I say.

_****I know.****_

I sigh. "I don't know what in the world prompted you to think for one second that I would be unfaithful to you, much less with your own brother. You have to help me understand your thinking here."

_****I don't have an excuse. I saw his truck and then the flowers. I knew he was there and it didn't occur to me that he might need to talk to someone. I immediately thought the worst.****_

"I'm trying to understand, Christian, but I can't feel like you don't trust me. I can't feel like you're going to jump to conclusions anytime a situation is not just cut-and-dried. There are a lot of situations in my life that are not just cut-and-dried."

_****I understand that now, but I have never felt this way for anyone and I don't know how to handle it. Elliot is very flirtatious and he just broke his engagement. To me, that didn't mean he was hurting. That meant he was free.****_

"But Christian, _I'm_ not free. That's the first thing you should think of when this situation presents itself." His shoulders fall because he no doubt knows this now, but not when he thought I was potentially having an affair with his brother. I sit on the sofa next to him.

"I understand that this is new for you. It's new for me, too." He looks at me, bemused. "My last relationship was a total disaster. After that happened, I have to fall into a place where I can trust somebody again—give my heart away and hope it doesn't get crushed. What's more is that I have to give it to someone who has never had a heart in their hands. That terrifies me. But I also have to remember that you have never given your heart to anyone either—that this is probably more scary for you than it is for me. I think Taylor put it best when he said that, good or bad, Edward was my yardstick, but you don't have one." His eyes got wide when I said that.

_****You two have gotten pretty cozy.****_

"It was inevitable. He was trying to save your life and keep me from falling apart." I sit back on the sofa. "I was wrong to shut you out, I know that, but you can't do that to me either—and you sure as hell can't pull this stunt again...even if we fight. This won't be the last time that we disagree on something. And there may be a need for one or both of us to take a break from the other..." His eyes get wide again and he's about to start typing, but I put my hand over his.

"I'm not saying that we would ignore each other. We both know that doesn't work out well. But we may—somewhere in the course of forever—need a break, you never know. In the future, we have to handle it better than this. None of that disappearing into thin air crap, and definitely none of that doing shit to hurt ourselves crap—can we agree on that?"

_****I can agree on that, but I don't think that there will ever be a time when I need a break from you.****_

"I haven't pissed you off yet, Christian. I'd love to live in a world where we can smile at each other and love each other and never be angry at each other. Unfortunately, I live in the real world, where people that do love each other sometimes do stupid things. I'm not saying that the moment I don't agree with you, I'm going to run away to parts unknown—and I don't expect that from you, either. I am saying that sometimes, distance is necessary so that we don't say or do anything hurtful to the other." He nods, though I can see that it is reluctantly. I get on my knees on the sofa and take his face in my hands.

"I love you, Christian. I don't want anyone else, only you. I love you with everything that I have even though this short amount of time says that I shouldn't. You are a part of me down to molecular level and if anything happens to you, I don't know what I would do. Please, don't ever do anything like this to yourself again. Please..."

* * *

_**GREY**_

She is so beautiful, sitting here trying to explain the err of both of our ways this week, but I can only see that I fucked up. I fucked up when I drew the stupid fucking conclusion that she would be unfaithful to me; then I fucked up by putting her through this scare when I damn well know better than to do this to my body. I have no excuse for it. She is trying to convince me that there may be a time when we need space from each other in the future, but after the week I've had, I never want to be separated from her again. Hell, if I didn't have a company to run, I wouldn't even go to fucking work. I would stay home, day in and day out, making love to her and finding new ways to take care of her and make her happy. I feel a strange twinge in my chest when she tells me that, no matter what I may think, we may need to take a breather from each other sometime in the future. I don't want a breather, Butterfly, I want _you_.

"I love you, Christian. I don't want anyone else, only you," she says, kneeling on the sofa next to me and holding my face in her hands. "I love you with everything that I have even though this short amount of time says that I shouldn't. You are a part of me down to the molecular level and if anything happens to you, I don't know what I would do. Please, don't ever do anything like this to yourself again. Please..." Her voice is cracking and I feel like such an asshole for putting her through this. I nod. "Promise me!" She presses.

"I promise." I say, my voice stronger than it was earlier. She closes her eyes and put her forehead on mine. Oh, God, I love this woman. I take her in my arms and pull her over my lap, kissing her passionately. I want to stay here forever, wrapped in her arms and cradling her in mine. She is bringing me back to life. I want my kisses to say everything my voice cannot...

I love you, Ana.  
I can't live without you, Ana.  
You are everything to me Ana.  
Stay with me forever, Ana.  
You belong to me, Ana.

We stay there absorbing and consuming each other until our lips are swollen, then we just sit silently in each others arms for a while—me rubbing her back and her running her fingers through my hair. We are just basking in one another's essence, trying to replace the parts of each other that were siphoned away from us during this horrific week. She reaches up again and, with her hand on one cheek, she kisses me sweetly twice on the cheek closest to her, and snuggles in on my shoulder.

God, I love her.

Our quiet moment was interrupted the unmistakable sound of Taylor clearing his throat. We both turn to look at him.

"Sir, Your Highness, there are people coming up the elevator." He's really going to keep that up, isn't he? Without flinching, Butterfly say, "Who?"

"People." Taylor responds. What the hell does he mean _people_? I throw a look at him that demands that he tell me who is about to invade my home when he goes to the door and opens it to reveal Ana's closest friends with huge balloons and flower arrangements.

"We heard there was a sick Chris over here!" Garrett announces as they walk into the great room. I can't help but smile at this crazy group of people.

"I should've known!" Butterfly exclaims, without removing herself from my lap. "You people couldn't call first?"

"When have we ever called?" Maxine says.

"What if we had been _busy_?" Butterfly protests.

"Then we would have come back." Valerie says putting a bouquet of flowers with a grotesquely oversized "Get Well Soon" balloon attached to it. "Don't hit me..I'm about to kiss your man." I kind of freeze while Valerie kisses me on the cheek. Butterfly smiles and strokes me on the chest. "How are you feeling, Christian?" Valerie asks. I give her the same thumbs up that I gave Dr. Fischer.

"The doctor told him to save his voice until his throat is better." Butterfly says to a bewildered looking Valerie. "So he mostly talks through text so that he can go back to running his company on Monday." Valerie nods and returns my thumbs up.

"So, I'm assuming that you gave him the 'stupid things not to do when you fight with your girlfriend' speech?" Phillip says to Butterfly. I roll my eyes—please don't let me have to sit through this again.

"Probably me and everyone who has come in contact with him so far...and he hasn't seen his mother yet since he's been discharged." Butterfly answers. Oh, fuck! Mom! I forgot about Mom! Butterfly laughs at me. "Aha! Forgot about her, didn't you?" I nod. My mom is going to rip me a new asshole.

"So, what do we have to eat?" Allen asks.

"You should have eaten before you got here. We're not feeding you monkeys!" Butterfly says.

"Oh, yes we are!" A voice behind me says. Butterfly and I turn around to see an elated Gail come from her apartment into the great room.

"Hi, Gail!" Ana's crew all screams at once. Good damn! Where did these people come from? Gail breaks out into laughter while Butterfly exclaims, "You people are crazy!"

"How are you doing, Sir?" Gail asks. I smile and give her a thumbs up.

"The doctor told him not to talk for a day or so." Butterfly tells her and she nods.

"Well, I can whip up some quick finger food." Gail states.

"I'll help you." Valerie jumps up to join Gail who protests that she can handle it. "Nonsense. We descended upon you and I insist." Valerie says with a smile. She dons Ana's apron and is off in the kitchen helping Gail when my blackberry buzzes and I pick it up.

_****We need to talk.****_

Fuck! It's Elliot. I type back to him:  
_****Are you going to chew me out, too?****_

He responds:  
_****I fucking should, but right now I just need to talk to you.****_

I sigh. Might as well face the music.  
_****Where are you?****_

Almost instantly he respond:  
_****I'm downstairs.****_

_****Come on up. The more the merrier.****_

He responds back:  
_****Am I interrupting? Do you have company?****_

_****Just Ana's friends. They're like her family. Come on up.****_

I show the texts to Butterfly and she looks at me with that look. "Are you ready for this?" She asks. I kind of nod and shrug and type to her:  
_****It has to happen sometime. Might as well happen now.****_

A few minutes later, Taylor ushers Elliot into the great room. He freezes when he sees the amount of people in my apartment. I'm sure he has _never_ seen this many people in my apartment.

"Everyone, this is Elliot, Christian's older brother. Elliot, this is Phil, Maxie, Garrett..."

"Oh you're Elliot!" Allen exclaims. "How ya doin' Big Boy?"

"That would be Allen." Butterfly says to a slightly nervous Elliot. "Behave yourself, Al, or I'll tell James on you!"

"Oh, you never let me have any fun!" Allen says, mocking exasperation. Butterfly throws her hand at him.

"And in the kitchen is my friend Valerie." She completes. I didn't see or hear Valerie's reaction, but Elliot's double-take didn't get past me. "Elliot, he can't talk, so have your phone ready. He can only text."

"Damn, Bro. What the fuck?" Elliot says. Butterfly moves from my lap and I gesture to him to join me on the balcony.

"What the hell, Chris, what's going on?" Elliot asks once we are on the balcony.

_****What do you know?****_

"Not much. Mom just told me that you tried to kill yourself." Oh, good Lord, my mother is so dramatic.

_****That's all she said?****_

"Yeah, that's all she said." I sigh at his response. Of course, she doesn't know the whole story. None of my family does. I'm feeling more ashamed now than ever. I start typing.

_****Ana and I had a fight. She didn't talk to me for days. I was upset and didn't realize that I wasn't eating or drinking.****_

Elliot reads the text and looks at me with questioning eyes. "Bro, our mother is a doctor. Why the hell weren't you eating?"

_****I didn't do it on purpose. I just wasn't hungry.****_

"Eating _or_ drinking, Chris?" He scolds.

_****Bourbon.****_

"Ooo, that was smart!" He says, sarcastically. "You're not eating food and you're not drinking water, but you're drinking alcohol which dehydrates you faster?" I nod. Elliot shakes his head. "You know, for a smart guy, you're pretty damn dumb."

**_**Yeah, I know. Dumber than you know.**_**

"And how many days did you go without food and water, Brainiac?" He asked. Gail had brought food to me Monday evening, but I didn't eat it. The last meal I had was breakfast with Butterfly on Monday morning since I had also skipped lunch that day after my Elliot/Butterfly "discovery." So I had officially been without food and water from Monday morning to late Friday night, the body's equivalent of...

_****Five days.****_

"What!?" Elliot yells and the inside of the apartment falls silent. I shushed him. "That must have been some damn fight! What the hell happened, Bro?" And now, the moment of truth.

_****I jumped to conclusions. I thought she might have been cheating on me, or at least thinking about cheating on me.****_

"What made you think that?" He frowns.

_****She was with this guy and I thought he might have been putting the moves on her.****_

"What guy, Dude?" Here we go...

_****You.****_

Elliot looks at the text then frowns. Confusion mars his face until it finally sinks it. He raises an angry glare at me.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He yells. I make a gesture to him to keep his voice down, then gestured to the people inside who have become extremely quiet once more. "Dude, do you really think I'm that fucked up!?" He snaps, lowering his voice.

_****NO! I AM!****_

He is still glaring at me and now I have to use my voice.

"I didn't matter that it was you, Elliot. It was a guy...with a dick...in the room...with my woman...and there were flowers on the desk." I say just above a whisper, trying not strain my voice.

"Oh fuck me. This was Monday." Elliot says, rubbing the back of his neck. "So she had to tell you the truth. She promised she wouldn't!"

"She didn't!" I say.

"Then how did you know?" He asked accusing.

"Your truck was in the parking lot. I figured out it was you."

"But how did you figure out nothing was going on if she didn't tell you? And for the love of God, type - before she comes out here and bites my damn head off!" He snaps.

I meticulously type out the story, down to the drunken tie conversation and now-nearly-nonexistent black eye and falling off my damn piano stool, answering all of Elliot's questions along the way. He just looks at me and shakes his head.

"You know, if you hadn't beat yourself up enough, I'd be kicking your ass right now." He says. I just shake my head. "Do you realize how many people got caught in your shit this week, Chris?" He starts counting off on his fingers. "You accused Ana of being unfaithful. You suspected me of complete betrayal. Everybody that needed Ana on Tuesday missed a session. You almost killed your damn self which sent Mom into a damn tizzy. No doubt your staff flipped the fuck out, and I don't think all of these people are here for Saturday evening chat!" He spit. I dropped my head again. "I thought that psychiatrist was helping you and now you're dating a psychologist. Get this shit together, Man!"

"I know!" I whisper.

"Type, dammit!" God, he's worse than Butterfly!

_****I've never been in a relationship, Elliot. I'm new at all of this. After all the bad that has happened in my life, I just can't believe something this good is happening to me. Remember what you said about paying for all of the hearts that you broke?** **_

"Well, you have to ask yourself a question, Bro. Are you going to live in constant fear of that or are you going to _live_?" I look at him for a moment. When the hell did my big brother get so smart? "You've got a good woman, Chris. You've let Creepella Deville steal enough of your life from you, Man. Don't fuck this up!" That hit where it hurts...but he's right. Butterfly is my lifeline, and hell if I'm going to let my stupidity and assholeness chase her away.

_****I'm sorry, Man. Can you forgive me for what I thought?****_

He reads the text and says, "Hey, you're an idiot. I already know that. Just don't let it happen again, okay?" I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders and I have to fight not to get all sappy and emotional.

"Thanks, Lelliot." I whisper.

"Don't mention it." He smiles.

"Are you sticking around?" I ask. He shrugs.

"Sure, why not?" He pats me on my shoulder and we go back inside.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"Ana, can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?" Val calls to me when Christian and Elliot leave the room. I excuse myself from the rest of the crew and join her and Gail in the kitchen.

"Do you guys need some help?" I ask.

"No, I want you to tell me about Elliot." She says as she is stuffing crab salad into hollowed-out cherry tomatoes.

"What do you want to know?" I ask cautiously.

"Does he have a girlfriend?" She asked.

"Uh, he just broke off an engagement last weekend." I reply. She frowns and hisses.

"Ooo, sounds like too soon. Dammit." She says as she continues to stuff tomatoes.

"Well, you'd have to talk to him about that. He doesn't seem to be taking the break-up too hard, but you need to keep in mind that he is in that rebound time." I warn. "And what about Charles? Didn't I just meet this guy a few weeks ago?" She looks up at me.

"We're not exclusive, Ana." She says, matter-of-factly, like I should've known this all along. I shrug.

"Well, I don't know that! But if you and Elliot hook up, please let _him_ know that." I say.

"I always do, Babe." She says. "I'm a free spirit, but I'm not unscrupulous." She says as she stuffs the last of the tomatoes. "Maybe I'll ask him out for a drink or something non-committal so that he doesn't feel any pressure...just to see where his head is." She adds.

"That's a good idea, Val." I say with a smile.

"Does he drive a sports car?" She says, frowning.

"No, Val. He drives a truck." I say laughing.

"Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!" She exclaims and I laugh. Just then, I hear Elliot yell at Christian and everybody in the house freezes, Gail included. Everybody looks at me and I just shrug.

"What's that about?" Val asks.

"Elliot is probably taking a bite out of his brother's ass for what just happened." I say, truthfully without giving too much away. Valerie nods as she slices french bread for the artichoke spread.

"Is this about the fight you guys had?" She asks.

"Yeah, my boyfriend was being an idiot...but I wasn't too smart either, so..." I shrug.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks. I watch Gail pull a huge tray of potato skins out of the oven and begin to tray them and dress them with all kinds of goodies. This woman is remarkable!

"There's nothing much to tell. It was one of those 'what's good for the goose' type things, only it almost killed the damn goose. So we both just have to be more considerate of each others' feelings."

"That makes sense." She says, and Elliot loudly curses at his brother again. We all momentarily fall silent once more. "Boy, he's really giving him_ what for,_ isn't he?" Val says.

"Truthfully, it's no less than he deserves but if it happens again, I may have to go to Christian's rescue." I say.

"Why?" Val asks, curious.

"He could have died, Val. I think he learned his lesson." I respond. She twisted her lips.

"Good point." She says.

"Well, Ladies, the chicken puffs are ready and that's everything." Gail announces.

"What do we have in the wine cooler, Gail?" I ask. She goes over to the cooler.

"We have Sancerre, Chardonnay, Sangria, Cabernet, and Bollinger." She announces.

"Let's go with the Chardonnay and the Sangria, shall we?" I reply.

"Excellent choices!" Val exclaims.

I have just served wine to my friends and we are setting trays of finger food on the coffee table when Elliot and Christian return looking no worse for wear. Christian returns to his seat on the sofa and I sit next to him silently asking if everything is okay. A content smile that reaches his eyes lets me know that all is well with the Grey brothers and while conversation flows smoothly through the great room—including Christian's very successful job of charades—I can't help but notice the frequent exchange of glances between Elliot and Val.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

**Area 51**_** is a location here in the U.S. in southern Nevada, north of Las Vegas. It is part of Edwards Air Force base and it is rumored to be the site of a bunker that houses the remains of extra-terrestrial beings that crashed here decades ago. There are a few small towns in the area that have become tourist attractions and exploit this rumor. It is still unclear what happens at Area 51. I have a friend who grew up in the area who confirms that most of the rumors are just rumors but that it is still a very secret facility. I have included a picture of "The Black Mailbox" on my Pinterest page. It's actually someone's mailbox (though it isn't black) on a stretch of road called Extraterrestrial Highway (yes, seriously,) and it indicates the "point of no return" so to speak. Tourists and even locals take pictures standing next to the mailbox, but if you go PASS that mailbox, you will "disappear." You have now entered Area 51 and federal agents will descend upon your ass! So people who have claimed to be abducted by aliens may have simply gone pass "The Black Mailbox."**_

_**Be sure to check out the fashion on my Pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

**_Please review!_**

**_Love and handcuffs,  
Lynn x_**


	35. Chapter 35: Put Through The Paces

_**This has been such an unbelievable week for writing for me! I didn't sleep at all last night! I didn't realize that I hadn't slept until I looked up and the sun was rising. You authors know how you start writing different parts of your story and you jump around to so many places that you forget where you actually are in publishing? You look at the story and ask yourself "What was the last chapter that I posted?" And when you start proofing the chapter, your mind is like, "Damn! That's all?"**_

_**Okay, you horny bulls and heifers - a lemon is coming, but not yet! Keep your knickers on! (Yes, my UK readers have rubbed off on me.) I promise when it gets here that you won't be disappointed. Y'all know not to rush the tartness...!**_

_**I haven't gotten through all of my reviews yet, so if I haven't responded to you yet - I apologize. I promise I will get through them this week. Those those I can't PM, thank you to Amelia, Carol, CG Girl (yes you have, several times - lol - thank you, my dear) Chocolate, Ellie, Jaimini, Michelle #1 (currently on chapter 34), Michelle #2 (currently on chapter 22), Sonia, Tempress, Teresaromance, and all of my guest reviewers that I can't call by name. I love recognizing you all so please, leave a name if you review as a guest so that I can thank you personally.**_

_**To the guest who cast my Christian and Ana, that's a possibility. I haven't really thought of who could play my Christian and Ana, but I like both of those choices. :-)**_

_**Gobears, you reviewed as a guest, didn't you? I saw a review that had your classic writing style all over it. If you didn't, you have a writing doppelganger! ;-)**_

**__________****I do not own Fifty** Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too_______._

_Chapter 35—Put Through The Paces_

_**STEELE**_

I wake up alone in Christian's bed on Sunday morning. The sun is shining through the windows and if I were to guess, I would say it is about 9 or 10am. I wore sweats to bed last night since I am on last day of my period. Christian didn't try anything at all. He said he just wanted to hold me, and he cradled me so close in his arms that I don't think we moved once all night.

Last night's impromptu get-together was very nice. Not only am I breaking my reclusive boyfriend out of his shell, but I have managed to introduce Elliot to our little circle as well. He was very shocked to see Christian interact with my friends so well, occasionally throwing a look at me that he could not believe his brother could actually be _cool_. I asked how he had been doing and he indicated that he was doing okay and taking things one day at a time. Then he commented to me that Val looked a whole lot like Mia. I almost felt bad for Val..."Say, Hon, you know that guy you were asking me about earlier? Yeah, you remind him of his kid sister!" Imagine my surprise when he asked me if she was available! I reminded him about the dangers of moving on too quickly and he assured me that although he is interested in Val, he is walking into the situation eyes wide open and not expecting to walk down "the aisle" anytime soon.

I freshened up a bit, took some time to tame my bed hair, then went in search of Christian. I had not cleared the bedroom yet when I heard voices in the great room. Should I listen? That would be rude. You know they say if you listen to someone else's conversation long enough, you will eventually hear something bad about yourself. I creep to the edge of the hallway and I hear an unknown man's voice.

"That was a very drastic reaction to a normal relationship situation, Christian. Why did you go so far? Were you deliberately trying to hurt Anastasia?" The unknown man says. He has a British accent—I can tell that it's slightly Americanized, like he has been here for quite some time. They _are_ talking about me.

"No! Of course not." I hear Christian's voice. It sounds much better today even though I can tell he is speaking softly and cautiously—either to spare his voice or to prevent my hearing the conversation. "I was lost in my own grief. I didn't know if I had ruined everything completely with her; if she never wanted to speak to me again. I was afraid."

"Well, this is certainly not the _Christian Grey_ that I've been seeing all of these years." The man is partaking in some gentle ribbing. "But you must learn to deal with this kind of adversity in a more productive way. Your mother was beside herself insisting that I come and see you this morning. This is not healthy—not only physically, but mentally as well." Hey, back off, Man! It was partially my fault...I cut him off!

"I'm just so new at this, John." Christian says. "I don't know how to handle this. I've never been rejected by a woman in my adult life..._ever_. They are always falling over _me_. I reject _them_. Then for someone that I love to reject me...I don't know. It's like I just..._checked out_. Logic and reason departed and all that was left was that old shell of a man that didn't want to feel anything. I could see my life going back to the way that it used to be and I just couldn't swallow that." Yeah, like I said, we all have a problem with rejection, don't we? But some of us take it so much worse than others. Wait a minute...who's _John_?

_Well that _is_ what it was, now wasn't it?  
_Oh, God, not you again...  
_Yes, me again. How could you _not_ expect him to feel rejected when you wouldn't return his calls, wouldn't see him, wouldn't return his texts...what do _you_ call that? How did _you_ feel when he did it to _you_?  
_We've been through this already!  
_We can go through it at many time as you want until the light finally comes on. I live here, I've got no place to be.  
_What-the-fuck-ever, okay?

She's an annoying little Bitch, but she's often right. I just wish she didn't sound so fucking much like _Carla_.

"So how do you plan to handle things from now on?" John asks.

"Well, we've agreed to not let it get to this point again...not to ignore each other or disappear like that again even if the time comes where one of us may need a little space."

"It sounds like the two of you are handling this pretty well. She certainly seems like she could be good for you...if you learn to temper your emotions a bit. For you, it seems to be all or nothing. You're always one extreme or the other. You are either very hot or very cold—there is no compromise. You can't let another person into your life if there's no compromise." The longer I listen to John, the more I can hear the "therapist" in his voice. This is Christian's psychiatrist, and I need to let them have their privacy.

I turn around and head to the guest room to find something to wear for the day. I plan on just spending some much needed time with Christian and trying to mend the cracks that remain from our separation this week. I grab some jeans and a U-Dub t-shirt along with some clean underwear and return to Christian's bedroom.

I am bending over towel-drying my hair after my shower when I see a pair of sexy bare feet enter the en suite. "I don't know who you are, but I am certain that my boyfriend is somewhere nearby and will have your throat if you touch me." I say as I wrap the towel around my hair and stand up to look at Christian's smiling face.

"Hmmm...sounds like a real brute, this boyfriend of yours." He says softly. I realize that his earlier tone was most likely his attempt to save his voice.

"You sound much better." I say, pulling his face down and planting a chaste kiss on his lips.

"That's because my girlfriend insisted that I not talk all day yesterday and it gave my throat a chance to rest.

"I think I like this girlfriend of yours." I say with a smile. "Now give me a little privacy. I need to take care of some things."

"Okay, but just so you know. I'm not new to any of the lady functions...and it doesn't bother me." He says. I frown.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"That means that if we both feel the urge, I _will_ fuck you while you're on your period." He says, calmly. I gasp.

"Uh..." I'm at a loss for words. "I...don't know how I feel about that." I say with uncertainty.

"You will if it happens." He kisses me on the nose. "Get dressed, please. I'd like you to meet someone." He closes the door to the en suite as he leaves.

Fuck me on my period...eeww! I've never done that before. Edward avoided me like the plague during that time of the month. What's so strange, though, is that I am _most horny_ during that time. I know it's because the ground is fertile and waiting for the farmer to come and plant the seed.

Come and plant the seed...

I'm 26...do I want to have children? Of course I do. But I've been on birth control of some form for 11 years now. I change up every few years because the doctors say it's a good idea to prevent infertility. My biological clock is starting to tick...I'm at that perfect age.

But, hell, I _just_ got a new boyfriend. We haven't even figured _each other_ out yet. Why is my mind even headed in this direction? I don't know if Christian and I will even tow the line yet, let alone have a serious future together. It's just that...thinking about a future _without_ him actually makes my throat constrict a bit and I feel like I can't breathe. Why don't we just get through today and we will worry about the rest later?

About 10 minutes later I join "John" and Christian in the great room. I have pulled my slightly damp hair back into a ponytail. They rise from the sofa to greet me.

"Here she is now." Christian says as he reaches out for me. I take his hand and let him lead me to the distinguished-looking English gentleman standing in front of me. "Ana, this is John Flynn, my psychiatrist. John, this is Dr. Anastasia Steele, my girlfriend." John extends his hand to me.

"I pleasure to meet you, Anastasia. I've heard so much about you." I shake his hand.

"Ana, please. Nice to meet you, Dr. Flynn...and don't believe a word he says." I say with a laugh and the gentlemen join in.

"Call me John." He says, with a smile.

"John, then. Have you gentlemen eaten? I am going to fix something for brunch since I seemed to have slept the morning away." I walk to the kitchen.

"I'd love to stay...if you two don't mind." John answered.

"Please, John. By all means." Christian gestures to the breakfast bar. I begin to remove the makings for pinwheels and salad. John and Christian take a seat while I start ribboning carrots, squash, and zucchini.

"So, Ana, Christian tells me that you have a practice not far from Grey House." John says.

"That's true. Did he also tell you that he harassed me out of my volunteer job at the community center?" I said, throwing a smirk at Christian. John looks at Christian who nods at him.

"Yes, he did." John replies. I nod, too.

"And apparently he told you that during one of his sessions." I said, turning away from them to give the gentlemen a chance to confer.

"She knows everything about me, John. The good, the bad, and the very ugly." I hear Christian say behind me as I pour olive oil into a skillet and set it on the fancy cooktop to warm.

"Oh she does?" John says. "Then why do you need me—you know, for these little chats?" He questions. Huh? Surely he knows it would be unethical for me to treat Christian.

"I'm sure that you know we serve very different purposes, John." I say turning back to them with a fresh chopping board and knife for raw chicken. "I am his girlfriend who happens to be a psychologist. I am _not_ his shrink." I say, slicing the chicken into small pieces and putting them in the skillet with seasoning to simmer. "I'm glad that I know all of the information about Christian so that our relationship can flow more smoothly. However, I will never try to analyze him or his feelings unless he asks for my help in that capacity...and even then, I would have to do so very carefully." I make a dressing from mayonnaise, milk, sour cream and various seasonings and turn the chicken while I continue to talk to John. "There's absolutely no way that I could even _function_ as his lover if I tried to analyze his feelings before he made them clear to me. It's a complete recipe for disaster."

"I would completely expect that answer from a professional, but it's a slippery slope when you are dealing with a girlfriend—particularly a girlfriend with intricate knowledge of how the human minds functions." John acknowledges. Who is he trying to fool? I laugh at loud at him. Christian raises his eyebrow at me while John and I are on the same wavelength and we both know exactly what he's doing, although I am not 100% certain that John knows that I am aware of his tactic.

"Are you afraid I'm shrinking your patient, John?" I throw the cards right there on the table. I'm not yet sure if he's afraid that I'm undoing his hard work or if he's afraid he's going to lose a patient.

"Should I be concerned about that, Ana?" John says, partially joking and partially serious. It may be time for me to pull out _Dr. Steele._

"Am I missing something here?" Christian asks.

"Yes, you are, Dear." I say to Christian as I place the chicken chopping board and knife in the sink before washing my hands so that I don't make the mistake of using the utencils again for the vegetables. I remove crusts from several slices of bread and flatten them between wax paper with a rolling pin. John and Christian watch almost in awe as I prepare the quick light lunch for us. I set the bread aside as I take three tall tumblers from the cupboard and fill each one with ice. "John is trying to ascertain my intentions." I say with my back to them as I pour two parts cranberry juice and one part sparkling water over the ice and give two of the glasses to John and Christian, the latter frowning a bit at the former. I lean on the counter in front of them.

"You know how when you come into the office, we often ask if you have something in particular that you want to talk about?" I ask Christian.

"Yes? And it bugs the fuck out of me," he says with a little contempt.

"And then you tell us, and we proceed to ask you how it makes you feel..." I continue, John eying me speculatively as he sips the cranberry spritzer.

"Yes, and that bugs the fuck out of me, too."

"Do you know why we do that?" I ask

"To bug the fuck out of me?" Christian responds, John and I both laugh.

"Yeah, that's fun, but no." I turn back to my preparations and remove cold roast beef, cheddar, cream cheese, chutney, lettuce and an orange from the refrigerator. "Most often, we already have some kind of answers to those questions—not always, but more often—and we need _you_ to come to those conclusions on your own. _You_ are the one that needs to come to the realization of what is happening in _your_ life." I cut several thin slices of roast beef with a carving knife. "Do you see how She-Thing keeps saying that I turned you against her?"

"_She-Thing?" _John inquires.

"Lincoln." Christian clarifies.

"Aaahh." John says.

"Yes, what's the thrust?" Christian gets us back on track as I spread cream cheese on several slices of the flattened bread and chutney on the others before I turn the chicken in the skillet.

"Well, if I had been there when you had that revelation, she _could_ have been right had I said 'This is what she is doing to you' as opposed to your coming to the realization on your own. We know that the answers to all of your questions and problems are inside _you_, but you have to trust your gut instincts to point you in the right direction. We are only there to help facilitate that process—which was supposed to be my purpose at group therapy, but we see how well _that_ worked out." I put slices of roast beef and cheddar on the bread with the chutney and rolled them into logs, cutting them on the diagonal and standing them in towers on a platter. John has remained very quiet through this exchange. I'm pretty sure he knows where I'm going with this—and if he doesn't, then he isn't worth his fee.

"Okay, but what does that have to do with the here-and-now?" Christian has apparently been in enough therapy to know how to cut to the chase.

"Well, that's what John is doing now." I say matter-of-factly as I turn the chicken in the skillet one last time to finish cooking.

"Huh?" Christian is completely lost while John sits back in his chair, arms folded, smirking at me.

"Oh yeah, asking the question 'Why do you need him;" mentioning the slippery slope about girlfriends that know the inner workings of the human mind; throwing my questions back at me without answering them so that he can see where it leads. He's trying to feel me out...trying to see what_ I _want to talk about and how _I_ feel about it." I say as I take a drink of my spritzer. Christian now raises his eyebrow at John, who makes a somewhat playful face at him before turning his attentions back to me.

"So, Dr. Steele, what are your conclusions about this situation?" John inquired.

"I'm so glad you asked, Dr. Flynn. Let me start by stating the obvious." I put my glass down. "It's hard to decipher anyone's intentions when you have just met them or have only heard bits and pieces about them. When you are in this profession, you approach everything with a healthy amount of skepticism. You, Christian, are in a very delicate place. You just discovered that someone you trusted had victimized you and had been controlling you for several years. You subsequently had to 'come out' to the people you love—me included—with information that, had it been your choice, we would have never known. And speaking of love..." I remove the chicken for the cooktop and begin placing it on paper towel to drain the excess oil. "You are having your first experience with love at the age of 29—something that should have happened in your teenage years, but you were denied that normal rite of passage. You are in a delicate place all the way around—the perfect situation for someone to come in and take advantage of you." I'm looking over my shoulder towards John. "Am I getting warm, Dr. Flynn?" I ask.

"Very astute so far, Dr. Steele." He says. I can hear that he's a little impressed with my analysis thus far. I mix the ribbons of vegetables that I cut with sliced grape tomatoes and toss them in a large salad bowl while I continue with my conversation.

"The problem is that you can't approach _every_ situation with distrust—especially when you are responsible for someone's mental well-being. That's even more of a slippery slope than using love, sex, and the 'knowledge of the inner workings of the human mind' in some sort of unscrupulous attempt to brainwash a vulnerable person, wouldn't you say, Dr. Flynn?" I can hear him shift a little uncomfortably in his seat. I have now shined the light back in _his_ direction as "the one to watch" as opposed to me. I put pieces of lettuce on the remaining slices of flattened bread with the cream cheese along with pieces of the chicken and some zest from the orange, creating the same towers I did with the roast beef. "Christian? Place mats and plates please?" I say as I finish off the salad with the remaining chicken and the mayonnaise-based dressing.

I bring the pinwheels and the salad to the breakfast bar as Christian sets the places with mats, plates and flatware for John, me, and him to have lunch, laughing a bit to himself. "What's so funny?" I ask.

"Nothing, Dear." He says in the same soft voice he has been maintaining all day. "Please continue." I refresh the drinks and clean the counters as I continue to make my point.

"This man has had all manner and level of bullshit thrown at him in the last two weeks, some of it by his own doing," I say more solemnly, now looking John squarely in his eye. "He is trying to figure out very complex situations now, some of which I am certain that he never thought he would ever have to face in a million years. It would be very dangerous for you or anyone else to throw any kind of _what if_ in there that he hadn't already considered—particularly an _unfounded_ one—that could tilt that delicate balance." I don't glare at him, but I don't blink either. We are in a stand-off of sorts—not a battle for power or position, but more of an evaluation of intention. It's not hostile, but it _is_ serious.

I realize that John is Christian shrink and that he would be protective of Christian, especially since they've had such a long-standing relationship. Hell, with everything that he has been through in his life, I can understand _anyone_ close to Christian being protective of him. But I don't appreciate the fact that he has pretty much decided what he was going to think about me before he even met me. True, I am sure that Christian has given John his views on me—the views of a man in love, and possibly blinded it by it—unless he gave him views of me before we became intimate. Those were probably horror stories! I will have to ask Christian what he said to John to make him so suspicious of me. He came in with the shields up before he even knew me; he had no reason for that. Having just met me, he used complete textbook tactics to try to pull me out. I can't determine if that was absent-minded, brilliant, or just plain stupid.

He only asked me one question about myself to get to know me and then he immediately proceeded to psychoanalyze the psychologist...like I wasn't going to immediately figure out what he was doing. If I was trying to hide something from him, did he think that his British education so far surpassed mine that I would just confess upon his line of questioning? That's pretty damn dumb! His behavior is almost similar to Elena's, I dare say, in that he appears to be afraid that he is about to lose some of the control that he has exercised over Christian's state of mind all of this time and he needs to discredit me before I become too much of an influence on Christian. Even in my mind, I know it's a stretch, but what else can you think of someone who appears to want to make you an enemy before they have a chance to make you a friend? I'm not going to shun the good doctor, for Christian's sake, but he doesn't have to worry about me ever stepping foot in his office unless it is extremely necessary for Christian's mental health. If we ever need any kind of couple's therapy, it will be with a neutral party. He can keep his therapist, and I will keep Maxine.

"I'm not looking for another patient. Hell, before he showed up, I wasn't even looking for love. However, on some level and to some degree, we both care about this man, and while you are covertly questioning my motives, I can do the same to you. And believe me, I have no problem saying that in front of Christian because I have nothing to hide."

* * *

_**GREY**_

I've watched Butterfly deal with the sycophants at the community center and I even watched her pull my whole family back from the proverbial brink, but I have never seen her break a situation down to the bare bones like this. It's very impressive. In all of the years I have faced therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, counselors, medicine men, shamans, priests, catholic school nuns, and crazy cane-wielding pedophiles, no one has every explained the meaning, purpose, and objective of all of this head shrinking the way that Butterfly just explained it. I'm a bit floored by it. However, I can't help but notice there is some sort of head bumping going on between John and Butterfly during this particular line of conversation. I told John before she came out here that she could definitely take care of herself. Is he testing that theory?

"The problem is that you can't approach every situation with distrust—especially when you are responsible for someone's mental well-being. That's even more of a slippery slope than using love, sex, and the 'knowledge of the inner workings of the human mind' in some sort of unscrupulous attempt to brainwash a vulnerable person, wouldn't you say, Dr. Flynn?" Whoa! If I didn't know better, I would swear that she was sharpening her tiger claws. John throws a very uncomfortable look at me just as Butterfly says, "Christian? Place mats and plates please?"

Damn, Woman! What if I was trying to do a little cock-strut in front of the good doctor while you are making lunch for us? Just deflate my little ego, why don't you? I am having flashbacks of dinner at her house that first night where she made me set the places there as well. I chuckle to myself as I remember that Christian Grey does not get special treatment at dinner time in "Anastasia-Steele-ville."

"What's so funny?" Oops, she caught me.

"Nothing, Dear. Please continue." I say, duly chastised.

Butterfly continues the discussion about the shit that I have been through over the past couple of weeks, not failing to allude to my self-imposed, near-death experience. I catch the tone of the conversation when she cautions against planting dangerous seeds in my head. Now I have to ask if we are talking about the same topic. I watch John and Butterfly and this conversation could totally go on without me even standing here! Neither one of them seems to be backing away from their position—though I'm not really sure what John's position _is_ since he has allowed Butterfly to do most of the talking. Butterfly now throws down the gauntlet declaring that in this particular situation, John bears just as much watching as she would in terms of motive, and that she has nothing to hide. She and John somewhat face off at this point...a mini-game of stare, I would like to call it. John cracked first. Go, Butterfly.

"Understood, Dr. Steele." He conceded. She took her seat opposite us at the breakfast bar.

"In the future, if you have a question, you can ask me. Either I will choose to answer your question, or I will choose to decline to answer. That is my right as a grown woman and an American citizen," she says with no small amount of sarcasm. John nods.

"But John, let's get one thing perfectly clear." Uh oh, I know that tone. "In your attempts to get to the truth, don't ever overtly or covertly try to accuse me of taking advantage of Christian again and we'll be fine." And again...the mini-stare.

"Duly noted, Anastasia." John says, apologetically. "You have to forgive me, but I am very protective of my patient after having watched him for all of these years and you just never know what someone's true intentions are when they enter his life. I was just trying to ascertain the situation as thoroughly as possible. This is something very new for Christian and of course you can understand my concern when it's clear that Christian is going to fall in love very quickly considering that this is his first time, whereas with you, it's not. There is a certain skepticism that comes with that territory." John explains.

"I'm not going to begin to try to explain the dynamics of our relationship to you," Butterfly replies. "We're still trying to figure it out for ourselves much less trying to explain it someone on the outside looking in. All we know right now is that we love each other. Being a quote-unquote shrink myself, I know about our tendency to exercise an air of superiority over the layperson in this type of situation, which for you and I, should not have even come into play. You may try something like this on a layperson, but why would you even _attempt_ to try something so textbook on a colleague?"

"I wanted to see how you would react. I knew that most likely you would pick up on my line of questioning, but I wanted to determine if the accusation would have caused you any discomfort or if it would have offended you." Butterfly's expression changed instantly and dramatically.

"Of course, I was offended! I may not have jumped down your throat, but I was _absolutely_ offended. What's the thrust here—that if it's not true, it shouldn't bother me? We feed that line to our children, but you and I _both_ know that's not true. You and I both know that if someone says something unkind or untrue about us, it's going to bother us. And if it doesn't bother us, the fact we can allow it to roll off of us and move past it without a problem is a learned behavior that comes from constantly or repeatedly getting hurt or offended by something unkind or untrue that someone said to us. So the fact the you would even think to yourself that you could covertly or overtly say something that would offend me and I wouldn't get offended makes me wonder where you studied! As mental health professionals, we both know that one of the main reasons that people come to see us—that we even have a job—is because of how events have affected their lives and that nine out of 10 of those events are a direct result of something that someone _said_ to them. For me to try to explain anything to you about me, my life, or my intentions is ludicrous and unnecessary because—no offense, John—you're _his_ shrink, not mine. So you're not allowed to analyze me without my permission."

I have never seen anyone contend with John, not even me. He has always been able to maintain control of any situation. It's quite irritating sometimes. It is so refreshing to see him being chopped down a few notches by 5' 3" of pure fireball!

"John, have you ever tried to shrink a shrink before?" Butterfly asks.

"You know I noticed that unlike most 'shrinks,' you don't have a problem with that word." I never thought John had a problem with that word, either, but Butterfly does use it quite freely.

"No, I don't. I've been called worse." She responds. My mind immediately goes to the brand on her back and, even though I know it is completely unnecessary in the current setting, I begin to feel very protective and territorial over her.

"Well, to answer your question, I cannot say that I have ever had the pleasure of having to analyze a colleague." John states.

"Well, here's a lesson for you. In the future, if you find yourself in this position again, try talking to them like a person instead of a patient. I'm curious to know how you thought this 'session' would turn out." Good grief! She is truly pinning his psychiatrist-balls to the wall.

"To be honest, I'm not quite sure what I expected. I was more curious to meet the woman that was able to tame Christian Grey's heart." he respond. Butterfly laughs.

"Well, when you meet her, you let me know, because there are many words that I can use to describe Christian Grey's heart...but 'tamed' is _not_ one of them." She says. She's right. My heart jumps and bursts into passionate flames when she near me. I am nearly uncontrollable in her presence.

"I clearly underestimated you, Anastasia. You are truly the woman for Christian." John says.

"Clearly." She confirms. "And it's Ana, please." She says as she serves his salad.

"Quite no nonsense..." John says quietly to me. I see Butterfly smirk as I lean into him and say,

"I tried to tell you that she could take care of herself..."

Never grab a cat by the tail—it will turn around and scratch your fucking eyes out!

I tried to tell John that Butterfly was a tiger at heart, but he decided to test her anyway, and she professionally castrated him. Part of me wishes that I had met her years ago and she could have been my therapist. Maybe then, I wouldn't have wasted so many years with Elena fucking Lincoln. The biggest part of me is _so_ glad _that_ didn't happen, or else I wouldn't have my Butterfly...

* * *

The afternoon was full of phone calls and impromptu visits. I knew that once John showed up, Mom wouldn't be too far behind. Though Mia called and gave me a good reaming, I was a bit surprised to find Carrick walking in close behind Grace.

"Your parents, Sir." Taylor announced as they came into the great room. I stood to greet them with Ana standing close behind.

"Son," Carrick shook my hand before taking a seat on the sofa, Grace sitting next to him after kissing me, then Butterfly on the cheek.

"Okay, let me have it." I say softly, still trying to preserve my voice and rest my throat. Carrick scratches his head before speaking.

"Somehow, Son, I don't think we need to tell you how careless your actions were. You scared your mother half to death, and I was told poor Ana here was in a state! You have to remember how many people care about you, Christian." Carrick scolds.

"I know, Dad, but all I can tell you is that I'm kind of new at this and I'm still learning." I defend.

"I didn't handle things very well either, Carrick." Butterfly admits. "If I had talked to him instead of shutting myself off, this most likely could have been avoided. I was just angry and acting a little childish."

"Well, I'm glad that you can admit your part in the situation, Ana," Grace began, "but Christian is a grown, intelligent man and he really should have known better than to do this to himself." Grace reinforces. "You support many causes and champion many efforts to feed the world's hungry. I just don't know why you would ignore your own well-being like that, Honey."

"I know, Mom," I say, pushing my hands through my hair. "I won't let it happen again, I promise."

"Well, that's good to hear." She says, pushing herself to her feet. "Now, I'm going to let you two talk while I steal Ana away for a moment." She reaches out to Ana who takes her hand and follows her obediently to another room in the house before throwing an uncertain glance back at me. I shrug as they head to, I assume, the library.

"Can I offer you something to drink, Dad?" I stand and head to the kitchen.

"Just water, Son." He says, following me and taking a seat at the breakfast bar. "We're seeing some strange behavior, Christian...things we have never seen in you before. Do we need to be concerned?"

"Yes, Dad, you do." I say, giving him a cold bottle of water and a glass. He raises his eyebrow at me.

"Oh?" He inquires, pouring the water in the glass as I prepare a cranberry spritzer that Butterfly now has me hooked on.

"Yes! My whole life has been turned completely upside down. All of the foundations upon which I built my practices and beliefs have been ripped out from under me, and completely different structures are being built in their places. It's new, it's scary, it's exciting, it's terrifying, it's everything all rolled into one. I don't know what to expect, and I am loving and hating the ride all at the same time. The only person that I allowed to get close to me is one of the people who hurt me the worst, and yet I allowed her to have the _most_ control over me—more so than even you and Mom. Though I would never hurt you or disrespect you in any way, she brought me in line when you and Mom couldn't. That's an awful lot of control—control that she exercised all the way up until two weeks ago..."

"When you started seeing Ana." Carrick interjected.

"_Before_ I started seeing Ana." I corrected. "I put the puzzle pieces together when Elliot told me why he left the room every time she showed up. I never paid attention to it until a few weeks ago at Bellevue. I asked her about it and, of course, she denied it. But then I talked to Flynn about it and the nickels kept dropping and...well, you know the rest." I take a drink of my spritzer.

"After I confronted her and got her out of my life—or so I thought—I pursued Ana. I didn't expect things to happen as fast as they did. It just turned out that way. We have more in common than you know. I have now told her every little dirty secret there is to know about me and she is still willing to give this screwed-up shell of a man a chance. She just went a few rounds with Flynn—and _won_! She is watching my life being picked apart piece by piece and she is helping me put it back together again. It is a scary, painful, thrilling process and I am going to make plenty of mistakes along the way. So, yes, I would say that you _do_ need to be concerned."

I sit on the stool next to my father. "I don't know what I'm doing, Dad. All I know for now is that I love her, she loves me, and I am going to see this through—wherever it takes me. I'm going to need some help, I know it. I'm going to do some dumb things and make some stupid mistakes, but for the first time in my life, I finally feel like I can be loved. I'm working on deserving it and accepting it unconditionally, but she makes me _know_ that I can be loved. That's something that I was searching for my whole life and I never knew it, and when I thought it was about to be taken away from me, I didn't know what to do. I didn't hurt myself on purpose. I just didn't know how to cope with the feelings that I was having."

"So what did Flynn have to say about that?" Carrick asks.

"The same mumbo-jumbo...don't do it anymore; deal with adversity in a more positive way; blah, blah, blah. The most productive advice I got came from Ana and from Elliot."

"Elliot!?" Carrick almost choked on his water. "Oh, this I have to hear." I laughed at my father. Elliot's a good man, but he is known for being the Joker.

"Well, Ana basically said that we are going to get mad at each other and may even need time apart again in the future, but that we have to handle the issues more maturely than we handled this one. She has been hurt badly in a past relationship and we both have trust issues. So we are going to have to deal with them more maturely in the future. Elliot told me that I have to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop—that I'm either going to live my life waiting for catastrophe to strike, or I'm going to live my life."

Carrick let the words sit on his brain for a moment before he replied, "That's one smart son I raised there."

"Yeah, he's kind of smart. Hell, he was smart enough to stay away from a conniving pedophile." I say with disdain.

"Now, Christian, you know that you can't blame yourself for that. That woman victimized you—she took advantage of a troubled young man." He protested.

"She's still doing it, Dad." I say. His face goes pale.

"How do you know?" He asked.

"You mean besides the fact that she admitted it to me? I'm having her followed." I confess.

"Son, you know that can be dangerous." He cautions.

"For whom!?" I snap. "She doesn't scare me one bit! I don't care if she saw me standing in front of her taking pictures with my blackberry! I am concerned about the kids, though, Dad. I'm trying to gather as much information as I can to try to turn her in to the police, but the longer I wait, the longer she has her claws in this kid. And if I tip her off, she'll stop and then I won't be able to catch her. In the meantime, this poor kid is being used to gather info on her as well as being victimized himself." Carrick's eyes thin while observing me.

"You know who it is." He says.

"I know who it is _and_ was, Dad." I say, solemnly.

"What can I do, Christian?" He asks.

"Tell _me_ what to do. Tell me what you need to put her away, and I'll get it!" I answer definitively.

"Well, the first thing we would need is a complainant." He says. I shake my head.

"We both know that's going to be easier said than done. What would we need if we didn't have a complainant?"

"Pictures, video, anything that can solidly prove inappropriate behavior..." he states.

"I do have some pictures, but nothing graphic enough yet. Like I said, I'm trying to gather more evidence, but I feel kind of sick subjecting this kid to this any longer than he has to be." I run my hand through my hair.

"How old is he?" Carrick asks.

"Which one?" Rage fills Carrick's face.

"There's more than one!?" He barks. I bring him to a stark realization.

"Dad, 14 years ago, this woman started molesting me. Seventeen years ago, it could have been Elliot. I'm pretty certain that while I was with her, there was no one else. I went to college after 18, although when I got back, the relationship continued...I'm the reason she and Linc got divorced." Carrick spit his water across the breakfast bar.

"For Christ's sake, Christian! Really?" He gasps.

"Yes, Dad, really." I said, handing him a kitchen towel. "I was 21, and Linc found out about us. That's why she fought as much as she could but still ended up with next to nothing. He threatened to expose our relationship."

"And that's why you went into business with her." He said, cleaning the counter.

"Well, not really. She lent me the money to start GEH. I was just returning the favor. Her name was pretty worthless after the divorce if you remember."

"Yes, I remember." He said scratching his head again.

"Okay, so, 14 years ago, we know it was me for three years. She grooms these boys around the age of 14 or 15. So best case scenario—and I use that term lightly—she's had a different child every three years for at least the last 17 years. Yeah, I'd say there's more than one, Dad." I finish my spritzer. Carrick shakes his head in disgust.

"Who do you know of?" He asks. I lean on the breakfast bar.

"I could really use your guidance with this, Dad, but I really need you to keep this as quiet as possible."

"I understand." He says. I don't know which one to start with.

"Well, we don't have any proof on this one yet, but we're pretty certain that one of her victims was Morgan Stampwell. Jr. He's 19 now and in college, but the statute of limitation hasn't run out on him yet if it's true."

"Stampwell. Hmm. Why do you think _he_ may be one of her victims?"

"Because he's following her around, everywhere she goes. He's flunking out of college and he's stalking her like a sick puppy." I say.

"That could just mean that he's obsessed. That doesn't necessarily mean..." I interrupt him.

"That's _exactly_ what it means, Dad. He has that _look! I_ used to have that look!" My father froze.

"I'm so sorry, Christian," he says shaking his head, his voice filled with remorse. "We should have protected you better, Son. We should have been more careful..." My heart is breaking again listening to my father take responsibility for this woman's actions.

"Dad, I'm going to tell you something that a very wise woman said to my mother. If you take responsibility for the actions of this pedophile, then she wins. Her entire motive is to blame others for her actions so that she never has to take responsibility for them herself. Are you going to let her do that to you?" My father looks up at me. A single tear falling from his eye.

"No, Son." He says, his voice shaking. "I won't."

"Good, because I need you focused if we are going to take this bitch down." I smirk. He wipes away his tear.

"It's going to be hard finding anything to convict her of molesting Stampwell unless he turns her in himself. From what you say, he's pining over her, so that's not very likely." He says.

"Well, we're still working on that." I admit.

"Who are the others? He asks.

"Only one...Bob Hamstead's grandson, Shane." I say. Carrick thinks for a moment then realization dawns.

"Shane!? Is he even in high school yet?"

"Only just." I replied. "I don't know yet what all she is doing to him, but she has taken him on the patented shopping spree, and we have...pictures...of him half-naked and collared."

"Collared?" Carrick asks in disgust. I sigh.

"Do you really want to know?" I ask him skeptically.

"I have a feeling that I don't, but I might need to." He responds.

"Among consenting adults, collars can be used as either a form of humiliation or to show ownership...usually, it's the latter. The sub wears a collar that is chosen by the Dom that represents different things, but often to show that this sub belongs to someone. The are often lead around by a leash..."

"Like a dog?" Carrick asks, again disgusted.

"Exactly like a dog. Or the collar can be used as part of bondage..."

"Bondage how?" Awful curious, aren't you, Carrick.

"It can be clipped to cuffs, furniture, machinery, anything that can prevent the sub from moving or escaping." Carrick throws his hand up.

"Okay, I've heard enough." He drops his hand. "And she's doing this to a 15-year-old kid?

"Fourteen, Dad." I correct him.

"Fuck! This is really sick..." Carrick scratches his head again. "How can anybody in their right mind even remotely think this is okay?"

"Please don't try to get me to explain the dynamics of this woman's mind to you, Dear Father. I'm still in therapy." I proclaim. He waves his hand dismissively.

"I'm going to talk to Bob. See if I can get some inside information on home life with Sarah and Tyler. Maybe shed some light on how Shane fell victim to this _monster_." I consider the fact that this kid is 14 now and the utter creepiness attached to the fact that when he was born, his attacker was molesting _me_. This woman must be stopped.

"Dad, I'm giving some thought to going public with parts of my story." Carrick studies me carefully.

"May I ask why, Son?" He says leaning in. I run my hands through my hair.

"Who would look at me and think that I had been molested? It's not like it's stamped on our foreheads. I mean, would you look at Ana and believe that she has a very painful past?" It was out of my mouth before I had a chance to catch it. Shit! Well, I haven't given him any details and if he wants any, he has to get them from Butterfly. "I might be able to encourage some of these kids to come forth. I mean, we don't know how many there are, and I've located two just in the last week..."

"Well, technically, it's only one with certainty," he interjects. I put my hand on his shoulder and look him in the eye.

"Dad...with certainty...it's two." My father looks at me and gets that "I'm sorry" look in his eye. "I know, Dad." He drops his head almost in defeat. I can feel the pain and regret emanating from the only father that I have ever known as he sits at my breakfast bar. We may not have seen eye-to-eye on most things, but he is still my dad. I don't know how to handle this, so I squeeze his shoulder. With lightening speed he grabs me around my waist and crashes me in an embrace. I am displaced for only a second as my father buries his head in my chest and weeps mournfully. This is still new to me, but I put my arms around his shoulders and lay my head on his, comforting him much like my beloved Butterfly would comfort me. This gesture caused my dad to completely fall apart, his entire body going limp against me except for the arms crushing me against him as he sobs in complete anguish.

Apparently, his cries bring Butterfly and Grace from the library. I hear my mother's voice, almost inaudible, call out to the love of her life.

"Cary..." I gently raise my hand to her in a gesture to let him get this out. I can only assume that he wouldn't want her to see him in this completely broken state. Then again, maybe he would. No doubt, they have shared those broken moments between themselves that couples who have stayed together for decades often share...those moments that I pray I get to share with Butterfly.

No offense, Mom, but right now, I just want to hold my Dad...

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"John called me a little while ago. It seems you've left quite the impression on him." Grace says as she sits in one of the chairs in Christian's library. I haven't been in this room before. It's pretty cozy. I'm not a huge reader, but I could see myself snuggling down in here for some quiet time.

"Yes, well, he made an impression on me as well," I say, none too flatteringly, taking the seat next to her.

"Oh?" She says, curiously.

"Yes," I reply. "I'll save my conclusions on him for now, but I can't say that I am 100% comfortable with him." I tuck my legs underneath me.

"Well, he is a long-time friend of the family." She cautions gently. I nod.

"So was Elena." Grace's eyes widen.

"Touché," she responds. "Well, anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Helping Hands." She begins. "With everything that has happened this week, I never got the chance to discuss things with you."

"Okay," I lean in, very interested in what I can do to assist her organization.

"I know that you have your own practice and I wouldn't dream of pulling you away from your patients. But I was wondering if we could use your counseling services maybe just a few times a week or whatever you can spare. We have a couple of therapists and a psychiatrist on staff and I must warn you, John assists occasionally with more serious cases..." Hmm, some _kind_ qualities in the snake-oil salesman. "I only bring that up because there may be some times when you two will not only see each other, but may have to confer on a case."

"I don't dislike him, Grace. He just rubbed me the wrong way. I don't agree with the tactics that he employed to solicit information from me, that's all." I say. "I'm pretty straight forward in how I handle things. There is no covertness or hidden agendas in my methods. When I see that, it bothers me—it seeds a feeling of distrust."

"If necessary, would you be able to work with him?" She asked.

"Well, ultimately, it's not about me. It's about the families that need our help. I could work with him just fine as long as he doesn't do anything unethical. I may not be keen on how he handles another doctor, but I haven't noted anything dishonest or unethical about him. So I would say yes, I could work with him." I say. She sighs and smiles.

"Good. Now I can confess." She says, and I look at her strangely. "I sent him here this morning to check on Christian and see where his mind was, how he was doing, you know—what Moms need to know." I nod. "I also wanted to get his take on you."

"Me?" I question.

"Well, yes, Dear. Christian has never brought a girl home and then when he does, we all basically fall apart in front of you and you have to hold us together. I already knew you were a remarkable woman when you were able to break through Christian's defenses, but then the events of the weekend..." She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "At the risk of sounding a bit starstruck..." _Starstruck!?_ "I was your biggest cheerleader almost from the moment we met. I remembered the Murphys and how they went on and on about your helping them. Well, you already had my vote. But I needed an impartial party—preferably a professional—so I sent John." Well, that kind of explains his line of questioning and why he was trying to get into my head.

"I'm not quite sure what to say about that, but hey...I guess all's well that ends well." I shrug. She laughs a bit.

"Elliot told me that he was seeing you, too." She says cautiously. I look up her.

"He did?" I ask. I can't give her any information.

"Yes, he did. It's curious that he didn't go to John instead since he's so close to the family...but then again, maybe that's the problem." She shakes her head again.

"One of the benefits of therapy is often the anonymity," I tell her. "Most of the time, you need an objective stranger."

"True," she says and I can see the strain in her face.

"With everything that your family has been through over the last week, I would suggest that each of you seek some kind of therapy—even if it's only one or two sessions. Just _one_ of the events you have endured would be enough to justify talking to someone...you've had _several._"

"Aint that the truth!" Grace says, partially playful and partially exasperated. She looks up at me.

"It doesn't have to be me if you don't want because I am very close to the situation, but honestly, it shouldn't be Flynn either. He's even closer than I am. Remember—objectiveness and anonymity." She smiles at me.

"Yes, I am certain that you are the right person to help our families." She says with conviction. I smile back.

"Please tell me what I can do."

We sit for a while and discuss the services that the organization needs. Some of the services will be very structured—one-on-one counseling sessions with battered women and abused children both on location and at my office, recommendations for treatment, housing services, public assistance and programs. Other services will be more of a classroom or group setting—much like what I was doing at CCFW. We agreed that the best way to get the most out of my services was for the organization to pay me a fee based on part-time therapy services with the understanding that I would be allowed to volunteer additional services whenever I saw the need. I could live with that considering that I would have donated my services to this cause anyway, but Grace assures me that this will guarantee that the center and organization secures the best services possible—not that she had any doubt that I would give my best. Again, _this_ is why I got my education in the first place. I am so thrilled to finally be doing what I wanted to do all along. I can't wait to share the news with Christian and Al.

We are still working out the details of what is going to be happening with Helping Hands when I hear the distinct sounds of weeping—wrenching, painful, soulful weeping. What in the world is going on now!? Grace and I rush from the library to see what's happening. We find Carrick grasping onto Christian, nearly falling out of one of the stools at the breakfast bar. Grace's hand flies to her mouth as she whimpers, "Cary." Her body starts to shake as Christian gestures for us to stay where we are. I wrap my arms around her and she clutches my arm with her free hand as she watches her husband's body wracked with sobs.

"What could it be?" She says, softly, tears streaming unhindered down her cheeks.

"I don't know." I reply just as softly, watching Christian comfort his distressed father. I don't know how long we stand there while Christian just holds Carrick until it appears that he is all cried out. It was like his well was full and had to be emptied—and it emptied all over Christian. Grace and I tentatively descended the stairs and approached our men.

"Okay, Dad?" Christian said, his voice sounding more like a teenage boy than that of a powerful 29-year-old CEO and billionaire. Carrick looks up at him and nods weakly. We approach them cautiously and Grace calls out to her love.

"Cary? Darling?" She says, softly. He turns his tortured face to his wife, then stands and walks over to her. He pulls her to him and clutches her with such passion that it took _my _breath away. I look over at Christian who only looks at his parents, his expression calm but unreadable.

"I love you, Grace," Carrick says to his wife.

"I love you, too, Cary." She breathes.

Christian walks around his parents and takes my hand without a word. I want to ask him what happened so badly. Why has Carrick been reduced to a mountain of tears? Is someone hurt? Are Mia and Elliot okay? He starts to squeeze my hand and I have to take his with both of mine to let him know that his grip is becoming very powerful. He releases my hand and runs his hands through his hair before putting his arm around my waist.

"I'm fine, now." Carrick says, releasing his wife and gently touching her cheek. "I'm okay." He looks up at his son who only nods at his father. "I'll get on that matter we discussed immediately, Christian. You have my full 100% support."

"Thanks, Dad." Christian smiles weakly.

"I'd like to go home now, Darling." Carrick says to his wife and she silently nods her agreement. He walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. "Ana." He says with a smile. I clutch his arm.

"Carrick." I look at him, my eyes full of concern. His eyes tell me a story—full of many emotions, but one of them is clearly relief. I don't know what happened between this father and son while Grace and I were tucked safely away in the library, but he has released a huge burden of some sort and now most likely needs a stiff drink, some rest, and the comfort of his wife. I smile at him, and he kisses me again. "I'm so glad you are a part of our lives, Lovely Girl."

"Thank you, Carrick. So am I." Don't cry, Steele. Don't you _dare_ cry!

He turns back to his wife who is still a bit confused but no doubt happy that her husband has pulled himself together. I nod at her and smile to follow her husband. "We'll talk later in the week." I say to her. She nods and follows Carrick out the door.

I turn to Christian when they leave, a little uncertain how to approach him since I don't know what happened. He's watching the door that his parents just closed, his face a little too impassive for my liking. I touch his arm gently.

_Please tell me what's going on_, I will him.

"I have never seen my father like that. Never. _Ever_. Even when _his_ father died, he didn't fall apart like that. What's happening to my family, Ana? I'm ripping them apart at the seams." A single tear falls down his cheek. I gently wipe it away with my fingertips and take his face in my hands.

"You guys are breaking down all of the barriers and the lies that composed your lives to this point so that you can rebuild true relationships based on love, trust, and understanding. It's going to be brutal, painful and difficult...but _so_ worth it in the end." He looks down at me, desperation in his eyes.

"You'll be there with me, right? You won't leave me..." he begs.

"I won't leave you." I say, tiptoeing to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. "I'll never leave you..." He gathers me in his arms, holding me so tight that my feet dangle in the air.

"Then I can do it." He says, weakly, his face buried in my hair.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Okay, BIG, SOPPING, WET, JUICY LIP-PUCKERING LEMON IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! I promise!**_

_**I'd like to know what you guys think of Flynn and his tactic with Ana. I have had my fair share of experience with "head doctors" in the past (of all varieties), and the one that stands out most to me is the one that kept pinpointing a particular problem where there was none to the degree that the problem eventually manifested itself in my life. Her theory was that it was there all the time and that I was in denial. I know for certain that this was not true...even years later, I am certain. She planted a seed, she kept watering it, and the tree grew! This is why it was easy for me to illuminate Flynn's ability to do this to Christian. Hence, the reference to introducing unfounded "what ifs" into the minds of a patient under your care. I know the real answer, but what do you think - is Flynn the expensive charlatan that doesn't want to lose his largest meal ticket to a happy and healthy emotional and mental state OR is he just concerned about Christian and doesn't want to see his patient victimized, yet again, by another opportunistic woman?**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!**_  
_**Lynn x**_


	36. Chapter 36: More Reckoning

_**So, I got a lot of likes for human Taylor. How did we like human Carrick? Pretty shocking, huh? I'd like to believe that parental instincts are the strongest instincts of any of our human instincts second only to survival, even for those of us who aren't parents. I really wanted to bring out how a father might feel had he been in Carrick's position - especially since the father is often looked upon as the family protector.**_

_**It seems as though I have truly cast a shadow of doubt on dear Dr. Flynn. Some of you received PM's where I was tallying what we thought about John's motives. Most of you felt that he was sincere and really cared about Christian. Not as many felt like he was in it for the money or had ulterior motives. What surprised me was how many people were **_**undecided**_**. And that's a good thing. Always question everything! Never let anyone pull the wool over your eyes. We will just have to wait and see if John is a good guy or a bad guy, won't we? FYI - I'm undecided, too. ;-) **_

_**As usual, thanks to all of my guest reviewers for dropping me a line. And thanks to my reviewers that I could not PM - Beachycolor (Girl, SOME shrinks are fucking clueless!), Carol, Celestial star12 (I sawwy I make you cwy!), Chocolate (I would have to hide out in a corner and not see anybody if I couldn't talk!), Christian618, CG Girl, CM, Ellie, Gwen, Jaimini (I got hungry writing it), Lilian, Michelle B, Rachel/Boston (good observation!), Rauguste, Tempress, Teresaromance (thank you for making time for PDS :-) ), and Tj.**_

_********__________**I do not own Fifty** Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too________._

_Chapter 36—More Reckoning_

**GREY**

If you've had a well-rounded primary and secondary school education, you have at some point heard of the twelve labors of Hercules. If you have not, here's a crash course.

According to Greek mythology, strong man Hercules killed his children in a fit madness and was sentenced to serve his archenemy Eurystheus for ten years. During this time, Eurystheus set twelve unearthly tasks for Hercules to perform. The most difficult of these tasks was to capture Cerberus and bring him to Eurystheus.

Who's Cerberus? I'm glad you asked (stay with me now).

Cerberus is the ungodly huge beast that guards the gates to the Underworld to prevent souls from escaping that have manage to make it across the river Styx. It's a hell-hound that belongs to Hades with red and black fur, glowing eyes that change color at will, and three heads - and if you're _really_ unlucky, one of those heads just might talk to you. Having found a way in and out of the Underworld without being condemned to stay there for eternity, Hercules asked Hades if he could take Cerberus to the surface as completion of his twelfth task. Hades agreed on the condition that Hercules could defeat Cerberus in a fight...without using any weapons.

I would have gladly taken on this impossible task as well as Hercules' other 11 tasks if I could have averted the special ass-ripping that Grace had saved for me. I would have endured 50 scorned women to avoid the wrath of my mother. I thought I had gotten away with it. I somehow thought the episode with Carrick yesterday had expunged me of the imminent reaming my mother had saved for me.

I should have known something was amiss when she asked me to meet her in her office at the hospital. She was sure to have lunch delivered so that I would not miss a meal in the midst of my chastisement. She made me bite and chew the delicious Italian submarine on French bread, reminding me with each bite that "This is how you eat!" Letting me know that all human beings require this particular activity to live and that most of them learn how to do it on their own when they are toddlers. The fact that I have roamed this earth for nearly three decades insinuates that I should have mastered this particular skill by now. However, if I need _Mommy_ to come and feed me daily, she will do so at lunchtime in the lobby of GEH, complete with a bottle and a bib!

She was merciless! Her sarcasm knew no bounds, and no amount of nodding and "Okay, Mom" was going to release me from this sermon. I ate every crumb of that sub, _and_ a fruit salad, _and_ a bottle of water while she continued to berate me for being the most inconsiderate son, brother, boyfriend, and employer _ever_ for causing all of these people to worry about me so badly. She told me about Butterfly's conscious blackout, which I didn't know. She informed me of Gail and Taylor concern and support as well as the fact that after _she_ had gone home after her shift, _she_ had to come back to the city to find her son emaciated and unconscious, his body feeding on itself.

Now, I really feel like shit.

I sat in my mom's office for a whole hour while she fed me, cried, eviscerated me, hugged me, and then proceeded to make me sign a contract stating that if I ever did anything this stupid again that I would be required to volunteer at the soup kitchen for a minimum of twenty hours of community service per month for three months to be served for at least five hours per week spread over at least two days each week. She wouldn't let me apologize. She said her piece and politely kicked me the hell out of her office. I would have done _anything _to avoid that conversation. To say that I was thoroughly chastised, berated, disciplined, and verbally skelped would be a massive understatement. I was only too happy to return to the brutal, vicious, cut-throat world of mergers and acquisitions when my mother had finished with me.

Taylor has sent Lawrence and Williams ahead to Green Valley to tail Cody Whitmore and Stephen Morton so that I don't walk into any surprises. Welch is busy gathering information on the Pedophile so that I can hopefully get young Mr. Hamstead out of her clutches sooner rather than later. I have teams of people gathering information on possible members of the mob that attacked Butterfly. With all of this in motion and having to run a multi-billion-dollar company, there's still only one thing that keeps popping to the forefront of my mind...

How do I tell Butterfly that I am going to Green Valley in three days?

I can't tell her the true reason for my trip—after I already told her that I wouldn't pursue this matter. I hate lying to her, but I have to. I have to get to the bottom of what happened to her. This thing keeps me up at night sometimes—knowing that, unlike my situation, the people that did this to her are in arm's reach and no one has been brought to justice. The deeper I dig, the more I smell a conspiracy of mammoth proportions, and there is no way in hell that I am going to sit around and let Butterfly carry this alone with no hope of justice for her suffering. I just hope that when it's all said and done, she will understand why I have to do this.

I have had my final session with Carlisle and now, hopefully, the city of Seattle and the State of Washington will leave me the hell alone for exacting revenge on that drunk driver. I have calmed down significantly since I met Butterfly, but now I'm going to have to tap into that angry mother fucker to deal with these Green Valley assholes, particularly with these arrogant ass Whitmores. I wonder if people see me the same way that I see this self-important prick? I don't doubt it one bit—the only difference is that I'm about to knock a few pegs off this asshole and there is no one in the world that can do that to me...

Except Butterfly.

When I get back to Escala, she is in the library looking over her schedule for the week. Apparently, she and my mother are working together to fit some of the clients from Helping Hands into her week for some counseling sessions. Butterfly is very excited to be working with the families there and has set up a make-shift office in the library to help organize her days when she is here. I haven't told her that I have ordered an oak desk and filing cabinet to be delivered for her on Thursday. I love having her here with me. I would love to have her move in, but I wouldn't want her to have to give up her condo—not that she ever would. I don't mind shuttling between both places for now. I was pleasantly surprised last night when she made the cutest little presentation to me:

"_It's not as dramatic or romantic as your presentation, but I would like for you to accept the key to my condo." She had said sweetly as she handed me a key on a handcuff keyring. I know this was a big step for her since the last person besides Al to have that kind of access to her home was that fucker David. _

"_Butterfly—thank you! This means so much to me." I replied, proudly accepting the key to her home and immediately attaching it to my keyring. _

To be honest, I don't think I have _ever_ had the key to anyone else's home but my own. This is a big step for us. I truly hope that I don't fuck it up—in light of what I am about to do later this week. I know that one of the Whitmores is directly responsible for what happened to Butterfly. I don't know what role they played but I'm pretty certain that one of the males may have been her rapist. I can't just come out and ask her, but I have to know if I am at least on the right track.

I launched an impromptu mini-attack on her in her "office" before dinner. I didn't mean to—hence the "impromptu" part—but the sound of her voice indicated that she may have needed a little satisfaction. I only gave her a little taste of what I hoped the evening would hold...beyond the unfortunate dinner conversation...

"Well, I'm going on my first business trip during our relationship, Butterfly." I tell her during dinner on Monday night. Her face falls when I make the announcement.

"When?" She says, her voice sounding akin to an abandoned puppy. Oh, Baby, I wish I could tell you everything.

"Wednesday. I have to go to Vegas, but only for a few days." I try to pretend not to see her stiffen.

"Why do you need to go to Vegas?" Her tone has changed. There is a tone of abhorrence present.

"Have you ever heard of K&R coverage?" I ask.

"No, I can't say that I have." She responds.

"It's kidnap & ransom insurance." Her eyes crinkle. "I have companies in volatile parts of the world. The executives of these companies are often in danger of being taken for ransom—myself included. K&R replaces losses incurred involving kidnapping."

"So if you are kidnapped, and GEH has to pay a ransom for you, K&R pays it back." She concludes.

"Exactly."

"So what does this have to do with Vegas?" She asks.

"There's a company down there that wants to acquire our policy. I want to get a good look at them and see what they have to offer." I can see the skepticism in her eyes.

"So why do you have to go for _a few days_? Surely it doesn't take that long to decide if you want to change insurance companies or not." She says.

"Baby, this is not like buying car insurance where you pick your coverage, get your rate, sign your policy, shake hands and walk off into the sunset. I've already started my background checks on the upper level executives. They are going to know a lot about me and my companies if I choose to use them—more than my attorneys. I have to check them out personally, see how legit they are. I need to meet with their officers, and we're not just talking about shaking hands and taking a tour of the facility. There's a lot involved in this kind of decision. I have to make sure that this is not some mom-and-pop operation that I'm dealing with." I try to make the process sound as complicated as possible to justify being in her dreaded stomping grounds for three days. She is dripping with apprehension as she picks at her food.

"It's seems like a bit much that you have to go all the way to Vegas for this. Don't they have a satellite office here that you could deal with?" She asks.

"Yes, they do. But this needs to be a face-to-face transaction. It is just that important." I say impassively. She frowns and drops her head, still picking at her food.

"What is it, Butterfly?" I know exactly what it is. I just can't let on right now that I know. I am very close to getting some information on who put her through that terrible trauma she had to endure, but there is only so much that you can do by telephone. Some things have to be handled face to face.

"It's nothing." She lies. "I just hate you having to leave, much less having to go _there_." She says the last word with pure disdain. "I won't be a child about it, though. I know that who you are requires you to travel to handle your business sometimes, so I'll put on my big girl panties and suck it up." She says with a smile.

"Big girl panties?" I say seductively. "Do I get to take them off after you've worn them?"

"Christian." She says, playfully scolding me. "I guess I walked into that one, huh?"

"Right in." I laugh, taking another bite of my chicken. Well, we've gotten past the hard part—telling her that I was going and when. Now, I have to do something that I _really_ don't want to do, but I have to if I'm going to get any answers. "I'm meeting with the company's executive manager on Wednesday. He comes highly recommended—some guy named Whitmore."

And here it comes.

Butterfly's fork freezes in midair as I can see the emotions fly across her face at warp speed—surprise, anger, fear, sadness, disgust, pain, confusion, angst, terror. For a moment, I thought she was going to swoon. I hate to do this to her, but I have to keep going.

"I've spoken to him over the phone once or twice. All the guy ever talks about are his kids. I understand pride, but this guy can really get on your nerves." I watch her out of the corner of my eye while pretending to continue enjoying my meal. Watching her reactions is making this delicious chicken taste like pure sawdust. I'm so sorry, Butterfly, but you'll see. It will be all for the best in the end.

"How old are his children?" She says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"They're all adults. Two boys and a girl, I think." No use in wasting time. Go right in for the kill. "His oldest is a sportscaster somewhere...Texas, he said. I think his name is Brandon or Landon." No reaction. Okay, here we go. "He's priming his younger son to take over the business. The kid doesn't seem too much to be proud of as far as I can tell, but Whitmore seems to think so. His name is...Cody! That's his name!" I say like I've made some grand discovery.

That did it.

All of the color leaves Butterfly's face and she starts to hyperventilate right in front of me. I jump from the stool and step over to her.

"Baby! Baby, what's wrong? Tell me, what's wrong?" She can't speak. She is starting to sweat, and not in that good way to which I have become accustomed. I pick her up from the stool and carry her to our bed. I lay her down and retrieve a cool washcloth from the en suite.

"Breathe, Baby. Come on, breath with me." I mimic slow breathing while I gently wipe her face with the cool rag. It takes a few moments, but she starts to calm down and breath more regularly. Just when I think she's about to come back to normal, she dashes to the bathroom and I hear the familiar wrenching sounds of vomiting.

Nice going, Grey. Are you happy now? Could there possibly be a _reason_ why she wants you to leave this shit alone? You know there is, that's why you won't tell her the truth about your trip.

I go to the bathroom and hold her hair back out of the way. She has vomited to the point of dry heaves. I give her a glass of water to rinse out her mouth. She has completely exhausted herself. She gladly succumbs to my arms as I carry her back to the bed.

"Baby what is it? Please tell me." I plead. Tell me not to go, Butterfly and I won't go.

"I'm sorry, Christian," she says in a soft, strained voice. "I'm just not feeling very well. Just let me lie here for a moment. I'm sure it will pass."

"Okay, Baby," I say, kissing her forehead. "I'll go get you some soda water and a few crackers to help settle your stomach."

Damn straight, it'll pass. It'll pass when I make this mother fucker pay dearly for what he did to you.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"So I'll be at the center on Thursday afternoon to meet with the new families and we'll go from there." I say to Grace as we discuss the plans to handle the counseling schedule for Helping Hands. We say our goodbyes and I hear Christian walking through the penthouse. I've become comfortable in the short time I've been here—maybe _too_ comfortable. I like that we are so close even in this large, luxurious space. I am about to close my laptop in the commandeered office space I have made out of his library when he peeks his head in the door.

"Hey," he says in that deep, sexy honey-toned voice of his.

"Hey. How was your day?" I ask, closing my laptop.

"Long and tedious." He says entering the library. "How about yours?"

"Not so tedious," I said rising from the seat. "I just hung up from Grace. I'll be meeting some families on Thursday to evaluate their needs from the center." He pulls me into his arms.

"Do you know that you are good for everyone that meets you?" He says, gently nibbling on my neck. Oh, Mr. Grey...

"Well, maybe not _everyone_," I say breathy as a certain flaxen blonde pedophile briefly comes to mind.

"Then they don't count." He says as his lips travel up my neck, around my jaw, and to my lips. He moans into my mouth as his lips mold to mine and his tongue caresses my tongue. His hands are splayed possessively across my back pressing me firmly into him, my arms trapped between our bodies. I am reminded of our first kiss, in his office at GEH, how he made my knees go weak and my body ready to combust—much like right now. As if he could feel me melting in his touch, he gently pulls away, breaking the kiss.

"You are incredible, Baby." He breathes in my ear.

"You know, the last time you kissed me like that, I masturbated for the rest of the day." He looks at me with amused curiosity.

"And when was this?" He asked, not even attempting to hide his mirth.

"Our first kiss...at GEH..." I say, dreamily closing and reopening my eyes.

"Mmm..." he says, deliciously kissing me once more. "Well, I didn't masturbate, but you certainly kept me awake that night." He grabs my ass and pushes me against his semi-hard erection.

"Ah." I gasp as his member tortures me through our clothes. "Christian..." He's had release in the past couple of days. I've been pent up since _way_ before my period started, and now since the bleeding has ended, I am more than ready for action.

"What is it, Baby?" He teases as he continues to dry-hump me, holding my ass tightly in both of his large hands so that my legs are slightly open and my feet are dangling just above the floor. "Were you saying something?" He taunts as the burning in my core increases with the delicious friction.

"Ah...ah..." I gasp again. "Christian...ah..." It only takes a few moments for me to detonate under his undulations. I bury my face in his chest to stifle my passionate moans. We are on the second floor, but the library door is open and Gail is finishing dinner in the kitchen.

"Look at me!" He growls as he rubs my orgasm out of me. I throw my head back and gaze into his eyes, his pupils dilated almost completely to black. "That's it, Baby. Give it all to me." He commands. I breathe through the remaining waves of pleasure so as not to alert the whole apartment to what we are doing. When the final shockwaves have pulsed through me, I close my eyes and take a deep breath to compose myself. Christian lifts me higher, his arms now wrapped tightly around me, so that we are face-to-face.

"You are so beautiful when you come," he breathes, his lips brushing against mine.

"Oh, Christian, what you _do_ to me," I say, weakly.

"I know, Baby," he says, his lips on my cheek, my neck... "It's the same thing you do to me..."

* * *

I am basically walking on air as I tell Christian about Grace and my plans for Helping Hands during dinner. I'm thrilled that I am finally going to be doing what I want to do with the ridiculously expensive degree that has me swamped in 10 years of student loan repayments. My victory is very short-lived as the conversation turns toward an impending business trip Christian has to take. I knew this day would come and I would just have to power through being without him for a few days. However, I had no idea that the worst was yet to come.

He has to go to Vegas! Fucking Vegas!

"Why do you need to go to Vegas?" The idea of him anywhere near that abysmal place makes me physically ill. He says something about having to investigate an insurance company for some special high level coverage that his company requires.

"Baby, this is not like buying car insurance where you pick your coverage, get your rate, sign your policy, shake hands and walk off into the sunset. I've already started my background checks on the upper level executives. They are going to know a lot about me and my companies if I choose to use them—more than my attorneys. I have to check them out personally, see how legit they are..." I have to admit that I am zoning out a bit. It's not bad enough that he's going to be gone for a few days, but he's going to be in _that fucking place_—the real _Death Valley_ as far as I'm concerned.

I can't dictate what this man does with his company. He was doing fine before I got here. Hell, he's a billionaire; he must know what he's doing. Get a grip, Steele!

"I just hate you having to leave, much less having to go _there_." I admit, distastefully. "I won't be a child about it, though. I know that who you are requires you to travel to handle your business sometimes, so I'll put on my big girl panties and suck it up." I mean, seriously, what's the likelihood that he will run into Carla or Stephen...or worse yet, Cody? Slim to none...right?

Wrong!

He begins talking about the man he has to meet, and whose name flies out of his mouth somewhere in the course of this conversation but none other than Cody fucking Whitmore?

Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuckeroo! Fuckity fuck! Fuckerific! Fuck it to all hell. Fuckity fuck! Fuck me and fuck my life!

I don't know what happens next. All I know is that I'm in Christian's bed now and I taste dinner in the back of my throat on it's way out. I make it to the toilet just in time to pray to the porcelain god.

This cannot be happening. This fucking cannot be happening. I fucking thought I would fucking never have to fucking hear about this fucking guy in my fucking life ever a-fucking-gain!

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck the world!

Fuck!

My stomach is wrenching violently at the mere mention of his name—the thought of his corruptness being in the same room...the same _city_...breathing the same fucking _air_ as my precious Christian! He can't do business with Cody Whitmore. He just can't!

_You have to tell him!_  
I can't tell him! He'll kill that man.  
_Since when do you care what happens to Cody fucking Whitmore?_  
I don't! But if something happens to Christian, I'll die.

My stomach was empty quite some time ago but has continued with the violent wrenching for a while trying to rid my body and mind of all remnants of the vile and wretched Cody Whitmore. Christian helps to clean me up then carries me back to bed.

"Baby what is it? Please tell me." His eyes are pleading with me. Suck it up, Steele. The man you love will surely end up in jail if you give him the slightest inkling that he is walking right into the den of the fucker that almost cost you your life.

"I'm sorry, Christian, I'm just not feeling very well." I lie. "Just let me lie here for a moment. I'm sure it will pass." His face falls. An unknown emotion hides behind his eyes. If I didn't know better, I would swear it was..._disappointment_. He kisses me on the forehead.

"Okay, Baby. I'll go get you some soda water and a few crackers to help settle your stomach."

When I see him clear the bedroom door, I break down in tears. I can't _believe_ he's going to Vegas. Fucking Vegas! And somewhere during that time, he's going to be in the den of Whitmore! This is my worst nightmare come true—well, maybe not my worst nightmare. Underneath the rape, the beating, and being forced to return to Green Valley, my worst nightmare would have been having to raise that bastard's child—again, no offense to the child. I have to pull myself together. I can't let Christian see me like this. He'll certainly know that it's more than an upset stomach...

_You really need to tell him! What if he goes into business with this man and later finds out that this is the man that raped you?_  
What if I tell him and he flies to Green Valley and kills this man on sight?

The battle continues in my head and I make the painful decision that I can tolerate Christian doing business with this snake if it means that I can keep him out of jail and in my arms. Hell, _I _never have to see him, and as long as he does what he needs to do for Christian, that's fine by me.

Well, not _fine_ by me...but _I _never have to see him...

* * *

_**GREY**_

She doesn't think I can hear her, but Butterfly is weeping mournfully in our bedroom. It is ripping my heart out of my chest to hear her crying like this and I am truly reconsidering digging into this matter any further.

But with everything I have found out so far—I can't turn back now. This goes so deep that people literally _run_ when I talk about it. That's more than just urban legend... Taylor comes out of his office and joins me in the kitchen.

"Is she alright?" He says, hearing Butterfly sobbing in the bedroom. I shake my head.

"I told her about the trip to Vegas." I confess.

"You told her _why_ we're going?" He asks. I shake my head again. He sighs.

"Cody is the one that raped her." I state. He straightens up.

"She told you that, Sir?" He asks. I point towards the bedroom.

"That reaction? All I did was say his _name_!" I inform him. "She got a little nervous when I mentioned Whitmore. No reaction at all to Landon. As soon as I said _Cody_, she damn near passed out and she regurgitated her entire dinner. That's the bastard that raped her, I'm sure of it, Taylor." He folds his arms.

"Does this change our plan of action, Sir?" He asks. "Do we still want to pursue this considering her reaction to the news?" I run my hand through my hair.

"I thought about that, but with everything we have discovered so far, I can't turn back now. And _that_ reaction...that just makes me want to get to the bottom of this even more." I pour soda water into a glass and put a few crackers on a small plate. "I don't ever want her to cry over this again. I don't want some random background check that could be triggered by applying for a home loan to catapult her into nightmares and .44 Magnum-Land. I don't want her to have to wonder if the fucker she dated in college was roommates with one of the bastards that tried to kill her when she was 15. And I don't want her to worry about if her children may have to suffer anything close to what she did because these fuckers never paid for what they did to her. No, Taylor, we do _not_ change our plan of action and we most certainly _do_ still want to pursue this...now more than ever."

I re-enter our bedroom and Butterfly has fallen into a fitful slumber. I gently remove her shoes and pull the duvet over her. I leave the soda water and crackers in case she wakes and I go to my study, leaving the door open so that I can hear her if she calls.

I open my laptop to the folder on my desktop labeled "Third Quarter Projections." In that folder, I click on the folder labeled "Probabilities." In that folder, I click on the folder labeled "Information." And finally, in that folder, I click on the folder labeled "PFB" for "Project Free Butterfly." Here are all of the background checks, pictures, police reports, statements, financial information—anything that I have gathered about the Green Valley situation such as it is. This folder is directly linked on the network so that Welch can update it as needed and I can have up to the minute information about the situation from anywhere in the world. I have a similar folder with information on the network labeled "PDP" for "Project Destroy Pedophile" which is also accumulating impressive amounts of information. Right now, I have to focus on Butterfly.

Williams has provided information about Morton that suggests that he very well may be an alcoholic. He spends most of his time and any money he can get his hands on in local bars—sidestreet dives and watering holes. His license has been suspended and he has had so many DUI's, I'm surprised that he's still a free man. Hell, he lives in Green Valley. The cops there clearly don't know how to do their jobs.

Speaking of cops, I need to speak with the officer that responded to the scene—George Sullivan. I'm no crime scene investigator, but I'd just like to know who called it in and were the proper precautions taken when they were handling the evidence. It is completely beyond me how a mob of people could do something like this and not one person is charged...not _one_. I don't know what Sullivan's shift is at the Henderson Police department, so I decide to give him call.

"_Henderson Police Department, Officer Chandler." _

"Hello, may I speak to George Sullivan please?"

"_I'm sorry, Officer Sullivan is not here. Is this an emergency or is this something I can help you with?"_ Chandler asks politely.

"No, Ma'am, thank you. I really need to speak to Officer Sullivan. It's concerning a case that he worked a few years back."

"_Is it a pending investigation?" _She asked.

"No, Ma'am. I think it's a cold case. I may be able to provide some new evidence, but I would really like to talk to Officer Sullivan." I lie. "When do you expect him back?"

"_He's actually gone for the day. He'll be back at 10:00am tomorrow. May I ask which case it's concerning." _Hmmm...hell, why not.

"Anastasia Steele." I say and wait for a reaction. I can hear her talking to someone in the background and saying Ana's name.

"_What's that case like 7, 8 years old?" _She asks someone in the station.

"Eleven." I correct her. She clears her throat.

"_I'm sorry. I was hoping that I could maybe help you with it, but unfortunately it's a bit before my time," _she admits. _"Would you like to leave a message for Officer Sullivan or do you want to call him back in the morning?" _

"I'll call him back, Officer Chandler, no message. Thank you so much for the information."

"_You're welcome, Sir. You have a good night." _Chandler says before hanging up the phone. I'll have to track Sullivan down in the morning.

Welch has also forwarded Lawrence's reports on Cody Whitmore's comings and going. Twenty-seven-year-old philanderer doing absolutely nothing with his life. That has to make Daddy proud. He has women in different areas of southern Nevada and rarely finds himself at the desk that Daddy provides at the corporate offices. I will need up-to-the-minute intel on this guy to catch up with him since he has absolutely _no_ regular schedule. I'm a little curious what that says about you that an alcoholic has a regular schedule and you don't...

I fire off an email to Andrea which she will see first thing in the morning to set up a dinner with Cynthia Crestwood on Thursday. Crestwood's information indicates that she is passionate about children, which is probably why she chose to work for the school district. I will see if I can use Helping Hands as an edge to talk to her. I close my laptop and turn off the light in my study. I need to check on Butterfly now.

When I step into our bedroom, Butterfly is just waking up. She impatiently kicks the duvet off of her. "Hey, hey," I say coming into the room. She raises her head to look at me sluggishly.

"Christian," she says, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

"About 8:00." I say pushing her hair out of her face. "Are you feeling any better? How's your stomach?" She puts her hand on her stomach.

"Better, I think." She says softly. "I'm wound so tight and...I just hate that you're leaving town so soon..." I can tell that she is getting upset again. "I just need to relax. I'll be fine."

"Do you want to try to eat something?" I ask, sitting on the bed next to her, "Or would you rather not?"

"I think I'd rather not," she replies weakly. I stroke her hair. I know my intentions are pure. I know that once we can lay this thing to rest...or even partially to rest...Butterfly will feel much better. She will have _some_ form of restitution..._some_ form of justice for her suffering. I wish I could just kill that fucker! However, I know that will cause more problems than it would solve. Instead, I give her one more opportunity for relief...one more chance to confirm that I am doing the right thing...

"I love you, Butterfly. If you prefer that I don't go, I won't go..."

* * *

_**STEELE**_

He won't go. If I tell him not to go, he won't go.

He deferred to me and my judgment when it came to doing business with She-Thing...but his decision was an educated and informed decision. I gave him all the information, he weighed his options and made his decision. He doesn't have all of the information this time. I have conveniently left out one crucial piece that could very easily—_would_ very easily—affect his decision. I simply can't put him in that position. I love him and I know he loves me, and if I tell him that Cody Whitmore is the man that raped me, the man that lied on me and orchestrated an attack on me with his bratty, bitchy, snobby-ass girlfriend Carly Madison and a group of brats, snobs, and bitches that nearly cost me my life and did cost the life of an innocent child, there will surely be body parts of one Cody Whitmore spread across the United States if not the world by sunrise. And he wouldn't let Taylor do it...he'd do it himself.

I can't. I can't do that to Christian. I'll bear this burden myself.

"You are a sweet and wonderful man." I say, reaching up to stroke his cheek."I promise, I'll be fine. You take care of your business, Christian. I'll be okay." I say with a sincere smile. He pulls me violently into his arms, snatching the air out of me as he crushes me to his body.

"I love you so much," he says into my hair. "I would do anything for you..." Yes, Christian, I know. That's why I can't tell you about Cody.

"And I would do anything for you, Baby." I say, returning his embrace. He sits there holding me. I feel the possessiveness in his grasp. It's powerful...frightening...almost weakening. My soul is whimpering..._yes, Christian, I belong to you_...

"Bath." He says, his voice deep, nearly growling sensually in my ear.

"Yes." I say, just above a whisper. He slowly releases me, as if I would fall apart if he moved too quickly.

"Stay." He commands as he moves to the en suite. I hear the water running as the smell of lemongrass fills the room. The aroma therapy is already doing wonders to sooth my soul. I hold my head back and close my eyes, deeply breathing the delicious scent and determined to rid my mind of all thing _Cody Whitmore. _The smell of the lemongrass massages my senses as I raise my head and begin to remove the hairpins holding my chignon together.

"Don't move a muscle," his honey voice floats across the room towards me as he stands there in nothing but his trousers, having removed his shirt, t-shirt, shoes, and socks. His chest is subtly rising and falling with his breathing and I can't help but think how much I want to run my tongue through the light dusting of reddish-brown hair there.

My lips part involuntarily betraying my arousal. He responds only by moving slowly over to me and standing in front of me, looking down upon me like he is the King and I am one of his faithful servants...which is pretty much how I feel right now. I am frozen to this spot, my hands pressed against the bed and my arms holding me up, lest I collapse on the floor into a useless, horny mound of flesh. He slowly removes the pins from hair and gently massages my scalp until the brown locks cascade in careless curls down my back. He gently removes my jewelry—earrings, necklace, and bracelet—and sets them on the nightstand. He is moving slowly and meticulously, and I am mesmerized—watching his eyes as they watch me, his hands as they touch me, his legs and arms as they move his body into different positions to perform his tasks.

He is remarkably, deliciously exquisite in everything that he does. His body is a masterpiece and he has spent every conscious moment of his adult life perfecting every single thing he does. I am helpless, defenseless against him...completely at his mercy...I would do anything to satisfy him, to make him happy...

But right now, he seems bent on _my_ comfort.

He holds out his hands to me, beckoning for mine and I oblige, of course. He pulls me to my feet and reaches his arms around me to unzip my dress. He pulls the sleeves off my arms and the dress falls to the floor. He takes my hand to help me step out of the dress, which he picks up from the floor and lays it across the chair. He reaches around me again and unhooks my bra. His fingertips gently caress my shoulders as he slides the straps away and down my arms. My breath catches in my throat. A small whimper escapes and my nipples harden and protrude as his lips replace his fingertips on my shoulders.

I close my eyes, still unable to move unless he tells me or directs me where I should go. Oh, his lips are so soft, so skillful as his hands travel down my body. He very slowly descends to his knees in front of me, his hands on my hips...his gray eyes staring salaciously up at my blues through long, dark eyelashes...his shorter flopsy unkempt hair calling to my fingers...

Oh doux Jésus aide moi, je vais mourir!

His fingers delicately move to my stockings and release each of the belts holding them up. I nearly expire as he slowly glides them down each of my legs and gently remove them from my feet, placing them in the chair with my dress and bra. Next he grasps my panties and my suspender garter belt together and teasingly slides them down my legs to the floor. His nose starts at my ankles and moves slowly...slowly...up my calf...past my knee...up my thigh...and stops right at my sex, where he inhales deeply.

I nearly swoon.

He stands to his feet again and cups my face in his hands, again very possessively. He looks longingly in my eyes and then kisses me—deeply, passionately, gently, his tongue taking liberties into my mouth...not asking permission, but claiming what belongs to him. There is something so different about him tonight...so deliciously different..I like it! I like it a lot!

"Oh, Ana...Baby..." He is breathless between kisses. "I could take you...right here...right now..." He takes slow deep breaths to compose himself. "But not now...not yet, Baby." He puts one arm under my legs and carries me into the en suite. He sets me gently on my feet in the warm tub full of luxurious bubbles. "Is that okay?" He asks, referring to the water temperature. I take his hand and he helps me descend into the tub.

"Mmmm. Yes. Perfect." I purr as I lean back into the tub. He removes his pants but not his boxer briefs, his erection beginning to show through the tightening gray material. Fuck, he looks scrumptious! Control yourself, Steele. This is _his_ show, not yours.

"Do you like what you see, Butterfly?" He asks in that sexy, sultry, I'm-about-to-blow-your-fucking-mind voice of his. I'm a bit speechless from having been caught eyeballing the merchandise.

"Um...yeah..." I squeak, weakly.

"Patience, Baby. Patience." He says as he puts only his feet in the bath behind me, not removing his boxer briefs.

Oh, why must you tease me so?

Sitting on the outside of the the tub, he wets the bath sponge and gently begins to caress my body with it. I lean my head on his thigh and allow him to wash me, caress me, care for me. He is a wonderful man...and he's all mine.

His head leans over my shoulder as his hands gently caress my calves and legs with the sponge. I moan my approval at his closeness, his breath on my shoulder, his caress on my skin. My body calls to him, so in tune to his touch. I move my head from his thigh to his shoulder and lean into him, trying to control my breathing.

"Relax, Baby," he coos.

"I'm trying," I say in some voice I swear that I don't even recognize myself. His response is primal. He slides into the tub behind me—boxers and all—and captures my breasts roughly in his hands, his palms kneading them as my nipples are tortured between his index and middle fingers.

"Don't do that!" He growls into my ear, obviously trying to control his arousal. I know what he's talking about but hell, even _I _don't know how I did it! I push my aching, hungry breasts further into his hands.

"Ah! Don't do _that_!" I beg as I feel I will climax in the water any second. He loosens his grip and his hands move to my stomach as I try to catch my breath. I am relieved and disappointed at the same time. I don't know what his plans are for this evening, but I am burning the hell up!

"Oh, Baby," he says into my neck "you are a fucking siren..." No shit! How about _lights_ and sirens? "I can barely resist you..." Then don't! You're killing me here!

"Don't you want to get rid of those?" I say referring to his boxers. He laughs into my ear.

"Relax, Baby." He teases. Okay, _fine_. This is _his_ game. I'm only going to prolong the torture by tying to rush things along. I take a deep breath and relax back into his chest.

"Good girl," he says as he continues to caress my skin with the bath sponge, exploring every inch of me until my body tingles. After several minutes, he says, "Slide forward, head back." I do as I am instructed and he uses the sponge to wet my hair. I moan softly as he applies the shampoo and gently massages my scalp. I have forgotten everything...and I do mean _everything.._that has happened this day. All I can concentrate on is this man's magical hands and fingers that have meticulously washed away all of my fears and concerns. He uses the sponge again to carefully rinse my hair and then he squeezes the excess water out.

"Stay here." He rises from the bath and takes a towels from the warmer, wrapping one around his body after removing his drenched boxer briefs. He disappears into the bedroom with the other towels and I squeeze more of the water out of my hair. It's not dripping anymore by the time he comes back into the bathroom. He has removed his towel and is dry now—standing in front of me in all of his glory.

I will not stare at his dick. I will not stare at his dick. I will not stare at his dick.

I look up at his eyes and smile at him. He returns the smile and opens a towel in front of him, reaching down to help me out of the tub. I walk willingly into the waiting towel and Christian gently dries me from head to toe, finishing by rubbing the towel through my hair to dry any wetness that may remain. It is still damp, but not dripping anymore as he leads me to the bedroom.

Various citrus candles are lit in the room, the only other light afforded is the soft light on the nightstand, its shade covered with an orange scarf to mute the glare. A familiar, sexy instrumental tune is playing through the iPod and immediately makes me warm for what the evening might hold. I follow him to the bed. He sits me on the edge and gently combs the tangles out of my hair. I am being perfectly pamper by a beautiful, naked sex god.

Breathe, Ana, breathe...

He has spread two towels over the bed in a T-shape—one length-wise for my body and one across a pillow for my hair.

"Lie down, face up." He says. He holds my hair while I lie on the pillow. He has splayed my hair over the pillow completely away from my body, I assume so that it can dry undisturbed. I close my eyes and relax into the warm towels and a few moments later I feel warm oily hands roaming my shoulders. I smell the familiar smell of lemongrass and wonder how he got the oil so warm.

"Mmmmm," I moan as his hands travel over my body—not teasing like the last time he did this, but massaging, with the express intent to relax...or arouse. It's doing both. I take deep breaths and relax into his touch, focusing on not trying to anticipate where his hands are going next.

The music is affecting me strangely. He has the song on repeat and it starts with a delicate piano then falls to silence. It then goes into a soft almost tribal bongo beat and a deep baseline behind it followed by slow, soft strings that pull you into the sensuality of the tune. Strangely, a xylophone comes into the mix playing only one key at a time—like each strike should be a word singing a song all by itself. After a four beat pause of silence, a synthesizer takes over the melody with outer-worldly sounds enhancing the music. Shortly into the combination a woman occasionally speaks only two words...

"This is..."

My responses follow the music. You don't know what's going to happen next. The music swells then stops then comes back. Will there be fingers snapping, women's voices, horns dragging melodically, strings, drums? I have heard all of these things at some point in the song and then none of them at others. It is sexy and the anticipation grows with each new element introduced into the song. As I am trying to relax and allow Christian to take me where he wants to go, he has chosen music that is taking me on a ride all its own. I can feel his hands kneading my skin, but the music is kneading me, too.

In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my mouth...

My man is possessive...jealous...nothing is allowed to have my attention when I should be concentrating on him. He knows he is battling with another masseur. Just as the music begins to swell and combine again, his hand is at my core.

"Ah! Christian!" I gasp without opening my eyes. He knows he is triumphant. His hands are unforgiving, his movements intentional between my folds, against my nub, inside my sex. No teasing, no taunting...deliberate, deep massaging and strokes fully intent on my release.

"Christian!" I whimper helplessly, clawing at the sheets. He wants results and he wants them now! He is successful in nearly no time at all as I moan loudly, my nails digging into the mattress as I fist the sheet.

"Good. That's good, Baby," he soothes. "Now relax," he says softly, his hands traveling along my legs and thighs as I catch my breath. I release the sheets as I whimper, biting my lips to quell my trembling.

This man has touched me sexually twice today—for less than three minutes—and I damn near flew through the ceiling each time. What the hell? Good grief!

I guess once you let the genie out of the bottle, there's no putting that bitch back in! Damn!

"Turn over, Baby." He says, softly. Hell, maybe I'll be safe on my stomach...maybe...

Wrong! Again!

His magic hands and the magic music begin to take me on a ride again. I have no idea what it is that is causing me to react this way. It's like the combination of his touch and the melody is releasing something in me—a craving, an urge—that needs satisfaction. Although I try to calm it and control it, it calls to him and his responding touch sends fire through me in a way that I never thought possible. All the breathing and control techniques in the world can't stop it because it's not meant to be controlled. It's that thing that calls a man to a woman on an instinctual level...and it's calling him to me.

He straddles my thighs and the entire back of my body is coated with the wonderfully aromatic lemongrass oil. His hands now slide up may back and spine to my shoulders. I close my eyes again. I feel his erection on my thighs.

Oh mon Dieu...

At the same time that I feel heat rise in my core, I feel Christian freeze and slide up my body a bit. Now his erection is on my butt.

That didn't help.

I fucking can't take this anymore—I need him inside me! It's been more than a week and I am ready. He can take my ass or he can take my pussy, I don't care, but take me, dammit! I raise my ass a bit just enough to rub against his cock. His hands stop stroking my back and his breath hitches. I can feel him trying to control himself.

Fuck control! I need to fucking feel you _now_, Grey!

As if he heard my body scolding him, he slides his length between my ass cheeks, his head ruthlessly teasing the sensitive nerves of my hole. "Ooooohhh," I moan, muffling my tortured cries with the towel and the pillow, clutching onto the sheets once more. My breathing is uneven and erratic as he continues to stroke his stiffness between my cheeks and against my bud. His breathing has changed and increased and I can tell his pleasure is rising as he tries to control his sensual grunts with each stroke. When he pulls back, I raise my hips so that his head collides with my hole, breaking through just enough to tell him what I want.

His hips freeze as he supports himself on his hands. He doesn't move forward or backward, almost like he is unsure what to do next. I wiggle gently then push back only a fraction...just enough for him to slip inside.

"Oh, fuck," He whispers, his member getting stiffer inside of me and his breath coming heavy from his chest. He is hovering over me as he pushes himself into me further only a bit. I whimper and he groans loudly, "Aaw, fuck!" The feeling is excruciatingly exquisite and I need more..._now_...stop fucking teasing me!

I push back against him a little more, then pull forward—a very small stroke to massage and loosen things up a bit. Oh God, he feels wonderful inside me back there. Baby...baby...

"Yes...oh, yes..." he moans. That's it, Baby. I need you... I push gently against him again...I need this so badly. Oh God, I need him deeper. I push again and he grabs my hips.

"Ana—stop...I can't—I'm going to come..." He confesses between breaths as he tries to hold me still.

I have to feel him in me. I have to have him all the way inside me...even if it's only for a moment. I push back against him..slow and deep, just once..and he invades my anal orifice, filling me deliciously. My muscles are involuntarily contracting around him, welcoming him, pulling him deeper.

"Ana, Baby, fuck, stop!" His tortured voice begs as I feel him start to tremble behind me. I drop my head as his fullness radiates from my anus and through my pelvis and hips.

"I'm not doing it," I pant, helplessly. "It's my body. It wants you...it needs you, Christian...it's yours. Don't deny me...please..." A guttural moan rips from his body and his fingertips dig viciously into my hips as he releases into my ass, his cock jerking powerful as it empties into me.

"Ana...God! Ana!" His voice bounces off the walls and the sound alone washes through me, filling my chest with the same satisfaction that an orgasm would give my core.

"Christian..." I whimper as I feel him filling me with more than just his seed. He is filling me with his soul and taking pieces of mine with him.

"Don't move." He whispers, still shaking behind me and clenching my hips tightly against him, his erection throbbing gently inside me. "Please don't move."

"Okay." I promise, trying not to move a muscle as waves of pleasure radiate through me from the emotion that fills the room.

He starts to move his hips...slowly, methodically. Short strokes that fill me without emptying me. I feel it in my hips and pelvis again.

"Christian..." It's barely audible. His hands move from my hips and slide up my back to my shoulders. He steadies himself there for a moment and thrusts gently into me again.

'Oh..." I hear myself whimper as I feel the sensation start to tickle my toes. He pushes my legs further apart and settles on the bed between them, gently withdrawing himself from me then stroking slowly back into me, tormentingly smoothly and sensuously, controlling my reaction to him—not allowing me to rise too quickly and never allowing me to fall. I whimper in my throat as I realize what he is doing and lay my head sideways on the pillow. His hands now move slowly up the bed down my arms until he reaches my hands and his fingers tangle into mine.

"You are mine." He declares in my ear. "This body...is mine. Mine and mine alone. You belong to me!" The words float off his breath and into my soul as he slowly and deliciously loves my anus.

"Yes...yes...yes, I am..." I surrender.

"Only mine..." he lays his head gently on mine and pulls our hands closely to our bodies. His stroke deepens. He is burying himself in me...gently. No one has ever loved me this way. Fucked, yes. Loved, no. My body is supporting his...he is not heavy—yet I am holding him up as he sinks himself deeper and deeper into me. The tingling in my feet is moving up my legs and the radiation in my hips and chest is intensifying. I know what's happening and I'm afraid that when it does, I may not be able to take it.

He has me cocooned by his body, and he is merging with me—not just our sexual organs, but _all_ of us...almost on the cellular level. I can see into him..._feel_ into him...his love, his fear, his vulnerability...

"Baby...!" I croon as his feelings for me flood my essence and threaten to consume me completely.

"Butterfly..." he breaths, and I swear he feels the same thing.

"Ah!" I whimper as I clutch his hands tightly, the feelings from all of my extremities beginning to converge on my center. Our bodies are one...there is no more Christian and Ana—there is only _we_. I don't know where he begins and I end...only _we_. The pleasure finally converges on the center of me and my voice comes out in short, shrill spurts. The feeling is indescribable...my head, my hands, my arms, my stomach, my legs, my feet, my heart, my soul, my core..._all_ of me, lost...lost...like I am swimming in warm subconsciousness, completely taken away from this place as my body and soul collide in a mind-and-body-gasm of epically, previously unexplored proportions.

If my brain has been involuntarily sucked from my body, I will gladly be a happy, mindless ball of goo for the rest of my life.

Christian has pulled me onto his lap in the midst of my implosions, our hands still clasps together as he cradles my body with both of our arms.

"Oh my God, you are so beautiful...so beautiful..." he breathes as he continues to rock his hips into me, still stroking my rectum and causing the pleasure to begin anew.

"Oh, Christian, baby..." I coo as I turn my head so that my lips meet his face. He moans as he thrusts into me again...deeper, stronger, and a little faster.

"I love you, I love every single little part of you..." he says into my shoulder.

"Mine." I breathe.

"Yes, Baby. Yours." He says, releasing my hands and pulling me against him, his embrace unforgiving. "Touch me. Touch me, please..." he begs.

I reach up and thrust my fingers into his hair, my other hand grasping his thigh, anywhere that I can find skin. I kiss his ear and whisper, "mon amour."

"Oh God, Baby...damn!" He cries soulfully as he really starts to move inside me. Oh, this isn't going to last much longer.

"Christian...oh God...Christian..." I gasp as my release starts to hover dangerously close to the surface. He reaches down and begins to stroke my clitoris—long and deep stokes with his skilled fingers and his ever-hardening erection continues to pleasure my rectum. Holy. Cow. Batman!

"Say it again..." he growls. "Say my name!"

"Christian!" I whimper as he rubs that magic spot...the pleasure from the back and the front culminating in what promises to be a thrilling duet.

"Again!" He commands, thrusting into me viciously.

"Ah, fuck! Christian!" I squeal. Shit...it's coming...I can't stop it, not that I want to.

"_Again!" _He demands. Fuck, he is so hot!

"Christian! Christian! Christian! Christian..." Each time results in another thrust...deep and hard...and the accompanying ministration of my nub. When his fingers stroke down the length of my folds and into my center, his thumb still tormenting my clit and his hips simultaneously burying that steel rod into my ass—I lost the battle...well, I really wasn't fighting now, was I?

"Fuckshitdammittohellohgodfuckfuckfuckputainmerdef outremerdeputainenfer!" Stars and mountains and unicorns and clovers and fairies and, oh yeah, I grab a handful of copper hair and dig my nails into his thigh as I effectively attempt to levitate off the bed.

"Oh fuck! Oh yes, yes..." He thrusts into me violently as I am still coming. "Yes! Yes! Pull, Baby, PULL!" I reach as far back as I can, grab a hold to soft copper and PULL...as requested.

"Fuuuck!" He growls, choking out the word as I feel him pulsing inside me. "Fuuuck! A...na, BABY!" He rises to his knees, holding me against him, jerking into my ass with his release and still stroking my core. It is now that I realize that I had come anally...and _not_ vaginally.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" I scream loud enough to wake the dead. "Christiaaaaaaaaaaan! Stoooooooooooooooop! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease!"

"Oh, no!" He grumbles, still jerking out his release and rubbing out mine. "Give it to me! Give it _all_ to me!" He demands. Tears spring to my eyes as he mercilessly rings out every bit of pleasure from my body. He is breathing heavily into my neck, short thrusts into my ass, juicing his orgasm to the very last drop.

"My good God in heaven, Woman, where do you _come_ from?" He exclaims in one breath, his face still buried in my shoulder, our bodies stuck together by our intermingling sweat. I am fighting to catch my breath. Finally! Finally, I am sated! Good grief. Each time he made me come, it just made me want him more and more! Without letting go, we fall onto the bed on our sides, completely out of breath, sex-funky and our hair sticking to our faces.

"Where did _that_ come from?" He asked, his voice exhausted.

"I don't know." I said, equally gasping for air. "I think they call that _make-up sex._"

"You _think_? You don't _know_?" He questioned. I shook my head. "You've never had make-up sex?"

"No. Have you?" I respond, matter-of-factly.

"Well, we know _I _haven't..." He said, meekly, and I feel like a heel again. Of course, he hasn't. I slide gently and slowly away from him as his softening cock was still inside me. We both groan a bit at the separation, then I turn around to face him.

"Of course, you haven't." I say, softly. "And I don't think Edward ever cared enough for me for us to have make-up sex. So I have another first with you." I smile. I kiss him gently on his lips and he squeezes me close to him again. "And as wonderful as it is, let's try not to have it too often, okay? I love the end result...but I _hate_ getting there." I say gazing into his eyes, pleading blue to longing gray.

"Agreed." he says, kissing me gently on the lips. "I love you so much, Anastasia." Oooh. _Anastasia_. He truly wants my full attention.

"And I love you, Christian Grey." I say stroking his cheek. I jump back when traces of blood leave my fingertips and streak down his face. "Christian!?" I say nervously gazing at my hand.

He snatches my hand in his and examines my fingers. "Baby, where did it come from? Are you hurting anywhere?" He asks, checking over my body.

"No! Nowhere!" I say, my voice full of anxiety as I begin to check my own body for injury. We are both on our knees and I am holding the offending hand away from me like it's contagious as I get a glimpse of Christian's thigh. "Christian!" I say pointing at the dark red bruises on his leg, "It's you!"

Christian's eyes follow my gaze and my point to his own leg. "Stay right here, Baby." He says as he goes to the en suite. I hear water running and then the opening of the medicine cabinet. When did this happen!? I think back to as much as I can remember of our animalistic coupling and I recall the last orgasm—when I grabbed his hair...and his thigh. I drew blood.

_Fuck_! I feel awful.

Christian comes into the bedroom with a cold washcloth. He has cleaned his leg and applied some antibiotic ointment to the scratches.

"Let me see your hands, Baby. Do they hurt? Did you break any skin?" He is lovingly cleaning my hand and checking them both for bruising or blood...besides his own.

"No," I answer weakly. His eyes go immediately to mine and he cups my cheek with his hand.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" He asks, his voice full of concern. _What's wrong?_ Is he serious?

"I hurt you." I squeaked. "I'm sorry." He starts laughing heartily. Okay...is he hysterical?

"You're sorry!?" He laughs. I stare at him confused. I'm waiting for the punchline. "Are you fucking kidding me? I _love_ this! These are battle scars! Fucking battle scars, _Baby_!" He proclaims proudly, admiring the bloody welts on his legs. "I hope they're permanent!"

I sit there stunned for a moment. I finally sit back on my feet and drop my arm, shaking my head. _He is so damn strange,_ I think to myself.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

"_**Oh doux Jésus aide moi, je vais mourir" – "Oh sweet Jesus, help me, I'm going to die!**_

_**The familiar sexy instrumental tune that Ana hears on repeat from the iPod in the bedroom is Moments in Love (Quiet Storm Version) by The Art of Noise. **_

"_**Oh mon Dieu" – "Oh my God."**_

_**"mon amour." - "my love."**_

"_**Fuckshitdammittohellohgodfuckfuckfuckputainmerdefo utremerdeputainenfer!" – Um...don't try to translate that...just don't...just know that Ana is coming and cursing, okay?**_

_**A couple of pictures are on my Pinterest to accompany the story at Pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Guess what? Another big ole juicy lemony chapter is coming your way on Saturday!**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_


	37. Chapter 37: Are You Game

_**I did a LOT of research for this chapter which is one of the reasons why it is so long—I wanted it to be very thorough. Since I have a vagina, and no penis, I had to consult with members of the opposite sex for a general idea of how the male genitalia reacts to certain stimuli. I combined those answers with my own observations, my research, and what we know about Christian Grey to come up with this chapter. If your reactions or your man's reactions are different, don't go biting my head off! **_

_**To the reviewer that felt I took "11,000+ words to say nothing," your review ALMOST made it to my page. This is NOT a zinger—yet—but it is a very good example of my right to delete your review. Dear guest, I don't have a problem with you disagreeing with me. You felt my lemon was weak—you're entitled to that opinion. I will tell you that yours was the minority opinion of one out of 79 reviews on this chapter and counting, but again—you are entitled to your opinion. And you're right, it doesn't mean your pussy is broken. Anal is not everyone's cup of tea and even if it were, my description may not have fit your taste. I can accept that. **_

_**I will suggest, once again, that you do get your facts straight. Christian's lunch with his mother was most likely around noon. This chapter went on until well into the night. To that end, we're not talking about 4 or 5 hours. We're talking about an entire day. I have had previous times where a day has lasted over two or three chapters. I am reading one excellent story right now that is in its 30-something chapter and only three days have passed. Again, that still may have been too wordy for you, but you're entitled to your opinion. **_

_**You also mentioned the dryness of having to read both Ana's and Christian's point of view. I've been doing that for 36 chapters, and this is just **_**now**_** becoming a problem for you? Please feel free not to read any further, because I'm not going to stop. **_

_**Now, here's where it's going to get "ZINGY" and this would be the reason why your review was deleted. I can understand being perturbed with someone for exhibiting what would be considered a gross level of stupidity. Can someone please tell me how you manage to insult somebody for being intelligent!? **_

_**I have read fanfics...let me correct that...I am CURRENTLY READING fanfics—Christian and Ana stories in fact—about politics, science fiction, business (which is all over the place), medieval times, courtiers, knights in shining armor, Phantom of the Opera—all kinds of things that require you to have **_**some kind of level of knowledge or intelligence****_ to be able to write about them. This reviewer had the nerve to slam me for including a few facts about mythology! _**

_**Please allow me to invite you to KISS MY ASS! How dare you try to belittle and insult me for having more than two cents worth of intelligence. The fact that you would even try to do something like that - try to insult someone because they demonstrate a**_** farthing_ of knowledge - may not mean that your pussy is broken but it sure as hell means that your BRAIN is broken...and not because you aren't as "intelligent" as I am, but because you were dumb enough to insinuate something so stupid and then think it was okay! _**_**You can kiss my big huge humongous ghetto booty! I don't know what is your major malfunction, but I learned about mythology—Greek AND Roman—in the fucking 8th grade! In case that's too "brainy" for you, that means that I learned it IN PUBLIC SCHOOL IN THE INNER CITY before I even went to high school. Since you seem to have a problem reading something from someone who knows what the fuck they are talking about, let me bend over, spread my cheeks and let you kiss the darkest, wettest part of my ass—and then you can go away. **_

_**You really want to be pissed off about my "Big Brain?" Guess what? I hold a Masters Degree - so the hell what? I learned about mythology in grade school, and any idiot with a computer can Google it - you fucking moron! **_

_**Do yourself a favor and step away from the stupid-ness! Disagree with me—fine. Don't like my story—okay. Think my lemon sucked—no problem. BUT DON'T FUCKING INSULT ME. That's where I draw the line. **_

_**Let me make a little note here. Those of you who sign in and leave me a review, you know that I respond to ALL OF MY REVIEWS. So if you leave a review as a guest and piss me off, I'm going to respond to you, too—the only way that I know how. It has nothing to do with "letting a troll/guest reviewer get to me." It has everything to do with "you said your piece, now I'm saying mine." Life is too damn short and I WILL speak my mind, and I too damn old to care who gets offended. One day, people are going to understand that this is Bronze-Goddess-ville. This is not a fucking democracy, and you are welcome to get the fuck off of my planet anytime you like! Moving on...**_

_**I had another guest ask me about using Twilight names—please don't throw anything at me, but I have never read Twilight (ducking, lol). I do know that FSOG started out as a Twilight Fanfic, but I've never read the original (blasphemer! I'm sorry!).**_

_**So now, as always, thank you to my reviewers that I couldn't PM, including Carol, CG Girl, Chocolate, kathd16, Jacqueline, Laney (wow, girl! That's all I can say!), Leah, michelle b, Rachel/Boston (did you put the coockie fire out? lol. Sorry about the sequestration, but it will be here when you're free!), Tempress (love the "naughty kitty" comment, lol), Teresaromance, Twinings (OMG - your hubby must be VERY happy to want to send me flowers and chocolates, lol), and all of my guest reviewers that took the time to leave me a note - including the Broken Brain Bitch up there!**_

_****__********__________**I do not own Fifty** Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too_******_._**

_**And now for the chapter that some of you have been waiting for and others of you thought would never happen...**_

_Chapter 37—Are You Game?_

_**STEELE**_

I missed all of my appointments last Tuesday, so I'm leaving before Christian wakes up so that I can get a jump on them today, but I have a little surprise in mind for him. I don't know how comfortable he will be with the concept, but I read a little bit about it before we had our "falling out" and I had planned on trying it out with him this past weekend. Of course, that little thing called a hospital stay changed those plans...and of course, that visit from Mother Nature didn't have me feeling too sexy either. However, after last night, I feel like a sex goddess ready to explode. Too bad he's about to go out of town for three days. Oh well, I guess we will have to make this day one he shall not soon forget.

I leave a manilla envelope with a certain object and instructions on the chair in his study, say goodbye to Gail and head down to the parking structure, texting Chuck to meet me down there. When the elevator doors open, Chuck's mouth falls agape.

"Uh...Ana?" He says when he sees my attire. I have never followed the rules of "Before Five/After Five" attire, but today, I am breaking them all.

"Chuck?" I say, in the same flat questioning tone.

"Has the Boss seen you today?" He asks cautiously.

"No, but he will." I respond.

"He's going to have my ass for this." Chuck says, dismally.

"No he won't." I say, but he very well may have mine. "I'll ride with you today."

"Must you?" He says, as I get into the passenger seat of the Audi fleet car assigned to him. This outfit is really making him uncomfortable—which means I picked the right ensemble. I am wearing a red Patty Woman off-the-shoulder long sleeved fitted dress with red cage strappy peep-toe platform stilettos. The sexy silicone backless strapless invisible bra and red thong make me look like I'm not wearing underwear at all.

"Chuck, I'm sorry if I am making you feel uncomfortable, but I have specific plans for today. Would you rather I drive myself to work?" He sighs.

"No, I'll drive you, but how are your patients going to concentrate with you dressed like that?" He says as he starts the car.

"Oh, they've seen worse." I say with a snicker. He looks at me then shakes his head.

"I don't even want to know." He pulls out of Escala's parking structure and heads toward downtown.

"Hot-chi-wah-wah! What's this all about, Boss!?" Marilyn says when I get to the office.

"I have plans for Mr. Grey." I say, picking up the mail from her desk. "Anything important?"

"Not at all. What's up with these plans? Don't leave me hanging!" She squeals.

"I could tell you, but I think it would burn your young innocent ears." I smile devilishly as I go into my office.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Fuck, my thigh hurts like _hell_ this morning. I smile remembering the cause for the sharp shooting pain there. I reach over for my Butterfly and realize that the bed is empty. What the hell? I _never_ sleep longer than she does. I sit up and examine the room. She has long since left, it appears. Damn! So much for a morning replay of last night. I'm going to have to make today special for her somehow since I have to leave for Green Valley first thing in the morning. Part of me really wants to tell her what is going on, but the biggest part wants have some answers before I open that painful conversation with her.

I throw my legs out over the edge of the bed, stand and stretch. She didn't leave me a note or anything? I feel a little rejected. I look at my watch on the nightstand...8:12am. Nothing on my agenda today until 10:00 then maybe I can take Butterfly to lunch.

Remember how well that went the last time you tried to do that? Well, yes, but I was a stupid idiot then and now I know better. When I stand to my feet, I see a suit in front of me on the valet near the closet. I never use that thing, so I _know_ that I didn't put that there. I walk over to the valet and examine the black Gorgio Armani suit there with the crisp white dress shirt. On the shoe display of the stand are a pair of black Gorgio Armani calfskin leather balmoral dress shoes and nylon dress socks.

What in the hell? I must have slept like a damn log...and who has decided how I needed to be suited today? There is a manila envelope atop the valet with my name craftily scribbled across it.

_**Good Morning Mr. Grey, **_

_**I hope you slept well last night. I know I did. I can only assume by your current content expression that you must be dreaming of me and our incredible night of passion. Alas, the day has dawned and it is back to business. This is what you will be required to wear today. Prepare yourself with your Armani shampoo, body wash, and cologne before donning this magnificent creation. Do not add anything or subtract anything from this ensemble. Once you have adorned yourself, proceed to your study for further instructions. **_

_**Awaiting your compliance,  
AS x**_

_Prepare myself_? She's sounds like she's stuffing a turkey! What in the world—she must have had Valium in her ass because she is showered, dressed, and gone, laid out my clothes and shoes, and apparently had time to watch me sleep _and_ write a note and I didn't hear a thing! Although, I must admit...there's something meticulous and familiar about this process:

She has chosen my clothes, down to my nylon socks...  
I have been instructed not to alter the ensemble...  
I've been told to "prepare" myself with specific grooming products...  
Her tone is formal. Except for the "kiss" in her signature, there is nothing particularly playful about this letter...

It finally dawns on me when I see the two key components of this letter—the opening and the closing:

Good Morning Mr. Grey...  
Awaiting your compliance...

_She's in Domme mode! Fuck!_

Okay...if I remember nothing else as a submissive, I remember to follow instructions. I proceed to the en suite where I find a T-shirt and a pair of black Hugo Boss boxer briefs neatly folded on the counter, my Armani grooming supplies lined up behind them. I swallow, noting her care and attention to detail and wondering exactly what this day will encompass. I waste no time in thoroughly showering and brushing my teeth. She didn't tell me to shave, so I won't. I often leave a little stubble on some days and she has not instructed me to remove it.

I dress myself in the suit and shirt that she has left for me and I notice that she has failed to include a tie or cufflinks. I never wear a dress shirt without a tie—a linen shirt, maybe, but never a dress shirt—and I can't run around with my cuffs flapping all day! I double check the valet and the floor around it to make sure I didn't drop them. I am almost tempted to pick a tie and cuff links and stash them in my pocket..but a submissive is required to obey. This is not my time to make decisions; _she_ must make the decisions. I pick up my blackberry and proceed to my study as instructed.

...And this is why a submissive must remember to obey without question.

In the chair in my study, I find my scarlet red silk Armani tie, pocket square, and cuff link set atop another manila envelope. We definitely have a theme here—this is an Armani day for me. I can't say that I mind. The moment that I pick up the envelope, I can tell that it contains more than just a note. I remove it's contents and place them on the desk. I am now certain that this is going to be quite a memorable day.

_**You follow directions well, Mr. Grey. I am assuming that you are wearing the exquisite Armani suit and shoes that I have chosen for you and that you are now smelling incredibly edible after utilizing the grooming products as I have instructed. I can tell you that I was incredibly hot this morning watching you sleep and imagining you preparing yourself for this day, but I managed to control myself as I have better things in mind for you. **_

_**Put it on...slowly. Imagine my hands are fastening it against you, caressing your skin as I gently tighten it, kissing your neck and your back and caressing your chest as I mark you as MINE. You will wear it all day under your clothes. Text me when you have completed this task. **_

_**Awaiting your compliance,  
AS x**_

The other item in the envelope is the thin black collar with the red hearts—one of the collars that she chose for me on our shopping spree. Now I know why she separated the tie from the rest of the clothes. I have to put the collar under my shirt then cover it with my shirt collar and the Armani tie. I trace the collar with my fingers. There is a small jolt in my chest...hesitation. The last time I was collared, the Pedophile collared me. It wasn't a tender moment for us, not that there were ever any tender moments for us. I was reluctant to explore this avenue again, but Butterfly was curious so I agreed to help facilitate her journey. The problem is that I thought she would be _with_ me when I wore a collar again for the first time. A submissive hardly _ever _attaches a collar himself.

I do as I am told. I open the collar and slowly put it around my neck. I close my eyes and imagine that my Butterfly is buckling the collar behind me...touching my skin and kissing my shoulders. I finger the collar around my large neck and it almost seems to disappear. I touch it and fondle the silver leash loop in front of it and remember what it means. I hear her voice in my ear...

_**You are mine.**_

I open my eyes, still fondling the collar. It suddenly feels like a valuable and priceless piece of jewelry...the most valuable thing I have ever worn in my life. I caress the soft leather and the leash loop repeatedly with my fingertips, pressing it against my neck. I undo the buckle and tighten the collar one more loop. I want to feel the leather against my skin, to know that it's there. I suddenly realize why she had me perform this little collaring ceremony on my own. She could very easily take me—I would not resist. In fact, she's knows I would welcome it.

She wants me to _give myself _to her.

When the Pedophile collared me, I was _taken_—whether I wanted it or not. I was crushed and subdued and I had no choice in the matter. This time,_ I_ make the decision to submit. I make the choice. I can very easily have chosen to say "no," to not wear the collar. No doubt she knew that this would be difficult to do on my own, but she had to know how I would feel once the collar was attached per her instructions...something that I didn't expect to feel.

Submission, compliance, obedience, yes...even reverence.

Desire, yearning, and need to be possessed by someone...no, I hadn't expected this. Moreover, I certainly hadn't expected to feel...

Relief.

The teacher is becoming the student.

I reluctantly tear my hands away from the better-than-gold-platinum-diamond-encrusted treasure around my neck and proceed to button my shirt. I tie the Armani firmly around my neck and touch my tie, knowing that my collar—_her_ collar—is underneath. I put on my cufflinks and insert the pocket square into my chest pocket...and although today, I am the sub, I feel taller. I open my blackberry and send a text to Butterfly.

_****I am dressed as you instructed.****_

I don't move from my spot until I receive a response.

_****Very good, Mr. Grey. You have your first infraction. I'm sure you know what it is. Don't let it happen again.****_

Oh shit, what did I do? I quickly run through the letter and the text to figure out what I did wrong. I donned the clothes and collar like my Mistress instructed. I texted my Mistress to tell her that I had obeyed her instruction...what did I do...?

Fuck! Rule number fucking one, Grey!

_****Please forgive me, Mistress.****_

Another moment later, she responds:

_****Today, we are going to try a form of TPE. Be assured that I understand that I cannot control ever aspect of your day or you will be unable to effectively run your company and do your job. However, I will be in control of certain aspects of your day today. I am aware of your schedule. You do not need to know how I acquired this information. I expect you to answer my texts without delay and to follow my instructions without question or hesitation even if I am not physically in your presence. You will respond to me appropriately for the entire day until I inform you that we have completed TPE. Are you game?****_

Fuck me...TPE. Holy cow...

Shit, she's rubbing off on me!

Once again, I haven't subbed in total power exchange since the Pedophile. It takes a hell of a lot of trust to let someone completely control _everything_ that you do—which is why she got me dressed this morning and didn't tell me that we were doing TPE until after I had collared myself.

_****Yes Mistress.****_

To say that I am nervous as fuck about this is the understatement of the century. In fact, I'm scared shitless! But this is my Butterfly—my Delicate Domme and my Mistress—and I know she wouldn't hurt me or take advantage of me. I do wonder what she has decided to do today. I am almost gagging to see what this day will hold and how it will end...what delicious memories I will have to take with me into the bowels of hell tomorrow.

_****Very good. Go eat your breakfast, now. I know that you have a 10:00 and if you don't hurry, you will be late.****_

_****Yes, Mistress.****_

* * *

I repeatedly and reflexively touch my collar and tie several times throughout the course of the day. I know that my Mistress knew I would be doing this all day. She wants me to know that even when she is not there, she _is_ there. I am sitting in the department heads meeting this morning fidgeting like a nervous teenage. More than one of these suits has noticed that although I am a little uneasy, this is not the usual bored tension that I bring into these meetings. I try not to jump out of my skin when my blackberry buzzes.

Fuck, Grey, get a fucking grip!

I remove my blackberry from my pocket and read the text from my Mistress:

_****Rub your thigh where I scratched you last night. Remember me bouncing on your dick and pulling your hair while we were both screaming in ecstasy.****_

Oh, heaven help me. I rub the scratches on my thigh and think about the burning pleasure we experienced last night. It was our first anal intercourse together and it was fucking amazing. I came almost immediately upon entering her luscious ass and she was so tight, that it only took moments for me to be hard again and fuck that gorgeous derriere to two more mind-blowing orgasms for her and one earth-shattering release for me. I moan involuntarily as the pain in my leg sends a signal to my brain and a shock directly to my cock as a reminder of last night's escapades.

"Mr. Grey?" Andrea's voice reminds me that I am still in this fucking meeting. Thank God it's nearly over.

"I hurt my leg last night. The pain is distracting. Is there anything very important that we need to address?" I say. It's not a lie.

"Um, I've think we've covered everything," Ros interjects. She is my second in command and if she says everything is covered, it's covered. "Go take care of your leg, Sir. We'll wrap things up here."

"Thank you, Ros. Gentlemen." I say curtly before escaping the conference room to the silence of my office. I have to respond soon or my Mistress will think I've hesitated.

_****Thank you, Mistress!****_

I fall into my chair and I have to take a few deep breaths. I think not knowing what comes next is what is making the anticipation so agonizing. I am the king of delayed gratification, but I have rarely been on the receiving end of that particular concept.

_****Did you enjoy that memory, Mr. Grey?****_

_****Yes, Mistress. Very much.****_

_****Did you pleasure yourself, Mr. Grey?** **_

Oh, hell, no. Do I look crazy?

_****No, Mistress.****_

_****Good. You are not to touch yourself or pleasure yourself in any way without permission. You release will come from me. Is that understood?** **_

Of course it is, but I dare not question my Mistress' tactics.

_****Yes, Mistress. Completely understood.****_

_****Good. Where are you now?****_

_****I am in my office, Mistress.****_

_****Excellent. Sit in your chair and open your legs. Grab that big beautiful cock of yours and rub it through your pants. Rub it hard five times. That's my hand clenching you and rubbing you, hard. My hand is cupping your dick HARD. Rub that dick for me. Thrust your hips into my hand and feel me grabbing and rubbing that luscious hard cock. Five times, Mr. Grey. Five hard, deep strokes. I will contact you again in an hour.****_

Oh fucking shit, she is good.

_****Yes Mistress.****_

I close my eyes and see my Mistress standing in front of me and grabbing my member in her hands. Greystone starts to twitch before I even get my hand down to him. I can feel him pressing hard against my boxers and I take it in my hands. I am so hard that the moment I touch it, it almost feels like I'm going to come.

"Shit."

I thrust my hips into my hand, rubbing my cock strong and deep just like my Mistress instructed me. I almost cry out from the sudden jolt of pleasure.

One.

I stroke again, pushing my palm into my erection and matching the stroke with my hips—deep and long.

Two.

Fuck, this is torture...exquisite fucking torture. I repeat the process, this time gyrating my hips against my hand like I would if my Mistress were doing this.

"Fuck!" Three.

Almost as if she has taken possession of my hand, it grips my rod tightly through my pants, stroking downwards then cupping my balls in a massage and feverishly gripping on the upstroke.

"Ah!" I have to muffle that cry a bit. That's four. I can do one more and not come. I can do one more...

Once more I rub my now pulsating cock, imagining my Mistress and her talented hands and fingers gripping my Johnson as I stoke against her hands. That almost did it. My injured leg is now shaking from the attempt to suppress an impending orgasm.

"Five! Five! Fuck! Fuck!" This woman is turning me the fuck out and she's not even here! This is definitely a first for me. I am clutching the arms of my chair and gasping for breath as the throbbing in my dick slowly subsides. Shit, I need a drink! If I smoked, I'd need a cigarette right now!

I take a few sips of bourbon then settle down at my desk with some spreadsheets. I have to get some kind of work done before this woman completely kills me. If she's doing this to me and she's not even present, I am truly afraid of what is going to happen when we get together! I have just gotten myself calmed to a certain degree when my phone buzzes again. My dick twitched immediately and my hands are shaking as I attempt to retrieve my blackberry.

_****How do you feel, Mr. Grey?****_

_****Fine, Mistress.****_

_****How does your leg feel?****_

_****Fine, Mistress.****_

_****Good. Now I want you to sit back in your chair, take a few deep breaths and relax. Put your hands on your armrest and don't move them until I tell you to.****_

Oh, this is an easy one. Even if she makes me sit here all afternoon, I think I can do that just to calm my damn nerves.

_****Yes, Mistress.****_

I put my blackberry on the desk and follow my Mistress' instruction. I take deep, cleansing breaths and relax. I find that it is easier for me to relax since I met her. I was always wound so tight and needed some sort of outside stimuli to unwind—hence the need for the weekend subs. She actually soothes me when I am angry or anxious. I close my eyes and sink back into my chair. I have settled into comfortable silence for several minutes when my meditation is broken by someone entering my office uninvited. I open my eyes ready to tear out the asshole of the unfortunate idiot who dares to disturb me and I nearly have a stroke.

Oh. My. Hell.

My Mistress locks my office door and stands there in the most delectable red dress I have ever seen—simple, but it looks like a second skin on her. She is strutting in a pair of sky high red stilettos that I swear are only suitable to be wrapped around my ears. Her hair is pulled back tightly around her head into a frighteningly efficient bun, but her make-up and jewelry almost sends me into convulsions. Her eyes are dark—black and dark gray shadows and eyeliners that make her blue eyes look almost clear. She is wearing crimson red lipstick and she has adorned the Glamorous pearl choker with the matching earrings that I picked for her.

She's collared, too...and looking like the fuckable Dr. Steele that I saw that first day at the community center. She'd turn a straight woman gay in that damn dress!

Greystone is now beating a tattoo to get out of my pants as my Mistress stands at the door observing me and biting her lip. Has she been dressed like this all day!? Has the world been able to ogle my beautiful Butterf...Mistress looking this irresistible for the last five or more hours? My heart is almost beating out of my damn chest. She is my Mistress. I dare not question her attire at this time. She is my Mistress. She is my Mistress...

"Something wrong, Mr. Grey?" and there's that voice. The voice of my Mistress. Um...I had a thought a minute ago...

"No, Mistress." I respond, my throat is a little scratchy. I swallow and clear my throat as she slowly strides over to me. I cling to the arms of my chair like my life depended on it.

"You've had some infractions that require restitution, Mr. Grey," my Mistress says as she comes around the desk and stands in front of me. I can smell her—her perfume mixed with lemongrass and the distinctive smell of Butterfly. I watched her as she walked around my desk but now obediently stare at these remarkable red shoes that I hope will one day find their way on my shoulders as my erection is buried deeply and senselessly in the tunnels of passion in the valley of my Mistress.

She runs her fingers through my hair and my breath quickens immediately. I adore her touch on me, and right now, I am at my most vulnerable. I am at my Mistress' mercy. I gasp as she clutches a handful of my hair and snatches my head back, forcing me to look at her. Oh, fuck, my pants are getting tighter and tighter and my dick is going to make me pay for this denial.

"You harmed yourself last week for five days, Mr. Grey." Ah, now the preoccupation with the number five comes to light. "You deprived your body of food, water, and rest for five days and could have caused yourself irreparable damage. Do you understand that you can _never_ do that again, Mr. Grey?" She says firmly.

"Yes, Mistress. I understand." I reply, obediently.

"Good. We will be sure that you do not forget it. For these five infractions, I plan to unleash myself on you, Mr. Grey. I will not be delicate. I will not be merciful. I will not be gentle. I will bring you to the end of your wits. During this time, I will find my pleasure and my release as often as I like and I will bring you deliciously and temptingly close to yours five time before you are allowed to come even once. Do you understand?"

My eyes almost pop out of my head at this announcement, but her face remains firm and impassive as she grasps my hair and awaits my response. Does that near explosion an hour ago count as one of the five? Damn! She snatches my head back _hard_, pulling my hair viciously.

"You're hesitating, Mr. Grey." She growls and I cry out in surprise and pain. Oh, fuck me, my dick is about to jump out of my pants and fuck you all by itself, Mistress.

"I'm sorry, Mistress. Yes. Yes, Mistress, I understand." My breath is coming in short. I remember this arousal from the first time I was a submissive, only now, it is being replaced with deep desire for the woman who has promised to punish me. I will take whatever my Mistress will give and erase the remnants of the cruel woman who stole my life and my teenage years.

What do you wish of me, Mistress?

She releases my hair roughly and my head bobbles uselessly before I drop my eyes back to her feet. Without warning, she reaches down and grabs my erection, hard.

"AH!" I gasp, still clinging on to the arms of the chair.

"Have you had lunch yet, Mr Grey?" She asks as she strokes my dick the same way I imagined she would an hour ago.

"No, Mistress. I was about to order something when Mistress graced me with her presence." I choke out around the pleasure she is giving me.

"Good. Don't forget to do that." She says. She unzips my pants and my erection springs free. Oh good God, it feels so good to be free! The veins are bulging and pulsating viciously as my one-eyed snake stares back at me—ferociously threatening revenge for whatever I have done to release the sexual prowess and fury of this Vixen upon us.

"Mmmm," she says, standing above me. "Now _that's_ a beautiful sight." I continue to stare at my erection, getting some relief from being freed from my boxers. "Look at me." She commands. I raise my eyes slowly to her face and she is biting her lip, standing mere inches from me and I can't touch her. "Do you like what you see, Mr. Grey?" She taunts.

"Yes, Mistress, very much." I reply, the relief in my loins short lived as Greystone is begging for permission to engage the Mistress. She slides her dress up her thighs until it is almost to her hips giving my the slightest peek of a small red triangle of her underwear.

"How about now?" She teases as she strokes her panties standing right in front of me.

"Oh yes, Mistress, I like that." I respond reverently. The smell of her arousal is attacking my nostrils and impairing my senses. All I can think of is her precious, sweet pussy and all the things that I want to do to it. I'm losing this battle quickly. Thank God she is _my_ Mistress and no one else's..._ever_.

"Ah..." she mewls softly as she pleasures herself in front of me. Fuck my life, I can barely stand this. I watch mesmerized as she climbs atop my desk and spreads her legs, planting her feet in my chair on either side of my thighs. The smell from her sex threatens to possess me and make me forget that I am her sub. She knows this...and if I disobey, she will punish me further. Oh, cruel sweet Mistress...

"You will need a safe word, Mr. Grey." What? We're playing? _Here?_ Oh, boy. I have never played in my office before. I don't know how this is going to work out... "You will need more later, but for right now, you will only need one." She tries to control her voice as she is becoming more and more aroused, and it's driving me fucking crazy. "You are going to experience some of the deepest pleasure that I can release upon you..." oh, fuck, "...but you cannot come. If you do, I will discipline you for your weakness and disobedience," and I _believe_ her. "If you feel that you are at your highest threshold—that one more slight movement will cause you to explode—you may use this safe word."

Oh my God, what has she been reading? This is the ultimate in orgasm denial. I'm almost afraid of where she will take me with this, but Christian Grey never turns his back on a challenge. Like I said, all of my ultimate sexual experiences have been with that wretched woman. I would like nothing more than to replace those memories with intense torturous moments of stamina and passion with my Mistress. Bring it on!

"And don't try to fake to gain mercy or lenience because I will know and I will discipline you for that as well." Not a chance, Mistress. I welcome this experience.

"Yes, Mistress. I understand." I respond.

"Choose your sexual safe word, Mr. Grey."

"Wings, Mistress," because I love to glide and right now, I feel like I'm flying.

"Wings." She repeats. She's good. She's been studying. She knows to repeat the safe word.

"Yes, Mistress. Wings."

"Very good," she replies as she drops her head back and massages her kitten through her panties for me. My mouth begins to water as I watch the useless silk thong become wet under her ministrations. "Ah..." she moans again as I inhale her fragrance deeply, taking whatever pleasure I can in the experience as I am not allowed to touch her or myself. Her breath catches as she abruptly stops touching herself but proceeds to slide to the edge of my desk, causing her dress to ride up to her hips. She pulls her her thong to the side revealing her hot, pink, dripping fruit underneath.

"I want to come. Kiss me, Mr. Grey. Pleasure me to my release, but you can only touch me with your mouth and that very hot tongue. Do not move your hands." Oh, thank you, Mistress!

I scoot my chair all the way up to the desk and dive in like the starving man that I am. My Mistress cries out in passion and I am very pleased to please her. Please, Mistress, do it again. I lap her juices greedily, tasting and swallowing every drop so that I can taste her when she is gone for as long as possible. Fuck lunch—I got what I need right here. She cries out again and I am spurred to love her deeper, sweeter, harder. Her feet move to the back of my chair where my head would be and she grabs my hair once again, pressing my mouth deeper into her sex and grinding roughly against my tongue. I moan as fight to keep my hands planted on the armrest and not touch her beautiful, soft, milky skin.

"Oh yes!" She cries as I feel her clit throb against my tongue and her juices spring forth into my mouth. Oh, Baby! Again my dick is beating mercilessly against my stomach, cursing me with every thump. My Mistress pumps out her release then commands me, "Stop!" I pull my head back and tear myself from my feast, watching my sated Mistress descend from her orgasmic high leaning back on my desk. I sit back in my chair and attempt to control my breathing and my thoughts as the sight before me is enough in and of itself to send me on a magic carpet ride. Before I have a chance to gather myself, she drops her legs over my arms effectively pinning them to the armrests and slides quickly, smoothly, and athletically onto my dick.

I hiss long and loud, pushing myself back against the chair. The feeling is hot, searing...my dick has a mind of it's own right now and is trying to crawl up into her heavenly space and stay nestled there. He is mad at me...mad for putting him through the torture that I have all day after last night's romp in Wonderland. Scream, Bitch, scream, he wills me as her intimate tightness squeezes him without remorse. Oh shit, fuck, and hell, I'm going to come. No! Count backwards from 100 and relax. You will still get the pleasure but you can control the orgasm.

99...

98...

97...

My breathing starts to calm a bit but my dick is still hard. I don't move my hips because she didn't say that I could, so I must sit here and absorb the pleasure.

84...

83...

82...

I groan as I feel my release hovering on the horizon. She raises and drops her hips masterfully on mine. Oh, fuck, Ana! I can't call her name. I want to...but I can't. Fuck, Ana!

70...

69...

68...

She starts to whimper as she rides and I know her release will come soon. You can hold out, Grey. I know she's hot, and delicious, and beautiful...but you can do it. She loosens my tie and undoes the first two buttons of my shirt. Her collar stares back at her. She touches it gently with her fingertips, gently sliding along the leather as she continues to ride me. She is revering it much like I did this morning. Both of her hands caress my neck and I stop counting. Shit, I don't think I'll make it much longer.

She kisses my neck above and below the collar, massaging it gently with her lips and tongue. I close my eyes and bask in the pleasure of being possessed by this beautiful, extraordinary creature. My breathing quickens again as that illusive orgasm threatens to rear its ugly head. Not yet, please, not yet...

She puts her mouth over mine—not kissing me, just brushing her lips with mine, breathing my air and sharing hers with me. I can feel her start to quiver and I have to control my hormones as that is usually my cue that we are about to release together. The lines are getting blurred between my Butterfly and my Mistress as I continue to clutch the armrests of my office chair and hold my hips still. Oh hell, it's coming...it's fucking coming...

99...

98...

97...

At that moment, my Butterfly—or my Mistress, one of them—grabs the leash loop and snatches me to her by my neck.

"Mine!" She growls into my open mouth.

I release a strangled moan as her word goes through me and strokes the delicate pins that connect my sanity to my emotion and reason. Again, I am full of love and desire and some unknown emotion for my Mistress...

Longing?

Gratitude?

She looks into my eyes and releases fantastically, grinding and pulsating relentlessly on my dick.

Oh, fuck, Grey, hold on! 99...84...12...51...18...

Just as I am about to safe word, she rises up from me and takes three deep breaths. Then she drops to her knees between my legs and blows gently on the head of my dick.

Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me! Look, Mistress, I'm trying to abide by the rules but this is _so_ not fair! She gently takes the head between her lips and slowly pulls the shaft into her mouth.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

"Mmmmm...I taste you...and me...it's so hot." She says, before she pulls me into her mouth again.

"Ah!" I whine high and don't recognize my own voice. It's been a hell of a day and even more of a hell of a session. My body is begging for release and my mind is fighting against it. Quite frankly, Greystone and the Twins are about to win this battle. This became a definite forfeit when her hands crept up my chest under my open jacket, her nails digging into the tender flesh there as her mouth repeatedly drops down on my erection—_hard_! My heavy breaths are matching her strokes and now I must succumb.

"Wings!" gasp, "Wings!" gasp, "Wings!" gasp, "Wings!" I swear it is too late and I am about to explode in her mouth when she grabs the base of my dick and releases me with a loud, wet pop of her lips. I start to ejaculate just a little but, thankfully, it stops before my orgasm gets a chance to take over. Oh boy, I am going to have to go into the recesses of my mind and pull out the concentration that I exercised during stamina training all those years ago, because this Mistress is going to put me through my paces!

My hands actually hurt now. I have been holding on to these armrests like the jaws of life for I don't know how long and the more intense the sensation to Greystone, the harder I held. Mistress held my dick for a moment to make sure that I wouldn't come while I cough air back into my collapsing lungs. She licked the small amount of come off my dick and I moaned mournfully. Please leave him alone, Mistress, or I. Am. Going. To. Come.

"That's all the cleaning he'll get. Don't touch him anymore." She commands.

"Yes, Mistress." I breath. She stands and goes to the bathroom off of my office. Greystone is glaring at me angrily, vowing to me that my next orgasm will be one to leave me unconscious. I try to reason with him that it's not my fault but he just stands there, unmoved, pissed off and staring at me. What can I say?

My Mistress returns from the bathroom and stands next to me. "You may move your hands now, Mr. Grey." She states. I release the armrests and flex my hands several times to get the circulation going in my fingers. My dick is still standing at attention and I can't get it back into my pants. She lifts my chin and kisses me gently twice on the lips.

"I'll make sure that you are not disturbed until you are ready, and I will get you some lunch." She says.

"Yes, Mistress." I say softly, still trying to compose myself.

"I will see you later, Mr. Grey."

"Yes, Mistress." And she strolls - fresh-faced, hot, and beautiful - out of my office. I probably look like I was run over by a fucking semi. Her delectable ass looks damn near naked in that dress and I can't believe she's been working all day in that outfit...and now she's on her way back to work and her patients get to see her walking around looking like sex on a stick! Thank God Ros didn't see her today—she might have tried to transform my Mistress! She might have left her wife for my Butterfly! The thought has me sitting here with clenched fists, frustrated with my Mistress but at the same time, impressed with her for leaving me drenched in her smell and wanton vicious desire and need...

This is fucking agony! Then again, that's what punishment is supposed to be, isn't it?

I so need a few moments to myself. I hear her tell Andrea to order me some lunch and make sure that I am not disturbed. Thank God for that! There's no way to explain this position and it's going to take me a while to get rid of it. I can't even attempt to put my dick back in my pants yet, much less my boxer briefs. I can't even splash cold water on it because I know that she left her lipstick rings on purpose. So I just sit here, waiting for a natural deflation and thinking about her words to me when she walked into my office.

"_I plan to unleash myself on you, Mr. Grey. I will not be delicate. I will not be merciful. I will not be gentle. I will bring you to the end of your wits."_

No fucking kidding!

My sexual frustration was so high, I began to bite random people's head's off because I was walking around with a perpetual woody for the last three hours of the workday and I couldn't do anything about it. Greystone had set his mind on getting back at me for denying him release...like it was _my_ idea...and has decided to pay attention to everything that everyone had to say for the rest of the day—the key word here being _attention_. I spent the rest of the afternoon irritated and hiding in my office.

She tortured me further by not contacting me anymore that afternoon until after I had arrived back at Escala, at which time she sent me a sexy ass voice memo telling me how she can still feel my dick in her mouth and taste my cum. Greystone still stood at full mast so he just throbbed and kicked me in my balls to remind me that he was pissed.

Fuck! I want my Mistress!

Her voice memo continued with instructions not to eat until she got home and to change into something more comfortable. What the hell can I put on that is more comfortable? I sure as hell can't wear any jeans—I've got this massive boner that I can't put into any kind of restraining clothing. I can't wear sweats because, well, the whole tent effect. If I'm still wearing my Armani when I get home, my Mistress will think I disobeyed her.

This is fucking agony...sweet agony...

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I had a little more fun this day than I should have, I'm sure. I had never dominated Christian in this way before, but I just _knew_ that I could do it—assuming he agreed to TPE. I knew half the battle was won once he agreed to where his collar to work, but I had no idea how far he would be willing to take it beyond that. The only way to find out would be to give him instructions and see if he would follow them. I knew that I had hit the mark when he responded to his first real TPE command:

_****Thank you, Mistress!****_

Oh, game on!

I had intended on just going to his office and making him suffer by watching me saunter around in that red number and my collar, which I only just added just before I got there. However, the whole idea of having Christian Grey—delectable, delightful, delicious, delucious, deyummy, divine Christian Grey—at my total sexual beck and call, had me hot and panting like bear in a fur coat in the middle of the Sahara Desert at noon! Christian looks great in any suit, but when I coupled that illegally sexy black Armani with that red silk tie to match my clothes for the day—hell, I was torturing myself, let alone Christian.

On top of that, this collar has a chilling effect on me, so I don't know _what_ it does to him. I've never felt the possession that goes with a collar...until today. I felt like that was _my_ man, _my_ mate for life...and I was _his_. It was primitive, like time or space or consequence could not keep up apart and...okay, I'm starting to sound like a stalker...

But hell, that's how it felt.

Thank God I was smart enough bring extra panties with me or I would have been walking around in a wet, sex-funky thong for the rest of the day. If I know my man, he's knocking down light poles with his dick right now. When he started calling out his safe word earlier, I was sure he was going to take flight. So I decide to send him a voice memo reminding him how good he tasted. That should hold the fire until I get home.

When I walk into the apartment, Gail and Jason are whispering in the kitchen. They both freeze when they see me.

"Your Highness," Jason greets me.

"Smart ass," I greet back.

"So glad you two are getting along." Gail pipes in.

"What did you _do_ to that man?" Jason asks. I frown. "Did he see you in _that_?"

"Yes, why?"

"That's what's wrong with him! He's been fit to be tied all afternoon!" Jason declares. I laugh.

"That's not what's wrong with him." I put my purse and briefcase on the counter. "Is dinner ready yet?" I ask.

"Yes, you're all set." Gail responds.

"Good. I'll take it from here. Where is he?"

"Where else? He got an email from GEH and he's been at his desk ever since." Jason answers.

"Okay. You guys can call it a night." I turn to go to the study. "Oh, and, no matter what you hear, if the apartment is not on fire or we don't dail 31, you might not want to come back out here tonight." I add.

"Um, Your Highness?" I turn to Jason. "Remember that brief conversation we had about TMI?"

"Oh, please!" I throw my hand at him. "He's in a pissy mood and I'm dressed like this. What the hell do you _think_ is going to happen?" Gail pushes Jason out of the kitchen.

"Come, Jason." She says as they disappear into their apartment. I straighten my dress—and my back—and walk into his study without knocking.

"Change the shipping from Dramaco to Ocean International. Dramaco can't guarantee the condition of the shipment and won't insure the value of the contents. How fucking hard can this be!?" Christian barks into his blackberry looking at his laptop at a spreadsheet. He holds his finger up at me to wait a moment. I'm tempted to punish him for doing that but he hasn't turned around to see that it's me standing here, yet. Day hasn't been _hard_ enough for you already, Mr. Grey?

"Have you seen these numbers!?" He continues berating the poor person on the other end of the phone. "We're losing money every second that cargo sits on the dock. Get it fucking shipped!" Okay, work time is over. They've got their instructions. I belligerently clear my throat and Christian's head snaps over to me like a kid that just got caught past curfew.

"Do what I said. I gotta go." He says monotoned before ending the call and dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Good evening, Mr. Grey. So nice of you to make time for me." I say, impassively.

"I'm sorry, Mistress." He answers chastised. "I didn't know you had entered. I'll pay more attention in the future." Very duly chastised. Nicely done, Mr. Grey.

"Why haven't you changed clothes, Mr. Grey?"

"Again, my apologies, Mistress. I was hoping to be finished with work before you returned." I knew that was it. I just wanted him to tell me.

"As you have not had a chance to change, I can be assured that my dick is still marked, correct?" I command. He swallows hard.

"Yes, Mistress, it is." He responds.

"Look at me." He raises his beautiful gray eyes to me, completely dilated and full of lust. He is still as hard as he was when I left him this afternoon. "Show me."

He takes a deep breath and stands, gently opening his pants and gasping as he frees his erection. Fucking gorgeous.

"Sit." He sits back in his office chair. "Hands on the armrest." He takes a deep breath and obeys. He knows what's coming. I let him watch as I remove my panties in front of him, slowly. I walk over to him and straddle him in his chair, my pussy atop his erection but not allowing him to enter me. I know that it takes a lot for a man like Christian to surrender to _anyone_. Although he is still being punished, I think it's time for a little reward.

I undo his red silk tie and pull it gently out of the collar of his shirt. I unbutton three buttons of his shirt and reveal my collar. His breath catches as I touch it, gently stroking his neck as I caress it.

"You are beautiful, Mr. Grey." I say, softly, and I watch his eyes change—from slate to storm as he takes a deep breath and releases it. His lids fall to half-mast and I can tell that he desperately wants to close his eyes. I take his face in my hands and gently kiss one eyelid, then the other, giving him the permission that he seeks. "Beautiful," I repeat.

"Thank you, Mistress." He whispers without opening his eyes. I bring his face to mine and kiss him gently on the lips—delicate and chaste, not deep. I start to move, rubbing my bare wet core against him, but still denying him entry. He moans deep in his chest.

"Hold me, Mr. Grey." His arms slide gently and slowly around my body, his hands splayed open on my back. "Yes," I breathe, "that's good." I continue to rub against him. He feels wonderful against me—hard and hot—but I won't come. I won't come again until he does, and he has four more denials before he can come. He's breathing heavily again, this one coming upon him much faster than before. We still have time to play and if I don't bring him down, playtime will be over far too quickly.

He moans again in my mouth, clutching my back in a strained attempt to stop my movements but _not_ stop my movements. When I shift myself and cause him to slip inside of me, it only takes three strokes to break him.

"No...Mistress...wings...wings..." he breathes, laying his head on my chest and pressing me against him. I still my movements while he breathes out his impending release. I stroke his hair as he begins to relax.

"You are very aroused, Mr. Grey." I say seductively.

"Yes, Mistress, I've been thinking of you all day." He chokes. Good answer! I rise quickly off of his erection so as not to prolong his agony. It still almost proved too much for him as he gasped in pleasure and spoke without permission.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" His eyes are screwed tightly shut, his hands have gone back to the armrest and he is white-knuckled pushing back in the chair and grimacing. His head is pressed back so hard against the back of the seat that if his eyes were open, he'd be looking at the ceiling. After his minor oh-God-please-don't-let-me-come verbal infraction, he is now holding his breath. I get off his lap and stand over him.

"Breathe." I say to him and he lets go of his breath like a drowning man. Yeah, he's going to need some kind of relief. "I want you to go and take a shower, Mr. Grey. You can clean my dick, but remember—no self-satisfaction. Understood?"

"Ye...yes, Mistress!" He chokes. Still fighting the impending orgasm.

"Change into jeans and a t-shirt only, no boxers. Meet me for dinner in 30 minutes. Don't forget your collar." I turn and walk out of his study. It's going to take him that long just to compose himself. I go to the guest room change into the little ditty I bought for this evening.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Okay—that was really close!

I thought I had this under control! _I'm_ the one that brings women to the brink of explosion and back down again. _I'm_ the one that has them begging for release. This woman has me begging _not_ to release. I know turnabout is fair play but _damn! _I would bet my fortune this was an experienced Domme I'm dealing with here! Thirty minutes to shower and change and be ready for dinner? I won't get my dick back in my pants in 30 minutes...or shall I say _her_ dick because it certainly is her dick tonight!

I take off my suit coat and pick up my tie. I peek out of the study to see if anyone is around. No one...but it would be just my luck that Taylor pop up like a Jack-in-the-box just as I'm trying to get to the bedroom. I would literally curse him down and most likely fire him if he shows up right now. I cover the protruding appendage with my suit coat and dash to bedroom like I'm being chased. I close the door quietly behind me.

Greystone is still sticking out, more defiant than ever after that last encounter. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, but I'm still the boss, so you just have to fall in line. I strip and step into an arctic blast shower, removing the shower head and aiming the water directly at my defiant dick. It took a full 10 minutes of spray-rest-spray-rest for him to finally give up the fight. I've had some form of erection—either partially up, half-mast, or full throttle—for the last six hours. I never thought I'd say that it felt so good to be flaccid, if only for a little while. I breathe a heavy sigh of relief as I clean myself...including the now "at ease" little soldier...and get ready for dinner as instructed.

I should have known there was a catch. When I come into the dining room, I am wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and my collar as instructed. She is wearing an off-the-shoulder peasant style dress—or I should really say _shirt_—with a pair of black peep-toe platform stiletto booties that lace up around the feet and ankles...and her collar. Fuck, she is hot! It's okay. I've got Greystone under control. We can do this, now!

"Mr. Grey, have a seat." She says in that seductive voice of hers. I stride purposefully to the table and take my seat. I can see that it has visibly affected her. Although I am pleased to have this kind of effect on her, I don't want to provoke her right now. So hopefully, she won't see that as insolence.

"We are going to have a conversation, Mr. Grey." She says as she serves me oven roasted shrimp and garlic over herb wild rice with parmesan roasted broccoli. "Jason seems to be under the impression that you had a bad day." She says as she pours the wine, a David Family Anderson Valley Pinot Noir. Yeah, _Jason_ needs to keep his fucking mouth shut before _Jason_ quickly finds his ass unemployed.

"Not at all, Mistress. I'll admit that I was wound a little tight this afternoon, but far from a bad day." I assure her.

"Well, that's good to hear." She says as she starts to eat her dinner. "Why don't you tell me what you have thought of today so far."

"Permission to speak freely, Mistress." I ask obediently.

"Permission granted." She replies.

"I only had a hard time with the collar, Mistress. Not because I didn't want to wear it. In fact, it's quite...comforting." A small smile threatens the corners of her lips. "It's just that...it's very distracting. I thought of Mistress all day while I was wearing it, which I know is the purpose of wearing the collar. I just..." I'm not sure how to verbalize the next thought. She puts her fork down.

"Tell me." She says softly.

"You consume my thoughts." I say, dropping my head. "I think of you and little else when I'm wearing it, and I don't want to make a bad business decision when I'm under my Mistress' control. I don't want to...push the proverbial button, so to speak." I say to her. I don't want to appear weak, like I can't function while wearing the collar, but I have to be sharp when I'm in a business setting. I can't be distracted or sidetracked...and today, I was both.

"I see," she says, picking up her fork again. "This is the reason for the collar, Mr. Grey. Today was TPE because of your serious infractions last week. However, I'm not insensitive to your position—to your need to be focused and to make crucial decisions—which is why I checked your schedule in advance to be sure that I would not pick a day in which you may have, how did you put it...pushed the proverbial button." She takes a forkful of her shrimp and rice. I watch her chew daintily.

"Of course, I respect the fact that you have a company to run, and I would never undermine that with an exercise in Domination. However, I _will_ require that you wear your collar and possibly be subjected to TPE in the future should you commit an infraction of this magnitude ever again. It was not _meant_ to be pleasant, although I am aware of the psychological effect of the collar in most cases—I felt the same way wearing mine even though I wasn't the one under submission."

She dropped her eyes momentarily and I knew that she was telling the truth. I knew that she felt the same sense of possession and ownership from her collar that I felt from mine.

"However, as a seasoned Dominant, you must know that the purpose of this particular exercise is punishment and control. You are being punished and I have the control, and _you_ trust _me_ not to put you in a position where you would _ever '_push the button.' I am not particular for all forms of punishment, though we will be experimenting with some of them tonight..." I swallow hard. _Experimenting_? With which ones? Okay...now I am nervous as fuck. "...but I chose the smallest collar because I knew that you could wear it under your shirt, and no one need know what we were doing."

I can see that she has put some serious thought into this. The choice of clothing did not slip by me today either. I may not have been marked by my collar, but I was clearly marked by my accessories. Hell, anyone who saw me today probably thought I was going to the fucking prom! What I just realized is that I attempted to negotiate my punishment with my Mistress, which is something that a submissive should never do. However, I am relearning this position and she did ask me how I felt about today as well as give me permission to speak freely.

"Yes, Mistress, I understand. It was a good choice, thank you." She smiles at me again. Okay, a little less nervous about the experimenting now, but hey, I've suffered the worst at the hands of someone who abused me and called it "help." I'm sure that whatever Mistress has in store can't be worse than that...

We finish our meal and have dessert of Irish chocolate mint layer cake with mint chocolate chip ice-cream. After she has cleared the dishes, Mistress instructs me to go to the Playroom, strip, and wait for her there.

Fuck! The Playroom!

I've never subbed in my own Playroom.

My stomach does flip-flops, but I do what I am told and go to the Playroom. She has not told me what position to take, so I strip and stand obediently in the middle of the room with my eyes to the floor. My heart is beating heavily and my breathing is uncontrolled.

"Get it together, Grey." I say quietly to myself as my heart and breathing slow to regular rates. My Mistress and I have talked in detail about the things that I like and do not like, what I can and cannot tolerate, my hard and soft limits. I know that she will not violate my trust, but she has already told me that she is going to send me to the end of my wits and she will not be gentle. To that end, the anticipation is still quite nerve-wrecking.

A few minutes after I have undressed, I hear her enter the room. A few steps later, her black stilettos stand in front of me. "Look at me, Mr. Grey." I let my eyes roam up her body...and Greystone twitches again.

Fucking hell...

Mistress is wearing a structured red and black corset with an illegal pair of red and black lace thongs. My mouth actually waters when I look at her.

"Do you like what you see, Mr. Grey?" She purrs.

"Absolutely, my Mistress." I say, trying to control my voice. She raises her eyebrow at me, noticing the fluctuation that is normally used to seduce her. Oh shit, I'm going to pay for that.

"We have discussed restraints, have we not, Mr. Grey?"

"We have, Mistress."

"To the cross—face away from me."

Okay...this is going to be weird. My cross is not built for me. I'm way to tall for it. Surely, she knows this...

Of course, she does, Asshole.

I turn around and walk over to the cross. She attaches my wrists to the upper restraints but not my feet. She steps away from me and I hear her pull something from the wall.

Oh, shit. This is going to be physical.

She is behind me again, gently caressing my ass and my balls between my legs.

"You will need your last two safewords now, Mr. Grey." She says, softly. "Choose your safeword for when you are reaching your limit." I clear my throat.

"Sails, Mistress." I respond.

"Sails." She repeats.

"Yes, sails, Mistress."

"Okay. Choose your safeword for when you want me to stop immediately." She says.

"Knots, Mistress." Both sailing terms.

"Knots." She repeats.

"Yes, Mistress. Knots."

"Very well. Walk backwards, Mr. Grey." I take two steps backwards. "Stop. Now feet apart." I spread my legs a bit. "Wider." I spread them wider and find that I am standing with my ass sticking out in almost an eagle-spread position. "That's it." She purrs as she cups my balls from behind.

"You had another infraction this morning, Mr. Grey. Do your remember what it was?"

"Yes, Mistress. I failed to address you properly." I respond.

"That's correct. I am going to spank you, Mr. Grey." Fuck! "What are your safewords?"

"Sails and knots, Mistress."

"And your sexual safeword?"

"Wings."

"Very good." She caresses my ass the same way that I caress hers before I spank her. Then I see her feet to the left of me, spread apart. She is taking a stance. I feel a soft, rhythmic slapping on my ass cheeks...fast and repetitious. That's a riding crop.

Oh, hell. Now, I'm scared.

Deep breaths, Grey.

She rubs the stem along my thighs where they meet my ass and then gently flick my balls. Shit, she's pretty good with this. The gentle flicking commences on my ass again and then...

WHAM!

Oh shit! Not the hardest I've been hit, but a good solid whack on my right butt cheek that surprised the fuck out of me and caused me to jump. A shock of pain ran through my ass and down my leg. Damn! It's been a while since I've felt this. The crop is flicking again, gently over my thighs and around my back and butt and...

WHAM!

The left butt cheek gets it this time. Fucking hell! The cells are awake now, boys. The same familiar jolt of pain shoots down my leg and now...Greystone is alive again. He is slowly curling from his frost-induced hibernation when...

WHAM! WHAM!

Hello! Did someone call me?  
Yeah, Buddy, it's time for action. There's nothing I can do to help you here.

This process continues for a while...caressing then the flicking of the crop then the heavy, snapping strikes. Yes, it is punishment, because the pain is quite stinging. At the same time, I am transcending my thresholds again and the pleasure/pain line that I so easily cross is causing beads of sweat to form on my skin and Greystone is jumping madly between my legs. I tried to count my blows but lost track somewhere between 12 and 20, too absorbed in the pleasure of the sting to care anymore.

I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the crop. The cane and the whip, not so much—but the sting of the crop, handled properly, I like. I don't know where she learned, what she watched, what she read, or who she talked to, but she is working the _fuck_ out of this crop. At that moment, Greystone yelled up at me that party time is about to commence and had to stop the inevitable flow that was about to proceed...

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"Sails!" He said, loudly, and I stopped the motion of the riding crop.

"Talk to me." I say, gently.

"The pain was exquisite and I almost came. If Mistress had struck me once more, I'm afraid I would have come. So I didn't know whether to say sails or wings, Mistress." He confessed, his breathing labored.

"But I haven't hurt you past your limit?" I ask.

"No, Mistress, you have not." He replies. I stroke his muscular pink ass and admire the stripes there. His dick is standing at full attention, pink and purple and so suckable, pre-cum dripping from the tip and his balls large and tight and screaming for release. I gently caress his genitals to admire my handiwork. I have barely touched him when he speaks.

"Wings! Wings, Mistress, wings." He whimpers, dropping his head back, his voice tortured. Oh, yes. He was right there. The breathy ache in his voice could not be imitated.

"Very well, Mr. Grey. I will allow you a momentary reprieve."

"Thank you, Mistress," was his breathy reply. I go to the en suite and retrieve the Arnica cream. While his impressive third leg starts to deflate, I apply the cream to his incredibly pink ass and thighs.

"The crop likes you, Mr. Grey." I say as the designer crop has left little marks of it's Chanel emblem across his butt cheeks.

"I like the crop as well, Mistress. It's pain and pleasure for me." I figured as much. He has a high pain threshold and finds satisfaction in exercises that would normally cause discomfort—hence his happiness at the possible "battle scars" on his thighs from last night. I release him from the cross and order him face up on the bed. He lies on the bed and I inform him that I am going to shackle him the bed. When he agrees, I attach restraints to his wrists and ankles. His ankles are attached firmly at the foot of the four-poster bed, spread wide while his wrists are attached with quick release restraints. I'm going to want him out of those at that crucial moment.

"Mr. Grey, do you trust me?" I ask.

"Yes, Mistress." He says definitely.

"Good. I'm going to blindfold you." I say. After only a momentary pause, he responds,

"Yes, Mistress." I produce the blindfold from the drawer in the chest where I had located it earlier and put it over Christian's eyes. His breathing picked up marginally, but for the most part, he remained calm.

"This is for your pleasure, Mr. Grey, but remember that you cannot come. Use your sexual safeword. You are going to hear music in a moment "

"Yes, Mistress." He says, breathily.

I go over to the iPod dock and choose my music—Slow by Depeche Mode. I watch his reaction as the music starts—a bluesy, almost dreary, sensual tune with sexual undertones _and_ overtones. He licks his lips and waits for what's coming next. I remembered how much I enjoyed this and I know he needs a heavier hand to appreciate it the way that I did. He used a deerskin flogger with me. For him, I'm using a braided leather flogger with wooden skull beads on the tips. I start at his left foot and pull the flogger slowly from his toes, up his leg, over his knee, and past his thigh. There is a sharp intake of air when it touches his feet, then the rise and fall of his chest quickens as it travels up his leg.

"Do you know what this is?" I ask.

"Yes, Mistress. It's a flogger." he says between breaths. I start the process on his other leg.

"You may make sounds, Mr. Grey, but you may only speak when you are spoken to or to use your safeword. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress." He breathes. I rake the flogger across his body like he did mine two weeks ago—gentle wrapping then pull. His breathing is audible. When I strike him harder across his legs, he pulls on his restraints.

"Ah!" He cries out, them breathes heavily...and his dick is rising again. Oh, Mr. Grey, you're so easy. I tease him some more with the wooden beads, then strike him again, this time on his thighs careful of the scars from yesterday. He cries out again. When I reign the playful strikes again over his torso, they are a little harder this time...and his cock is doing a dance for me, flexing each time I connect. Christian moans a sensual tormented sound from his chest, pulling again on his restraints until I am sure he will break them. I pull the flogger between his legs so that the wooden beads and braided strands drag across his swollen balls and dick.

"Aaaaaahhhh!" He almost can't stand the contact but manages to maintain himself—his fists balled and his legs bent pulling on his ankle restraints. I'm glad we used leather restraints or he would surely be bruised for his trip tomorrow. I continue to reign the blows on his torso, legs and thighs, in succession from top to bottom with no relief from one blow to the next, increasing in intensity, his member growing and hardening to massive and impressive proportions until...

"WIIIIINGS!" He cries out. I stop just in time to see a repeat of the near ejaculation I saw in his office this afternoon. I understand why he likes doing this. Watching him squirm and seeing his pleasure has made me so fucking hot, I'm chastising myself for saying that I won't come until he does. I am fucking ready to explode watching his tortured body fight off this orgasm, his dick sticking straight up begging for me to ride him—but if I jump up there now, it will be over in seconds. He is growling to calm his arousal, but it doesn't seem to be doing any good. This man has withstood four extremely impressive orgasm denials. In my research for these scenes, most men could only withstand one or two of these intensities because while it is an intense experience for a woman (and uncomfortable if taken too far), my understanding is that it can be quite painful for a man - _especially _if it's taken too far. I've decided that his final denial _won't_ be a denial...

...but he doesn't know that yet.

The super-impressive boner still is not receding and Mr. Grey looks very uncomfortable. I go to the en suite and get a very cold rag. I return to the bed.

"It's cold, Mr. Grey. Are you ready?" He takes several deep breaths and says, "Okay. Yes, Mistress." I put the rag on his balls and, to my surprise, he squirts a small amount of pre-cum!

From a cold rag!? I thought that was supposed to calm this thing down.

_Well hell, the man has been ready to come for at least 12 damn hours! What the fuck do you expect?_  
Oh, no! This is my party! No threesomes up in here. Your ass gotta go!

After duly dismissing the bitch, I notice that the impressive erection is going down and Christian's breathing is returning to normal. I go to the en suite and wet a second rag with cold water. When I return to his side, I quickly replace the first rag, this time covering his dick and his balls. I sit on the bed next to him and remove his blindfold.

"Can you continue, Mr. Grey? We can stop anytime."

"No...no...I'm fine, Mistress." He says controlling his breathing now, as if Christian Grey would ever accept defeat.

"Good," I say seductively, unlacing and removing my shoes and then slowly sliding down my panties, "because I want you, and I need to come." I declare as I remove the now warm washcloth from his genitals. He stands just about at half-mast, so I know he has some control over it now. Let's see how much.

I climb on top of him the same way I did in his study this evening, and his seductive gray eyes capture me the same way they did at that time. I rub my hands on his chest as I straddle his body.

"Beautiful," I say as I caress and admire his stomach, his abs, his arms. His breath relaxes again. I lean down and kiss him passionately, my tongue exploring the crevices of his mouth while his tongue battles seductively with mine. I hear moan escape his chest again and when I release his mouth, he gasps once for air like he was holding his breath all this time. I feel his erection rise against me again.

Showtime.

I release the wrist restraints. "Hands above your head." I command. He looks both determined and tortured as he follows my instructions. It is very easy to slide onto his erection because he is very hard and I am very wet. I spread my legs and drop down on him balls deep and sit there for a moment, savoring the fullness. He growls gutturally and almost reaches for me, then remembers his position and tangles his hands into the intricate woodworking of his Playroom bed headboard. He lies flat on the bed as I begin a slow, ruthless grind...not a stoke, I don't bounce up and down. It's a grind—round and round, back and forth, balls deep.

His mouth his hanging open and we moan together nonstop as my hips move in fluid motion, grinding my pelvis against him and giving his penis no respite from the exquisite torture. His head dropped back in pleasure, I observe my collar around his neck and reach for it once again, this time with both hands. He raises his head and his eyes capture mine. In my ecstasy, my eyes ask a question my lips can't formulate.

"Yes, Mistress!" He growls in answer to my unspoken question...and I squeeze, gently at first then a little harder, just enough pressure to...

"Ah!" He cries out, arousal thick in his voice as he stretches his neck to me.

"You can move your hands!" I breath heavily as I feel my stomach quickening and a familiar burning in my core. Christian untangles his fingers from the headboard and, still looking me in my eyes, grabs my arms to push my weight down and apply more pressure to his neck. I comply while I intensify my relentless massage of our lower regions. Nearly forgetting myself and my purpose, I throw my head back welcoming the release that is peering at me just out of reach.

"Ah! Oh...God...Mis...tress..." I know there is no going back for either of us now. There is a violent rumble in my loins and I scream.

"Aaaaaaaahh! Come with me, Christian!" I wail.

"G-God...a...ah...ah..." I think I broke him. I can barely talk myself. My legs and feet have stiffened in the orgasm and I can't move.

"C-Christian...come...n-now!" A fire shoots through me and I tighten my kegels to wring the rest of my orgasm out.

He lets out a visceral, primal combination of a growl and a cry, almost like he's weeping, wheezing. He sits up quickly and is clutching onto me and squeezing me like a grape, pressing me down onto his erection burying himself in me until I feel his balls bumping involuntarily on my ass. He is holding me still, emptying hotly into me, his head buried in my chest, his legs shaking violently, still wheezing as his release goes on and on. I run my fingers through his hair as he begins to come down from his extra-terrestrial orgasm. Hell, he's been holding it in all day...coming so tantalizingly close so many times that the build-up must have been unbearable. Take _that_ to Vegas with you!

He's still breathless as he turns his head to kiss me without releasing me. He kisses any part of me that he can reach without letting me go...my breast, my chest, my neck, my face, my shoulders...

"Oh God, thank you," he says softly between kisses. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." He continues repeatedly between chaste, reverential kisses. Somehow, I get the feeling that he's not just thanking me for a massive orgasm.

Neither of us can move for several moments and we sit there, holding each other and rocking the same way that we did the night that I made love to him in my bed. A few minutes later, I gently rise off of him, recognizing how tender he must be, and release his foot restraints. I pick up our clothing, turn off the iPod, and lead him to our room.

Once we are there, he takes the clothes from my hands and puts them in a chair. He meticulously unlaces my corset and helps me out of it. Neither of us said a word, though we exchanged several smiles and loving glances. Once he removed my corset, he retrieved the t-shirt that he had been wearing that evening and slipped it over my head. It still carried his smell. Then he grabbed some pajama pants from the drawer and put them on. We climbed into bed and he turned off the lamp on the nightstand. Somehow, I knew tonight was not a night for spooning. I needed to face him, to look into his eyes. He pulled me so close to him, so close, I got that feeling again...that we were one person.

"I love you, Ana. I love you so much. Thank you so much for today. It was magnificent. Liberating and healing. I'll always remember it as long as I live and I'll never try to hurt myself again."

My heart swelled larger than ever at his words. He had given himself to me—trusted me completely with his body, heart, and mind...and he was thanking _me_...and again, I saw that unnamed emotion in his eyes...that same emotion I saw in his office earlier today...

* * *

_**GREY**_

I hold her close to me, once again wishing I could meld her into me, still relishing in what is likely the most wonderful experience of my life.

"Christian...what is it?" She asks softly, gazing into my eye.

"I never particularly enjoyed being a sub—until you. Today was everything being a submissive should be about...about relinquishing control and obeying your Domme unquestioningly. About trust and possession and punishment and satisfaction. About pushing limits but knowing that there is a reason for every action. About knowing when to stop, and knowing when to keep going. About knowing your role and your place and about reward when you have performed your duties. I never felt cherished or cared for or protected or completely safe as a submissive ...until you. And today was extraordinary. Thank you."

She smiled that beautiful smile at me and snuggled into my arms. Moments later, she was asleep. As I slowly begin to follow her into contented slumber, I only had one thought:

If I made my subs feel the way that she made me feel today—even in punishment—I now understand why they fell in love with me.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_** Push the button—references the mythical "button" that the President of the United States can push and launch nuclear weapons. One of the reasons that sexists claimed to not want a woman President is because she would get PMS one day and "push the (red) button." There actually is no such button that the President can push. There is, however, a briefcase called the "football" that contains launch codes and instructions for or following a nuclear attack. However, it has to be confirmed by the Secretary of Defense. Christian is nervous that if he is wearing his collar and thinking of Ana, he may do something irresponsible and effectively "push the button" on one of his companies.**_

_**Don't forget to check out the pictures at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/ Ladies, I was actually DROOLING as I was getting Christian dressed!**_

_**Green Valley begins next, so get ready for it...!**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!  
**__**Lynn x**__**  
**_


	38. Chapter 38: A Tangled Web

_**BONUS CHAPTER! **_

_**Dear Guest, Yes, I deleted it. You're not surprised? You shouldn't be...you're in Bronze-Goddess-ville, remember? As far as growing up is concerned, I am as grown as they get—and people do NOT get to say whatever the hell they want to me and I just crawl in a corner and shut up because people like YOU think that I shouldn't respond! No, I really don't care what you think—you can think whatever you want, but I won't stand by and let someone insult me. Giving idiots a piece of my mind helps to keep my stress levels down. So if you don't like the fact that I speak up for myself, please move the hell on! If speaking up for myself means that I need to "grow up," then I will fucking NEVER grow up. I have a foul mouth and a bad attitude—build a bridge and get the fuck over it! (Thanks, Tempress)**_

_**You want to read my story, then read it. You don't want to read my story, then don't. But don't insult me and don't talk to me about being "attractive" while I'm defending myself. In the decades I have been on this earth, I have never seen "attractive defense" so you can miss me with that shit and keep moving. I'm not Laura fucking Croft...I'm not trying to be "becoming" or even eloquent for that matter when I'm defending myself. **_

_**And for the record, I have more than one (not many, but more than one) "unflattering reviews" on my page. I just deleted yours to be spiteful.**_

**_Thank you to Sillie J who is only up to Chapter 20 right now but had several issues that she wanted to address with my story. I had to illuminate this because 1) SHE SIGNED IN and 2) she laid out, in detail, and in a CONSTRUCTIVE AND RESPECTFUL MANNER the problems that she had with my story. To all of you cowardly fuckers who hide in corners and throw rocks at me or eviscerate me, go to my chapter 37 reviews. You will find one review for chapter 20. THIS IS HOW YOU DO IT, PEOPLE. Take a lesson from Sillie J...you don't have to insult, belittle, or degrade someone because you don't like something in their story. It's your RIGHT to disagree. Just don't come at someone with a verbal machete when you tell them that you don't like it! Again, thank you Sillie J for showing them how it's done._**

**_Thank you to Contrite Shadow, too. As you can all see, you don't have to agree with me...just don't cut me down..._**

**_I had a guest that suggested that I include a scene of Ana with a strap on, and my mind was like "Hell, no!" And then the other part of my brain saw her wearing a strap-on and was like, "Damn, that's really hot!" LOL. I just can't picture Ana fucking Christian with a strap-on...but it still gives you other ideas (oh Lord, I am such a freak...)..._**

**_I can tell from my reviews that I have a lot of new readers! Thanks for joining me, you guys! And thanks to my regulars as well. To those I can't PM, thanks to _**_**Carol, Chocolate, CG Girl, Jaimini, Kmac78 (still working on the zip code to Bronze-Goddess-ville, lol), Ellie, Laney, michelle b, Rachelle (who writes "Over The Moon?"), Tempress (thank you! **__**thank you! **__**thank you! Hansel and Gretel - you tell 'em, Girl!), **_Teresaromance, Tik (IKR!), Tj, and my guests reviewers including Mr. or Ms. Superior up there who thinks I should "grow up."

_****__****__********__________**I do not own Fifty** Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too_******_._**

_**The Green Valley Saga begins now. This will be some heavy shit and it won't be over "in the blink of an eye." Get ready for the saga to unfold because it's about to get deep. **_

_Chapter 38—A Tangled Web_

_**DAVID**_

"Keep your head down, damn it!" He snaps at me. Well, shit, we've been driving forever. I need to move around.

"Look, I don't mean to sound like one of your crazy children or nephews or whatever, but are we fucking there yet?" I spit.

"If we were there, you wouldn't have to stay down. I know these assholes. I used to _be_ one of them. We have to be careful and make sure they didn't follow us. Now shut the hell up or I'll turn around!"

"Don't talk to me like a child, Mother Fucker. I don't dig that shit, and if you want to turn around, be my fucking guest!" Granted, I want to pull this off, but I'm not kissing this guy's ass for shit.

"Just stay the fuck down until I'm sure that the coast is clear, okay?" He says finally.

I already regret teaming up with this guy, if that's what you want to call it. He approached me on Monday outside of the apartment and invited me to coffee. He looked a little different than I remembered, but if this is supposed to be a disguise or something, it sucks. His hair is longer and a different color, but I could still tell immediately that it was him.

"_So what's your fascination with this chick? I mean, yeah, she's hot and makes a little money and everything, but you got it _bad_—and I know your background story. You haven't fucked her in years. So what's the deal, man?" Bob had asked sitting across from me._

_We sat in some dinky little coffee joint a few miles away from Rosie's apartment. _

"_What does it matter? I love her and I want her and I'm going to get her. End of story." I stirred my coffee. For all I know, Rich Boy could have sent him to befriend me and find out my plan. Well, I don't have one, but I don't care what Rich Boy knows. Rosie _will_ be mine again. I will definitely see to that._

"_So what do you plan to do—just keep stalking her while Grey fucks her brains out and hopes that she just gets tired of all the sex, money, and expensive gifts?" Bob retorts. "Planning to just wait her out, are you?" _

"_I just need to get her alone." I responded. "Every time I try to talk to her, we get into a fight. I just need to remind her of what we had together. Once I do that, I know I can make her mine again."_

"_When have you seen her _alone?" _He asked. "She's _never_ alone. Someone is always with her." _

"_Well, something's up because she's back at her apartment tonight and she hasn't been there since last week. I wonder if they broke up?" I said, hopeful. _

"_No they didn't break up. Chuck was there when we left." He took a swallow of his coffee. "Look, all you're trying to do is get her alone? She hates you, Man. I watched her pull a gun in your face, and you still want to get her alone?" _

"_Look, I'm telling you that's not my Rosie..." I began._

"Rosie_?" He sneered. "Who the fuck is _Rosie?_" _

"_Ana. I call her Rosie." He laughed at me._

"_Whatever floats your boat, Man." He said drinking some more of his coffee. I continue._

"_I just need to get her away from all of this shit...even if I can just get her to myself for a few days, just a few days...away from the fucking security and her faggot friend and that rich prick Grey. I just need her to myself for a little while. I know that if I have her to myself for a little while, I can win her back." We were so happy when we first got together. She was playful and funny, and I knew everything to do to her bite-sized little body to make her scream. Grey can't be doing her like I did. I touched that kitty in ways nobody else knew how. I just have to remind her of _those_ days—not the shit that came later, _those_ days. "I know this woman like the back of my hand. If I can get her away from all of these fuckers whispering in her ear, I know I can win her back." _

"_So that's your plan...get her away from everybody so that you can turn on the charm?"_

"_Yeah, that's what I was hoping, but I can't see it happening because, like you said—she's never alone." I answered defeated. _

"_Well, I know these guys and they're good. They're not going to turn their back on her for one minute. What's more, they're not going to turn their back on _you." _He informs me. "If you approached her, they are going to be on your ass like white on rice before you breathe the same air she does. If what you need is alone time, you have to be able to get near her."_

"_And where do you come in, because this get-up that you're in aint fooling nobody."_

"_It's fooling _somebody_. Nobody's tailing _me_, whereas if you look out of the window and to your right about 20 feet, you will see _your_ latest tail." Smug ass bastard. "You need to shake your tail—for lack of a better phrase—and once you do that, you can more than likely move a little more freely."_

"_So what do you suggest?" I asked sarcastically. _

"_We get you away from your surveillance, get you a disguise, and wait for your chance to get close to _Rosie._" He said her name with pure disdain. _

"_What's in it for you?" I asked suspiciously. _

"_Well, first of all, you may not want me to call her a bitch, but the bitch cost me my job. Second, Little Dick Grey has arranged it so that I can't find another job in the state of fucking Washington, so I have to relocate to someplace where this fucker isn't so damn powerful. Anything that I can do to trip him or her up—make their lives a little miserable—runs well with my blood. And third, like I said, I know your story. You got money, and you're going to pay me."_

"_Why would I do that?" I spit. _

"_Because I need money to get the hell out of town and start the fuck over. Without it, I have to stay here and _maybe_ get a job at a fast food restaurant. That's where you come in. I know how his security works, what they'll be looking for, and how to shake them. That's what you need. Without me, you can go back outside, pick up you binoculars and have fun with your 1001-foot stolen glances." He glared at me. _

"_How much are we talking and what exactly can you do for me?" I asked. _

"_Oh, you are going to pay pretty, and pretty frequently, but if you want your magic moment with your precious Princess Perfect, then it will be worth it. Quite frankly, I don't know what the fuck she's working with in that deadly twat of hers but whatever it is, it's going to stay a thousand fucking feet away from _my_ dick." He spit. _

"_Shut the fuck up, Asshole. You don't even know her." I shot._

"_I know that she's got a restraining order against you and pulled a gun in your face and you are still gagging for her ass. And Grey? I hadn't worked for him for that long, but I know he's a very powerful man. He makes grown ass men piss their pants on a regular basis. That man has the kind of money that can turn rain into sunshine—but one sniff of Princess Perfect, and he turned into a pussy. She's got two grown as men panting after her ass like sappy, stupid little lovesick puppies. Do you know how much money that man spends to keep you away from her? You have somebody tailing you 24 hours a day. They get paid well, including benefits, paid vacations, and hazard pay. They are strapped with the latest equipment and endless expense accounts and all drive late model Audis—and there are at least three or four of them on you every day, seven days a week. Man, they know when you take a shit—all for a piece of pussy. Like I said, whatever she got going on in that twat should be listed as hazardous material!" I sat up straight. _

"_I won't deny that I probably need your services, but you obviously need my money. So I'm going to listen to what you have to offer and then I'll decide if I'm going to hire you. But you need to understand something. You can feel whatever the hell you want, but you are going to stop talking about her in that fucked up way around me since—if I do choose to employ you—I assume I'm going to be paying you a pretty fucking penny to get me close enough to Princess Perfect and her toxic pussy to get her back. And you will watch how you talk to me since I'm the one that's bankrolling this shit. Otherwise, I'll go back to my binoculars, and you can go back to McDonald's. Capiche..._Bob_?" I spit his name with as much disdain as he did Rosie's. He glared at me for a moment and then said, _

"_Deal..._Ed."

Now we are traveling by car to some remote location after a long ass ferry ride and 45 minutes later, I am still crouched down in this fucking back seat. I have dyed my hair blonde, I'm wearing blue contacts and a phoney blonde beard. Bob wouldn't tell me where we were going to keep from telling anybody else before we left. Who the fuck would I tell? I'm paying this man a small fortune to help me get Rosie alone. Why would I tell somebody my plan so that they can follow me or trip me up? It turns out that Bob knows a guy who knows a guy who has a place on Vashon Island. It's completely untraceable to Bob or me and is the perfect place to hide out and decide my next move. Maybe Grey's goons will think I'm dead in that apartment and leave me the hell alone.

"Alright, the coast is clear. We weren't tailed." Bob says and I am finally able to sit up.

"Damn, I'll be glad when we can get the hell out of this car. I'm stiff as hell from not being able to move on that damn ferry."

"Quit your whining. We're almost there now." He says. I look around and all I see is grass and fields and a cluster of trees every now and again. This is perfect. They will never find me out here. Now how will I get Rosie here?

"So what's the latest we hear on Grey?" I ask, stretching as much as I can in the back seat of the borrowed Ford Taurus.

"He got out of the hospital yesterday. I couldn't find out what was wrong with the guy, but it couldn't be too serious for just an overnight stay." He replies. There was nothing wrong with that prick. Rosie wouldn't speak to him so he faked an illness to get her to come running back to him. Oldest trick in the book.

I had continued to watch Rosie for a couple of days after I met with Bob to see what, if anything, was happening with her. Grey never showed up Monday night. He showed up on Tuesday night but didn't stay long from what I could tell. Even though his goon stuck close, he didn't show up for the rest of the week and Rosie didn't go to his place either. Bob confirmed that they were having some kind of fight. I can't help but wonder where he's getting his information if he doesn't work for Grey anymore. That's why I have to keep my eye on this guy. I don't really know whose side he's on, but I haven't done anything illegal, so they can't pin anything on me.

I was hoping I would be able to use this opportunity to get close to Rosie, but before I had the chance to make my move, she was running to that asshole's side again and the next thing I knew, she's at Seattle General sitting lovingly by his bedside. Well played, Prick, but I _will_ have the last laugh in this little game.

Bob turns down another road that seems to go on forever and then another road lined by trees that—you guess it—seems to go on forever. It could just be me...I've feel like I've been in this damn car forever! Finally, we get to a clearing and a nice-sized bungalow and a farmhouse on lots and lots of land. This is so much more perfect than I could have imagined. "Welcome to Vashon Island," Bob says as he pulls the car to a stop. I am only too happy to get out and stretch my legs. It's very peaceful out here. Maybe Rosie and I can buy some land out here once we get things all straightened out.

We walk to the bungalow and it's a little neglected inside, but no worse for wear. "The fridge is stocked thanks to you, and we get the basic cable channels out here. No use paying for premium cable if nobody lives here." He throws his keys on the coffee table. "You should get reception to your cell if you need it. This is an island but the Municipal Airport aint that far from here. There's no such things as _in town_ around these parts. There's one little street that runs the length of the island where you can get just the basics if you need them. Everything is pretty much spread out here and there. If you want to go to _town_, get on the Fautleroy ferry and head back to Seattle." He instructs. I nod my head.

"This will work just fine." I sit down and stretch out on the sofa. "So, I have a few ideas. We need to work out our next plan of action."

"Fine by me. No offense, but I don't want to be around you more than is utterly necessary. So if it's all the same to you, let's get this plan in motion so I can get paid and get the hell out of here and leave you with Princess Perfect." I throw a threatening glare at him. "Hey, I didn't call her a bitch. If you don't want me to call her a bitch, I'm calling her Princess Perfect. Get over it!" I shrug. He's right, he didn't call her a bitch. I don't really like when he calls her Rosie—especially the way he says that name. So I guess I just have to be content that sarcastic Princess Perfect shit.

"Fine. So obviously, the first thing we need to do is get her away from Pencil Dick. He's with her whenever she leaves either apartment, and he either stays at her office or somewhere nearby when she's at work." I say.

"Man, how do you know this? Don't you own a company or something? When do you find time to follow her around?" Bob asks.

"I don't have as much money as Grey but, like him, I don't need to be present every second for my company to run." I respond. "How do you know everything you know if you don't still work for Grey?"

"I have my ways and you are just going to have to trust me, now aren't you? Oh, and just so you know, they probably know that you were watching her up until at least Friday." He says.

"Yeah, I know. You think you're telling me something when you say that they are watching me, but I've known all along, all the way back from when you were watching me. And for the record, Rosie didn't get you fired. You and those damn _prostitutes_ got you fired. All I had to do was sit still and wait for you to get a blowjob before I took off." I walk into the kitchen to find something to eat.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"Sir, Manchester indicates that Mr. David has not left his apartment for four days." Taylor says to me as we are getting ready to leave for SeaTac. I frown.

"Not that I care about the fucker at all, but are you sure?" I ask. What the hell did he do—decide to end his suffering and kill himself in there?

"There's been no movement, Sir. He was still watching her through Friday morning, but keeping legal distance. Since Friday evening when I brought her here, his car is parked at his apartment and hasn't left since. Manchester hasn't seen him coming or going." Maybe the fucker doesn't want to cross her while she is here. She hasn't been back to her apartment since I got back from the hospital.

"Thanks, Taylor. How much time before we leave?"

"Thirty minutes, Sir." He responds. I nod and he leaves the study.

Well, I'm about to set off on a fact-finding expedition about what happened to my Butterfly during those fateful teenage years that left her scarred for life. I feel completely bonded to her now—after yesterday. If I could propose to her without scaring her the hell away, I would do it in a heartbeat then marry her before she had a chance to change her mind. That woman is mine, forever. She is stuck with me and I plan to never let her go. It's early and I know that she is still asleep, but I need to wake her so that I can tell her we will be leaving soon.

I lay next to her stroking her hair and watching her sleep. She is breathtakingly beautiful, even more so when she sleeps. I love her so much it feels like my heart will burst open sometimes. I bring my forehead down to hers and inhale deeply, trying to hold her scent in my nostrils to tide me over for the next few days. I softly sing to her sleeping form:

_All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go.  
I'm standing here outside your door.  
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye.  
But the dawn is breakin' it's early morn  
__The taxi's waitin' he's blowin' his horn__  
__Already I'm so lonesome I could die._

She surprises me by joining in the next verse with me, her eyes still closed:

_So kiss me and smile for me__  
__Tell me that you'll wait for me__  
__Hold me like you'll never let me go.__  
__Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane__  
__Don't know when I'll be back again__  
__Oh baby, I hate to go._

She opens her beautiful blue eyes and smiles at me. "Hi." She says, softly.

"Hi," I respond. "I didn't know you were awake."

"I heard you singing. I know it must be close to time for you to leave." I pull her face to mine and kiss her gently,

"It is. I have a few minutes."

"Leaving on a jet plane, huh?" She says with a chuckle.

"A _private_ jet plane." I say, rubbing my nose on hers.

"Oooo, fancy." She giggles.

"Oh, I love that." I say taking a deep breath.

"What, Baby?"

"Hearing you giggle." I respond.

"Then I'll do it more often." She says in a sweet voice. "You would never catch a taxi." She adds.

"And I'm not standing outside your door, either." I point out.

"And you do know when you'll be back again." She breathes.

"Yes, I do." I say as I pull her to me and kiss her passionately. "I love you, Anastasia."

"I adore you, Christian." She whispers as she thrusts her hand in my hair and we are lost in our kiss again.

* * *

We land at McCarran around 9:00am. I want to talk to this cop, George Sullivan this morning as soon as possible. Lawrence was able to secure an SUV with bulletproof glass as requested and we proceed to the Bellagio.

Once my bags are brought to the room, I open my blackberry to see if there is any news since this morning. Still no movement from David. No news should be good news, but this bastard makes me nervous. Butterfly has agreed to stay at Escala while I am gone in light of this new information, which makes me feel so much better. I can't stand worrying about her while I'm gone. I left instructions for another man to be put on her, discreetly, while I'm not there so that I can concentrate on the task at hand. I call her to let her know that I have landed safely and that my meetings should start in about an hour and should run almost back to back straight through until Friday, but I promise to call her in the evening to say goodnight. Her voice is still full of hesitation and I know that she hates me being here. I assure her that I will be home soon and send her all of my love.

An hour later, Taylor and I arrive at the Henderson Police Department. Officer George Sullivan is a distinguished-looking gentleman, early 40's at the most. After I introduce myself, he invites me into his office and offers me a cup of coffee.

"So how can I be of assistance to you, Mr. Grey?" He's very friendly, initially at least. I learn that this is about to change.

"Officer Sullivan, I am very interested in a cold case from your jurisdiction. It's about 11 years old now. A young girl named Anastasia Steele. I understand that you were the officer that responded to the attack." And the room instantly gets chilly.

"May I ask what your interest is in this case, Mr. Grey?" He says with a frown.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Officer. I'm one of the wealthiest men in America and I'm in love with Ana. I want to know what happened to her." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I don't know how much I can really help you..." He says.

"I understand that you were the first officer on the scene of the attack as well as the leading officer in the investigation. Can you tell me why no one was ever arrested?"

"Well, all of that was in my report, Sir. We had no suspects and Ana couldn't identify anyone." He responds

"Well, what about the Ranch? Ranch hands, the owner. You can't just walk on someone's property that I know of, acquire brands, brutalize someone, disfigure them, and nobody knows anything." This guy can't be _that_ dumb.

"The brands that were used on Ana were either homemade or personalized, like barbecue brands that were not registered." He explains. "You can order them online." Well, that would explain a few things. The burns are brutal, but small compared to an animal brand.

"I have read the report, Officer Sullivan, and there was no indication how you were attracted to the scene. Did someone call it in?" I question.

"No sir. Officers often check the sites of bonfires, particularly with high school kids to make sure that there is no under-aged drinking occurring." Hmmm...

"That seems a little strange, Officer Sullivan. I mean, I know that occurs with desert bonfires—or so I've been told—but on private property? That's like crashing someone's backyard barbeque." I say. Sulivan doesn't have a ready answer for me, so I continue questioning. "Did you have a reason to believe that there may be a problem with this particular bonfire that you felt it necessary to investigate?"

"It's like I said, Mr. Grey, officers often check the sites of bonfires..."

"...to prevent under-aged drinking. Yes, you said that. And just how bad of a problem is it to find under-aged drinking at a bonfire on private property in Green Valley? I mean, is this something that happens regularly? Occasionally? Not very often?" He eyes me suspiciously and I can tell that he is being purposely evasive.

"I'd say not very often." He says hesitantly and I nod.

"So what made this particular bonfire suspicious to you?" I ask. He thinks for a moment, then answers, "I heard a girl screaming." Oh, did you now?

"I'm sorry, Officer Sullivan, that's not in your report. Your report only says that when you arrived on the scene, several school aged children ran away." Sullivan shifts nervously.

"I'm not completely sure. It was quite some time ago, Mr. Grey." He responds.

"Well, let me help you." I produce a copy of the report from the inside pocket of my suit coat. "You reported, 'there were several school-aged children surrounding the victim when I arrived. They dropped her and ran away. When I approached, she was unconscious and unresponsive.'"

"May I see that?" I give him the copy of the police report and he pretends to look it over, then puts it in a drawer in his desk. "Like I said, Mr. Grey, it's been quite a while." What the fuck?

"May I have my document back?" I ask.

"I think I'll keep it, to try to refresh my memory of the event." Smarmy ass bastard. Does he think he's dealing with _Amateur Night_ here!?

"That's fine," I say undaunted. "You might want to pull it back out then." I pull out my blackberry and open the file on the network that has the police report and keep reading. "Again, you've crashed this bonfire and children all ran away. There's no indication in your report of the name of the ranch."

"I'm sure that there is, Mr. Grey." He says smugly. I scroll through the report on my blackberry.

"Nope, there's not. Please, feel free to check your copy. I'll wait." I sit back in my chair. He doesn't bother to check his copy because he knows that it's not there. Did this guy really think I was going to come in here unprepared? I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt before I got here. It never really occurred to me that the investigating officer would be part of the cover-up. Now I have to handle this differently.

"We never really did bonfires where I come from. It seems like it would be like a beach party. Kids laughing, talking, drinking maybe..." I begin.

"Yes, that's what a bonfire would be like." He says.

"Music, dancing. Maybe some sneaking off to the barn..." I say with a smirk.

"Yes, all of those things." He confirms.

"Yeah, I remember those days," I lie. "We did little campfires at the beach," I say, pulling on Elliot's memories and stories to help me out. "I remember my battery died and I had to call my parents to come and get me. They always use _my_ car for the music." Sullivan has relaxed a little bit—wrong move George.

"They're smarter here." He says. "They all keep battery cables in case a battery dies." I nod.

"I wish I had thought of that. It would have saved me getting grounded a lot. Oh well..." I shrug. "So from your own description, no one called you, you just saw a bonfire on private property which you decided to investigate. You heard a young girl screaming over a thrashing crowd of violent teenage girls and boys and music no doubt blaring from cars that must have been left behind since you said that the children all _ran away_. There's no address of the ranch, no indication that you've spoken to the property owners, no license plates taken from the cars that were left behind, not a drop of DNA from a girl who was brutally beaten and almost killed, and no questioning of any witnesses whatsoever. Did I about sum it up correctly, Officer Sullivan?"

Sullivan is watching the entire story fall apart in front of him and I am seeing the lie.

"Have there been any developments on the case since it occurred?" I ask.

"No, except for the fact that someone was looking into Anastasia a few weeks back." He answers flatly. Surprise! Nice to meet ya!

"That somebody was me because I was trying to find out why the woman I love had two years missing out of her life." Now, he gets the thrust of my inquiry. "Being in the public eye like I am, you can't be too careful about who you come in contact with. Being an important man I have to make sure that nobody's ghost is going to come back to bite me, but it looks like they are coming back to bite Anastasia." The color leaves Sullivan's face and he's becoming more than a little nervous. "I'm going to find out who did this to her. I have unlimited resources and I'm going to throw them all into finding out who is responsible for what happened to the woman that I love. And when I do, anyone involved in this attack is going to pay _dearly_ for what they did one way or another."

Sullivan squares his shoulders, straightens his back, and glares at me.

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Grey?" He says, his tone menacing. Now we're getting somewhere.

"I don't know, Officer Sullivan, am I? I'm threatening anybody who had something to do with the attack on Anastasia Steele. Did you have something to do with the attack on Anastasia? It was my understanding that you were her savior. Are you now telling me that you had something to do with her attack?" By the look on his face, I can tell that he now knows that he has not only stepped in it, but he has also tripped, fallen, and is now swimming in it!

"No, I did not." He answers, almost sneering.

"Why then would you feel that I was threatening you If you had nothing to do with Anastasia's attack?" Sullivan falls silent and I know now that I need to quickly look into this guy. I tilt my head to the side, narrow my eyes and examine him. "At least I'm sure I don't have to worry about you telling Anastasia about this little visit."

"What makes you so sure?" He spits.

"Well, for one thing, I'm sure you don't want her to know just how badly you botched this up. A preschooler could have done a better job investigating this assault and murder than you did." He straightens at my description of the crime. Yeah, jackass, assault and murder—or did you conveniently forget that a fetus was killed during this attack? "Make no mistake, Officer Sullivan. I am _not_ a preschooler, and I will find out what happened—no matter how many police reports you hide or roadblocks that you _think_ you can put in front of me. If you're a good boy, and leave my girlfriend out of this until I'm ready to bring her into it, you _may _be able to hold on to your job for a little while."

"What makes you think my job would be in jeopardy?" Does he really have to ask that question!? Who hires these people?

"Call Anastasia and we'll find out for sure." I stand. "I'll be in touch." I say before I leave his office. I walk out of the police station and call Welch.

"Welch, I need an immediate background check on George Sullivan. He's the investigating office on Ana's case. I need relatives, friends, financials for the last 11 years, properties that he owns in the Henderson area at that time. Whatever you can get your hands on quickly. He's hiding something and I need to know what it is before I leave Henderson—preferably today."

"Yes Sir." I end the call with Welch.

That little meeting took me just about into lunchtime. I was about to track down something to eat when I am informed that Cody Whitmore is temporarily stationary in a public place. Since I have no specific time to meet him, now would be a good time to confront this particular demon.

Cody's tail discovered that he has women in three cities. Today's woman is in Summerlin. Since he technically doesn't work, he has decided to go see Girl #2. Lawrence informs me that he has finished his midday tryst with the tramp and will most likely check in at Daddy's office after a drink at one of his favorite afternoon spots, a place called JC Wooloughans. It takes us nearly 30 minutes to get to this little Irish pub inside of a Summerlin resort.

I was sure that we were going to miss him since it took so long for us to get there, but apparently Girl #1...or 3...or a candidate for #4...waits tables at this establishment. He is seated in the corner chatting her up. I sit in the center of the bar and instruct Taylor to sit at the far end, where we can both keep an eye on him. I order soda water and lime and watch while he chugs two more beers eyeing the girl's ass at every opportunity. Did this guy drive? Has he been drinking this steadily since he arrived?

I can look at him and tell from his stance and posture—he's a cocky son-of-a-bitch. I know this, because _I'm_ a cocky son-of-a-bitch. He stands and makes his way to the restroom. I look over at Taylor who nods that he is on alert for whatever may happen. Whitmore comes back out of the bathroom and proceeds back towards his comfy corner.

"Whitmore." I call out, loud and sharp enough to be heard without shouting. He stops and looks over his shoulder.

"Who wants to know?" He shot.

"Temper, temper," I begin turning around to face him. I examine the man standing in front of me. He has the look about him of someone who works hard to try to impress you. "I'm sure Dear Old Dad has already told you to expect me." I say sipping my soda water. He laughs in my face.

"So _you're_ Grey?" He asked casually. "Yes, _Dad_ did tell me that you were coming to town."

"Ooo, my reputation precedes me. That makes me very happy. So tell me, _Cody_, why would you be concerned about my visit?" I ask.

"Oh, I'm not. I could fucking care less." He snaps.

"So why did your _Dad_ warn you of my arrival, that is, since you're so unconcerned?" I ask, flatly. He takes out his phone and hits a number.

"Because you're harassing my entire family, and I really don't think you know who you're dealing with." Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me. These people _still_ haven't looked me up? Talk about being delusional about your own power. "Dad, yeah, he's here...no, he's standing right here in front of me..." He hands me the phone. "My father would like to speak to you..._Christian._" Oh, Little Boy, you are playing with fire. I take his phone.

"Grey."

"Do you plan on harassing my wife next, Grey?" Whitmore spits.

"If she can give me the answers that I'm looking for, yes, I will." I say, impassively. I hear his breath catch on the other end of the phone. Wrong move, Jack-off...

"I thought it was understood that all future dealings would be directly with me!" He spit.

"You thought wrong!" I growled, looking at the man who raped my Butterfly while I prepare to eviscerate his father. His eyes narrowed and he swallowed hard as he tries to decipher our conversation. "I'm going to get the information that I came for, Whitmore. And if that requires that I interrogate your whole fucking family, then that's what I'll do."

Whitmore laughs loudly in my ear. "You're a cocky bastard, aren't you, Grey?" He snaps in my ear.

"I can afford to be." I respond.

"You know I can have you run out of town, right?" Whitmore threatened.

"You and what army?" I retort. And the line is quiet. "Since you seem to have run out of witty repartee, let's get to the point. You know why I'm here and _you_ suggested that we meet. I'm a busy man and my time is valuable—I don't like it wasted." I spit. It's now or never, Asshole. I don't need you. I'm sure that I am face-to-face with the fucker that I want, but I will take the opportunity to strike a little fear in the town of fucking Green Valley.

"I'll be at the M this evening after 8. That'll be the only time you can meet with me." He says like he has to squeeze me in.

"Works fine for me—I have plans for the rest of my stay." I hang up on him and turn my attention back to Cody. If I could get away with it, I would rip him apart right here on the spot with my bare hands and drop his mangled body in the middle of the desert—leave him to the vultures, the snakes and the desert vermin. He still has the nerve to stand there looking at me with this superior glare. My work here is done.

"I'll tell you what. You can wipe that cocky ass smirk off your face, because if I find out that you are who I think you are, I'm going to have your nuts platinum-plated and give them to my girl as a Christmas gift." I drop his phone into my unfinished glass of soda water before I signal to Taylor that we are leaving. "Roll that around in your head for a while, Asshole." Taylor and I leave him standing there with a not-so-smug look on his face.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Four hours. He's only been gone for four hours and I am sick to my stomach. Why oh why did it have to be Whitmore? Anybody but fucking Whitmore. I look out of my window at Grey House. He's not there today.

"I miss you, Baby. I wish I had told you not to go." I go to my desk and speed dial Maxie from my iPhone.

"Hey Max...are you busy for dinner tonight?...Can you meet me at Christian's? I need a session...No, everything's fine, but there has been a development and I need to talk it out...Thanks, Maxie. I know it's short notice and I really appreciate it. Would you prefer anything in particular?...Okay, well. I'll be out of here by five so I should be back at Escala at about 5:30. Shall we say six?...You are a life saver, Maxie. Thank you. I'll see you then." I hang up and call Gail.

"Hi Gail, my friend Maxie is joining me for dinner and...yes, she is one of the Fabulous Five." I laugh. "Would it be too much trouble if...oh, Gail, thank you...No, she said nothing special, so whatever you were already planning should be fine...6:00?...thank you, Gail, I would be lost without you." I end the call.

I love Christian. I love him so much. I don't question my feelings for him, or the fact that we have been together for such a short time. I have never felt this way in my life for anyone..._ever_...not even Edward. And as much as I hate him now, I _did_ love Edward once—_truly_ love him—but not like this. Christian is my heartbeat, my pulse, my love song...my reason to wake up in the morning.

Oh, I got it bad...

I scrub my hands over my face and get ready for my next patient.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"Hello, may I speak to Cynthia Crestwood, please?" I meant to call Mrs. Crestwood yesterday from the office, but I got caught up in a little thing called TPE and all things Green Valley completely slipped my mind.

"This is Mrs. Crestwood. How can I help you?"

"Mrs. Crestwood, this is Christian Grey. I am calling on behalf of an organization in Washington called Helping Hands. Our organization offers assistance to battered women and abused children who have recently left or are trying to leave abusive situations. Recently, your name was submitted to receive recognition for your assistance to children in the community. We actually sent you a letter requesting a conference with you, and my assistant tried to contact you last week, but we received no response. We were going to send another notification to you. However, I happen to be in the Las Vegas area on a business matter and was hoping I could possibly meet with you? Is that a possibility, Mrs. Crestwood?" I've rehearsed that speech several times to make sure I got it right the first time. I can fill in the blanks as needed from here on out.

"Oh, how nice!" She exclaims, sincerely. "What's the name of your organization again?"

"Helping Hands of Seattle, Ma'am. Families come to us from all over the country, having somehow or another made their way to the City of Goodwill." I laugh to break the ice and it works like a charm.

"Well, Mr. Grey, um, what do I need to do?" She asks.

"I would love to discuss this further with you, Mrs. Crestwood. Would you possible be available to discuss it over dinner tomorrow night? I will be leaving on Friday and I am staying at the Bellagio. We can meet at one of the restaurants here if you like or at any one you choose." Yes, the Bellagio, one of the more upscale hotels on the Las Vegas strip. Of course, that would pique her interest—not because she's superficial, but because let's face it...certain hotels on the strip mean _money_. The Bellagio is one of those hotels.

"Oh, no, Mr. Grey. The Bellagio is fine." Of course, it is. "Where shall we meet?"

"How about the Jasmine? Five o'clock? Reservations under Grey." I say sweetly.

"That would be perfect. I look forward to seeing you then."

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Crestwood." Thank God that went off without a hitch. I completely forgot to call the woman. That could have been a disaster!

In the rush to meet catch young Whitmore, I failed to eat lunch. I can see Butterfly shaking her finger at me and then I shiver remembering my punishments from yesterday. Though the sexual deprivation was agony, the spanking and flogging were superb discipline and the ultimate release was cosmic. Though I would never let on to anyone, my butt cheeks are still tender from the crop, my thigh throbs where she scratched me, and I still have stripes to admire on my abdomen and legs. I smile as I rub my thigh then promptly cease before causing myself the worse boner in the world and no hope of Butterfly to release it. I enjoyed her so much. I have no fond memories of subbing except that I knew I would eventually fuck...until last night...

That beautiful petite Goddess wrapped in a red and black corset and nonexistent lace panties and those insanely high black stilettos...and the collar...standing next to me, legs spread apart and whacking me with that riding crop. I actually jump as I anticipate the blows I've already taken...and he's up.

Down, Boy. We'll Skype her later.

Now I have to get something to eat or I am likely to relive my punishments from yesterday. As tempting as the riding crop and flogger were, I'm in no hurry to test my limits on her expertly executed orgasm deprivation. Also, I just don't want to disobey my Mistress.

"Taylor, have room service deliver an early dinner immediately!"

"Yes, Sir."

My Butterfly has rewritten my history. Twice. I no longer relate being a submissive to that horrible woman. I now relate it to my sexy, sensual, and irresistible Mistress. And I look forward to subbing for her.

Also, I don't feel the need to eat because of my prior food issues anymore—or because I was left alone with a dead crack whore for four days unable to find food—or because I spent so many days hungry and hurting and only wishing the pain would end. Now, I must eat because I foolishly harmed myself and my body for five days and I almost died...and this would have hurt my Mistress immensely. I am not allowed to hurt my Mistress. I do not desire to hurt my Mistress. So to that end, I am not allowed to cause myself harm ever again and must remember to eat and take care of myself..._for_ myself..._and_ my Mistress.

The M Casino and resort is an impressive establishment that opened in Vegas in 2009. Although it is on Las Vegas Blvd, it's not on the part of the street that is known as _The Strip_. It's about 10 miles south of _The Strip_—and just as far from the Bellagio. Where _The Strip_—the Bellagio, Mandalay Bay, Caesar's Palace—would all be geared towards the spending tourist, the M is more geared towards attracting locals...at least that's the impression I got of it.

Taylor and Lawrence are on high alert and conspicuously wired. I don't want this fucker to think for one second that he is playing with small-time business here, or that I don't have back-up. Sure enough, this asshole is in the high-rollers room, surrounded by callgirls and three trying-to-look-like-toughguys bulky security guards. This is so fucking cliché—it's like one of those badly-written gangster movies.

I know his type. He's been watching the door all night, waiting for an unfamiliar face to enter—and here I am. So now, he's going to play like he doesn't see me—as if I'm going to crawl to him like some lackey. Okay, Whitmore. Let's see how this works out for you.

I position myself in that stance that Taylor knows well—feet apart, hands clasped in front of me, staring at this asshole who is laughing loudly and grabbing on the ass of some scantily clad cheap slut. Taylor and Lawrence both take the CIA stance behind me...

And I stare...

It only took three minutes. What a pussy! My Butterfly outstared you the first day I met her.

"Grey! That must be you. Come in. Grab a girl. Make yourself comfortable. Can we get you gentlemen a drink?" He says, gesturing to a cocktail waitress like he's hosting a party.

"No thanks, Whitmore. I only drink socially and this is not a social call and as for the girls, well," I look around at the desperate tarts offering themselves like hors d'oeuvres and praying that they will be the _chosen one_, "I have a _woman_, so I have no use for girls." Whitmore laughs loudly.

"You _can't_ be talking about that lying bitch Anastasia Steele?" He barks. I move to close the space between us in three quick strides. His bulky security men leap into action to subdue me. One is quickly taken down by Taylor, who is now pointing a firearm at the guy's head who lies prostrate on the floor. The second managed to get to me right before I got to Whitmore. The hand he intended to make contact with my jaw is now crunched in my fist. I bend it back swiftly until I hear bones cracking and the man screams in pain while I hold him there. The third doesn't bother to move at all as Lawrence already has his firearm drawn and trained on him.

"Mr. Whitmore," I say leaning in inches from his face, still holding his bodyguard's broken hand, "I should inform you that I'm a bit sensitive about how you speak about my woman. So you may want to think twice about calling her a _liar_ and a _bitch_." I say through clenched teeth. He shows no overt signs of fear or cowering, but I can see the sweat on his forehead in this very cool casino. I release his bodyguard who is now clutching his hand in pain. "When you're done posturing for your friends, I'm staying at the Bellagio." I pull out a wad of bills and throw it at the broken hand bodyguard.

"You should get that checked out." I say before leaving the high-rollers room.

As Taylor, Lawrence and I make our way back to the front of the hotel, Williams brings the SUV around. Just as I am getting in, Whitmore comes out of the front door with his two uninjured tough guys.

"Grey!" Oh, it appears that he has grown a new set of balls! I step back out of the SUV. Taylor and Lawrence are back at my side, hands already on their firearms.

"What the hell was that? You broke that man's hand...for what? For protecting me from a stranger who comes into the hotel and threatens me?" He shouted.

"How did I threaten you, _Mr_. Whitmore?" I say with disdain, assuming the stance once again. I wait patiently for an answer that I know that I am never going to get, then I step to him again without dropping my hands so that the poor little insurance executive doesn't feel threatened. I've always known that I was a tall man. I just never understood why the rest of the world seems so damn short. Now here I am _again_ standing nose-to-eye with and looking down at yet another small man—in stature and manhood—that wants to prove that his balls are bigger than mine.

"We don't need to meet, Whitmore. We already have, and I already know what I need to know about you. You're a grimy little dirty, sorry excuse of a man who likes to throw money at his problems and hope that they go away. I know that tactic, Whitmore. I _invented_ it! And when I throw money at problems, I throw the kind of money at the right people to make sure that they _never_ show up again." I close the space between us. In my peripheral, I can see his guards jump to attention again but they don't make a move in my direction.

"You told me that I didn't know who I was dealing with, but it is _painfully obvious_ that you don't know who _you're_ dealing with, Whitmore. You are _grotesquely _out of your league, and too arrogant and ignorant to even know it. You should have done some more research on me before you attempted to throw your 'weight' around. If you had, you would have known that I am one of the wealthiest men in America—and I mean _Bill Gates_ kind of wealthy not _Oprah Winfrey_ kind of wealthy. So if you really want to talk about being a power player, you better remember that in the Deep Blue Sea, you're a guppy and I'm a shark. You don't want to fuck with me.

"I'm going to find out what happened to Anastasia Steele, and when I do, the people involved are going to pay for what they've done—one way or another. And by all means, if you want to come at me, please do. You go right ahead. You know where to find me."

This little man still doesn't seem to get the picture and still wants to try to jockey for position. To the passerby or casual observer, Whitmore is calm and collected and could possibly be dominating this conversation—that is, if he didn't have Goliath standing in his face looking down on him, and him trying to be David. However, I'm not the casual observer. Those beads of sweat are still present on his forehead. His ears are red but his face is pale. His fingers are twitching slightly and his breath is short. His pupils are constricted and keep darting from my left to my right eye, trying but failing to read my thoughts. His fear and uncertainty are so thick, I can smell them. He is clearly shaken.

When you are accustomed to being the Big Man On Campus and the real Head Man In Charge shows up, you don't know what to do with yourself. You don't become second-in-command; you become the last man on the totem-pole. This is proven every time your boss's boss shows up at your job. There is someone else in top seat and your boss is immediately turned into a gopher. In this case, Whitmore has been turned into a mouse and is still fighting to scurry back to the top of the pyramid.

"As you can see, Grey, I'm a very powerful man in this city." Whitmore says, his voice shaking just a bit at his one last attempt at a power play.

"No, Whitmore, I _can't _see that...but it really doesn't matter to me. You may very well be powerful in this city, but I'm a very powerful man in this _country_!" I spit. "I have hands in pots that you can't even imagine. My reach goes farther than your little brain can even conjure. I can make it so that you would wake up in the morning and have nothing left to your name but those cheap leather shoes that you're wearing right now."

"I beg your pardon!" Whitmore snaps. "These are Bexleys!" Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me. I shake my head at him. Even one of his bodyguards behind him has a slight reaction that I register as embarrassed dismay. I am truly wasting my time here.

"And the fact that you felt the need to tell me that right at this moment goes to show just how small your little mind really is." I say with pure contempt and disdain. I stand up straight as I no longer want to stoop down to this little man—figuratively or literally. "Let's go. We're done here." I say backing away from a shocked Whitmore and getting into the SUV once again. As we pull away from the M Resort, all doubt has been erased that Cody is the man that raped my butterfly and that his weaselly father paid off her family to hide it. I have my primary targets. Now all I have to do is work my way out to find the rest of the offenders.

It's about 9:30 when we get back to the Bellagio. We are stopped at the desk when the clerk informs us that there was a package left for me. Taylor and I look knowingly at each other. I wasn't expecting anything to be delivered—and Whitmore knows where I'm staying. Noticing the look on my face, the clerk says. "We can scan the package for you if you like, Mr. Grey. It's not something that we normally do, but I'm sure that we can make an exception." I nod curtly at him and he disappears for a moment. After a few minutes, the clerk returns with the package.

"It's clear, Mr. Grey. It's a book." He says, placing the package on the counter.

"A book?" I say, bemused.

"Yes, sir." He responds. Taylor takes the liberty to open the package. A knowing look comes over his face. Without removing the contents, he says, "You're expecting this, Sir." I nod at him and hand two $100 bills to the desk clerk thanking him for his services before retiring to my room for the night. I have a lot to consider. The day was very productive in terms of getting information and I now have yet another suspect to examine—George Sullivan. All of this time, he was considered one of the few good guys. He's hiding something and I know he is. Could he be sleeping with the devil, or just dancing with danger?

"Grey." I say as I answer my buzzing blackberry.

"Did you get the package, Sir?" Welch asks

"Yes, I did. Next time, let us know that it's from you so that we don't have to scan it for explosives. I _am_ in the lion's den down here, you know. Now I may have made a potential enemy out of a cop." I inform him.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I was calling to tell you that I have uploaded that cop's preliminary background check to the network. Nothing really stands out about him, but I am checking to see if there is anything deeper that we may have missed. So far, he just looks like your everyday, average citizen...no payoffs or huge influxes of cash, no undisclosed assets, nothing remarkable or out of the ordinary whatsoever."

"Remember, we thought that about Anastasia, too..." I remind him.

"Duly noted." He responds.

"Besides, that doesn't mean that he doesn't have anything to hide. He could just be scared shitless of Whitmore. He clearly has a puffed-up, delusional, high impression of the power that he wields over people since he apparently has quite the reach in Henderson...though I haven't seen it yet."

"_Oh_, one of those." Welch says, knowingly.

"In the worst way." I respond. "Inform legal to prepare for a possible lawsuit from one of his bodyguards."

"Sir?" Welch inquires.

"I broke his hand." He chuckles a bit in the phone.

"That's actually a direct hazard of his employment, Sir. He may not have grounds to sue you." He says.

"Well, I threw more cash at him than he probably makes in a month, so he may not have the _balls_ to sue me, but tell legal to be prepared anyway."

"Yes sir." I end the call and open the envelope that Welch has forwarded to me. The 2001 Green Valley High School yearbook. I can see that there are several pages bookmarked, but honestly, I just want to see one right now. I turn to the appendix of names in the back and, as expected, there is only one page number next to her name. I go to the page in the sophomore section of the yearbook and find her near the end of the page...in the S's...

My Butterfly.

Huge, blue unassuming orbs too big for her face. Her teenage skin is remarkably flawless, unmarred by make-up or the embarrassing pubescent acne I see in some of the other pictures. Her smile is innocent, unblemished, and a little sad—reflecting the loneliness of a naturally beautiful outcast. Her hair is pulled back into a ridiculously long ponytail with perfect bangs shaping her beautiful eyes. This picture was obviously taken before the attack, and I feel a little strange for the desire that I feel for this teenage girl that stares back at me. I take comfort in knowing that it is only because this is the younger version of my darling Butterfly—the woman who holds my heart and fate in her hands—but I can clearly see how her beauty could drive someone to untamed desire. Rape, no—but desire, absolutely.

I now have the burning need to touch her and be with her, but for right now, I have to be satisfied with Skype.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**The goodbye song was "Leaving On a Jet Plane by John Denver (or Peter, Paul, and Mary depending on your preference). Very, very, very old song.**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs!**_  
_**Lynn x**_


	39. Chapter 39: Good News Bad News

_**Any African Americans that read my conversation below (you'll know it when you see it), please don't get mad at me. I'm a black woman, and I prefer "black" over "African American." It's a personal preference. I use African American when necessary, but I prefer "black," because I'm not African American...I'm AMERICAN.**_

_**I had a few of my readers hit the nail on the head again with their predictions in the story. When you see them, you'll know who you are...**_

_**To the guest that mentioned Christian and the Mob—First, thanks for your review! You are correct, Christian is not God and there are a lot of mob affiliations here in Vegas. But Christian is not stupid, either. Even the great Christian Grey is not going to knowingly try to take on the mob. And trust me, if Whitmore had that kind of power, he wouldn't have been sweating when Christian talked to him. Christian has done his homework before coming to Nevada and coming face to face with the beast. However, I DID consider having someone have ties with the Mafia, but like I said—Christian would have done his homework and with Welch's outer-worldly ability to get information that would otherwise be unavailable, there would have been a red flag in the background checks. **_

_**Whitmore has the kind of money/power that Christian has, only it's less money in a smaller circle and on a smaller scale. That's why he's so sure of his power in Vegas. In Vegas, he's a big fish in a little pond, but if he steps into Christian's world, he's a guppy. Good observation, by the way. I don't want Christian to seem omnipotent, because he's not. But he is extremely powerful. Let's face it, money makes things happen. And if an insurance executive can make rape, assault, and murder disappear, imagine what a multibillionaire can do. ;-)**_

_**To Julie—thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I agree and disagree with your review. I agree that Christian is testing Ana's trust to the very limit. We will have to see if that turns out for or against him. I respect your not liking the hurting and the bullying. The only way that I can defend that is to say that he is pursuing a mob of people who have hidden a rape, assault, and murder for 11 years—I would say all bets were off. The first person he talked to was the cop—in a respectful manner—until the cop took his police report and tried to bully **_**Christian; ****_and we clearly know now that even the cop is hiding something_. **

_**Whitmore tried to bully him on the phone before he even got there, and he **_**knows ****_what this family did. As far as hurting the bodyguard, if Christian didn't swing—and Christian _didn't_ swing—why was he swinging at Christian? Who was the bully there? To be honest, if someone is swinging at me, they are lucky if _all_ they walk away with is a broken hand. Since I wrote it, I do acknowledge that the bodyguard was trying to protect his boss. Maybe in the future, said bodyguard will put himself _between_ his boss and a possible threat instead of swinging first. Putting yourself in front of me is an act of protection. Swinging is an act of aggression. It's like Welch said—it's a hazard of the job. _**

_**As far as the story being too tangled and unbelievable—that's in the eye of the beholder. Again, I completely respect your right to feel that way. I said something similar to someone else a while back, so I do get it. I will have to tell you honestly that it's only going to get more tangled from here. I'm warning you in advance in case you want to stop reading—I won't be offended, I completely understand. **_

_**Julie, I do appreciate that even though you didn't log in, you put a name to your thoughts and you voiced your distaste with various things in a respectful manner. Thank you for that, and I hope the story doesn't get too tangled for you and you do decide to keep reading. ;-)**_

_**To Carol, Chocolate, Ellie, Jaimini (now we have Bronze-Goddess-ville AND Bronze o'clock - I love it!), Laney, Lockiee (I don't know, yet...when Ana says so, lol), Mary (you just caught up to me, Hon. We're not done yet!), michelle b (don't worry, no strap-ons; I hope you feel better soon!), morgan5909 (My CG doesn't have the pappz just following him around but they will be there soon), Rachel/Boston (hunka hunka burning love? ROTFLMAO! And watch those nails!), T (my fellow freak, you are NOT old, Baby, I am older than you!), Tempress (you have Christian pegged exactly right!), and the rest of my guest readers that I couldn't PM, thank you for your support and for your input.**_

_****__****__****__********__________**I do not own Fifty** Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too_******_._**

_************__And now, the saga continues..._

_Chapter 39—Good News/Bad News_

_**STEELE**_

Dinner smells delicious when I get back to Escala after the seemingly never-ending day I had. He hasn't been gone for 12 hours yet and I feel dysfunctional already. It will be a good exercise for me—to be accustomed to his having to go on business trips and learning to cope with his absence—but this is different. He's in _that_ _place_—the place I swore to never cross again, turn away from it and never look back. That place that nearly killed me physically and almost destroyed me mentally. He is there among the very people that shook the foundation of my world.

He has most likely spoken to them by now, shook hands with them, smiled and conversed over drinks while they try to romance him for his business. No doubt, he'll be having dinner with Senior Whitmore—probably at some fancy casino on _The Strip_; or worse yet, in Whitmore's dining room while the little wifey serves them and acts as the perfect hostess. He may even try to thrust Amber down Christian's throat, assuming she hasn't already found her fortune attached to some other little rich boy's pocket.

The whole scene makes me physically ill and I don't know if I will even be able to stomach my dinner. I can't be a hypocrite, though. I have threatened Christian with severe punishment if he doesn't eat properly or causes himself harm like last week ever again, so I won't foolishly skip a meal either.

I go to the guest room to find a sundress and slides for dinner. I hate changing in here. I feel so separated every time I come in here to get my clothes. Would Christian mind if I put just a few of my pieces in his closet? I mean, I won't take over his space, but right now more than ever I feel the need to be close to him. I gather a few pieces, as much as I can carry, and take them to the bedroom that I share with Christian.

When I get to his closet, I discover that looks are quite deceiving. I commandeer what appears to be _a corner_ of the closet. As I begin to arrange my clothing there, the corner is like a clown car—the more I hang there, the more space I seem to have. I decide to retrieve a few more pieces and bring them in here as well. By the time I have retrieved enough "pieces" to fill the space without crowding it, nearly all of the clothes Al brought for me have been transferred to Christian's closet—minus my shoes and my lingerie. Let's see if I can find some space for _those_ things.

I was easily able to find spots here and there for the shoes Al brought over for me. However, I discovered that all of Christian's dresser and chest of drawer space is occupied. Hmmm... I guess undies and lingerie will have to stay in the guest room. After my little closet escapade, I realize that I only have 10 minutes before Maxie is supposed to be here. I quickly change my clothes and go back out to the great room.

We enjoyed a delicious beef stroganoff for dinner. I insisted that Gail join us since Jason was away with Christian and it would just mean that she would be eating alone. She assured me that it would get easier as time passes—being without your man for these necessary business trips—but that you never get _completely_ used to it. Give me hope then snatch it back, why don't you! She mentioned that Jason informed her there was extra security with them on this trip. I asked if that was normal.

"You never know with Mr. Grey," Gail said. "There's no such thing as _normal_ with him. One day, he fine riding in one of his sports cars with an escort. The next day, he has four guards in an SUV." We laughed. Yes, that's my beloved Christian...always keep you guessing.

Gail excused herself after dinner while Maxie and I enjoyed a La Ricolma Tuscan Merlot near a fire in the great room.

"So...what's going on, Steele?" Maxie began as she sips her wine. I sigh.

"Well, as you know, Christian had to leave town for business. He left this morning and he'll be back on Friday." I sit my wine glass on a coaster on the coffee table and fold my hands.

"You're having a hard time with the separation?" She asked, being more of a friend with that question than a therapist.

"Yes, I am, for a lot of reasons," I put my hand on my forehead, "not the smallest of which is that I'm in love with him." Maxie gasps.

"Ana! So soon?" Maxie leans in closer to me.

"I know, Maxie, but I've been in love before. I know what it feels like...this is _better_!" I say with certainty, looking into her eyes. She examines me for a moment.

"You _are_ in love." She says, softly. I nod.

"Yeah. It's a little rough on me. These feelings that I didn't expect to feel again...I mean, I didn't dismiss them _forever_. You know, like, running around the house, stopping clocks and wasting away in a wedding dress...but, I just wasn't really _expecting _them." I take another drink of my wine. "It knocks the wind out of you when it finally settles in that it's true, that you love another person this way. You can't wait to wake up in the morning or finish your workday so that you can see him again. You need their closeness to survive, to feel whole. And let's not even discuss the sex...!"

"No, let's!" Maxie encourages, laughing.

"No, let's not!" I reinforce with a giggle. "Anyway, it's not even about that." I tuck my hair behind my ear. "He has affected me down to my soul, Maxie. He's startling and frightening and still so vulnerable. He's an oxymoron in and of himself." How do explain that this magnificent man is both my obedient and adoring submissive as well as my powerful and superior Dominant? "I can't see myself without him, Maxie. It's not that 'he's so dreamy, I can't live without him' kind of thing...I _really _can't see myself without him." She examines me even more carefully.

"Is it unhealthy, Ana? Are you obsessed?" She asks. Am I? No, I can recognize obsession all the way down to the clinical definition. This is not obsession.

"No, I'm not obsessed, but I can say that I recognize the development of defining myself in terms of Christian...after two and a half weeks! I know it's unhealthy, but it's there. I know that I am still Dr. Anastasia Steele. I have not lost my identity, nor do I think I ever will, but..." I sigh and look at Maxie, defeated. "Maxie, he's all I think about. I can barely function. I want to sell my condo and move in here with him and never leave. I _love_ my condo...you know that...but if it meant that I could be with him every minute of every day, I'd sell it in a heartbeat!" I spit.

"Oh, Ana," she says, mockingly, "falling apart at the seams for a man..." she teases.

"Oh, not just any man. Christian fucking Grey...the source of wet dreams for women of all ages across the greater Seattle area! And beyond! Hot, rich, worldly, brilliant, sex-on-a-stick Christian Grey!" I'm squirming in my damn seat just thinking about him.

"Settle down, killer. You're going to combust any second!" Maxie says, handing me my wine glass and I finish it off.

"He only has to look at me and I will do anything he asks. His eyes are so powerful and haunting. Have you seen that man's eyes?" I say, breathily.

"Yes, I've seen them. Have you seen that man's ass?" She declares.

"Maxie!" I exclaim, slapping her quickly on the arm. "That's my man you're talking about and you have a boyfriend!"

"Ow! Cut it out! Look, I'm not dead. I'm just recognizing and appreciating some serious man meat here. And I don't know if you noticed, but...Phil is not my boyfriend anymore." My head snaps to Maxie and I look at her in horror. How could this have gotten past me? Two of my best friends break up and I don't know!? Where have I been?

"What?" I exclaim. "What the hell?" Those two are inseparable! How could this be! I want to cry! And now she's smiling. _Why the hell are you smiling? _Maxie produces her left hand and shows me a Petite Trellis solitaire princess cut white gold engagement ring. I gasp long and loud then scream as my hands fly to my chest.

"Maxine Elaine Saunders, how could you to _do_ that to me!?" I yell, nearly in tears.

"I'm sorry!" she lies through her laughter.

"How did I not see this all night?" We're yelling like we are not sitting directly in front of each other.

"I just put it on. I wanted to surprise you! I wanted you to be the first to know!" She squeals.

"Oh Maxie!" I crush her in an embrace. "It's wonderful! I'm so happy for you! Don't you ever scare me like that again!" I wail.

"Oh, Ana, please forgive me! I need you to be my maid of honor!"

"Of course I will, you cow!" I say as we cackle in laughter-tears. I release her and take her hand in mine, examining her ring as I wipe my tears. "Oh, Max, it's beauuuuutiful." I say in a soft, singy voice.

"Thank you, Ana." She says, wiping away her own tears. "We were sitting on the deck and he just took my hand and put the ring on my finger. When I looked up at him, he just said, 'I'm not asking because I'm not taking "no" for an answer...' as if I could _possibly_ deny him anyway!"

"Oh, this is wonderful." I say softly. "Who would have guessed that two of the Awesome Threesome would be getting married when we met a few years ago?" I say smiling.

"You know," she said, looking down, "we often wondered if our relationship would effect our friendship. We were so afraid you would pull away from us..." Her voice cracks a bit.

"Are you kidding? I could never be without you guys. I was thrilled that the two of you got together. Now all is perfect with the world because I'm in love—_seriously_ in love—and my best-couple-friends are getting married! I couldn't be more pleased." I look adoringly into the eyes of one of the two women that I consider a sister, and she returns my gaze with matching affection.

"I love you, Ana." She says, tears forming in her eyes again. I squeeze her hands.

"I love you, too, Maxie."

Once we were able to compose ourselves, Maxie apologized for hijacking the conversation and got us back on track with the necessary content at hand.

"So, I can see how this level of affection can be scary right now, but I really wouldn't worry about it. As your doctor, I can tell you that it's really normal for you to feel like this—especially right out of the gate, and most certainly after the nightmare that was Edward David. As your friend, I can tell you that that hot, powerful, sexy, whatever the rest of the words were that you used to describe him, hunk of man meat is madly in love with _you_. It is written all over his face...a blind man could see it. So have fun, Ana. Live a little. Hell," she gestures to our surroundings, "live a _lot_!" I laugh at her last statement.

"I know, Maxie. The biggest reason that I needed to talk to you tonight is because of where Christian is right now." I fall back into the sofa. "He's in Nevada...more specifically, he's in Green Valley."

"Whoa...shit!" She responds. "What the hell is he doing in Green Valley?"

"Yeah, that's the worst part. He's meeting with Cody Whitmore's fucking father." I spit. Maxie gasps.

"What?" She screeches. "What in the blue hell...?"

"Apparently, he needs this special insurance that reimburses the company if he or one of the higher level executives are kidnapped or if their employees or executives are kidnapped in volatile countries or something..." I try to explain.

"K&R." She says.

"Am I the only person that didn't know what that was?" I snap.

"Probably not, but what does this have to do with Whitmore?" Maxie asked.

"Whitmore sells insurance. He's very, very, very high up in one of the largest independent insurance firms in the Pacific time zone. That's probably how he acquired GEH's attention."

"You don't think it has anything to do with you, do you?" She asked. "Maybe Whitmore found out that you're with Christian somehow. Some sort of shakedown maybe?" I shake my head.

"I don't see how. Our relationship is not public. I mean, it's not _private_, but it's not like we're in the news or anything. I don't speak to anybody from Green Valley, not even my prior guardians. I spoke briefly to George, but he doesn't know that I'm with Christian. Even so, what could they possibly hope to gain from Christian?" I shrug.

"Does Christian know this is the father of the guy that raped you?" She asks, horrified.

"No, I never told him. He would kill Cody with his bare hands, I just know it. I almost let the cat out of the bag on Monday, though. He told me where he was going and he mentioned Cody's name and I went into some kind of subconscious conniption fit. It was horrible."

"Oh, Ana." She said, sympathetically.

"Yeah, it was awful. He was looking at me—so helpless—like he desperately wanted to erase all the bad in my life. I wanted to tell him so badly, _so_ badly Maxie, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't risk him going after Cody and then I lose him." I bury my face in my hands.

"But he does know about..." She trailed off and I knew what she was asking me.

"He knows." I say, my voice muffled. "He's knows the _what _just not the _who. _Do you remember when I told you that Edward had seen it, and I told him not to ask me about it and he didn't...?

"But you secretly wanted him to ask because it would have meant that he cared." She finished my sentence. I nodded and raised my face from my hands, involuntary tears starting to fall.

"Christian asked..." I squeaked and Maxie smiled at me, taking my hands.

"He did?" She asked softly and I nodded.

"Repeatedly. He begged. He wouldn't let me hide." I dropped my head. "He kissed my brand when he thought a was asleep." I say just above a whisper. "He stroked the scars and called me 'Beautiful.' He's my Prince Charming." I choke, wiping my tears.

"Wow." She says in a dreamy voice. I sigh.

"And now, he's fraternizing with the enemy—not just any enemy, the _ultimate_ enemy. I should have told him..." I say, kicking myself for not informing him who he was going into business with. "Of all the insurance companies he could have used...get a piece of the rock, the good hands people, the good neighbor folks, even the little fucking lizard! But no, he had to go to Daddy Whitmore—'we raise rapists' Daddy Whitmore. I should have told him." I bury my face in my hands again.

"Are you certain that he would have gone after Cody if you had told him about this?" Maxie asks.

"Yeah, I'd bet the ranch that he would have gone after him...or had someone _else_ go after him." I reply. She sighs.

"Ana, I'm never one to promote deception or cover-up of any kind. You know as well as I do that it always comes out in the end." Don't I know it. "But I have to say that I think you did the right thing this time by not telling him." I look up at her, surprised. "You found out...what...two days before he was leaving? How could you possibly drop a bomb like that with your knowledge of how he would respond and expect to be able to do any kind of damage control in that small amount of time?" She sounds logical, but I don't feel any better.

"I could have told him not to go, and he would have stayed." I inform her. "But I'm sure that I couldn't do that without telling him why. It's such a mess. Every moment that he's down there I'm just sick to my stomach." I say, determined not to have a repeat of Monday night and the amazing reappearing dinner.

"How did you justify letting him go?" She asks.

"By telling myself that I couldn't run his life or his business and telling myself that it was for the best that he didn't know about Cody." I respond.

"Well, you've got that half right." I say. "You can't run his life or his business. He has to make those decisions and he's been doing very well up until now. Unfortunately, you do have to tell him about Cody." A look of horror must have spread across my face because she quickly added, "You don't have to tell him right now, especially not while he's down their within arms reach of the bastard, but you are going to have to tell him eventually." She says, putting her hand on my knee.

"Well, what do I do in the meantime, Maxie? I'm going crazy." I beg.

"Well, in the meantime, you take comfort in knowing that you did the right thing for the immediate future. You should definitely stop worrying about it because there's nothing you can do about it right now...not to mention that worrying is bad for your complexion. Finally, you help me get some ideas for my wedding because I don't know where it's going to be, when it's going to be, what my color scheme will be, how many people will be there...all I know is that I love this man and want to marry him as soon as possible. And he has left it all up to me." She says, more that a little flustered. I smile at one half of my best-couple-friends.

"Those sound like fabulous suggestions, Max." I say grasping her hand on my knee.

* * *

I have showered and changed for bed, deciding on one of Christian's t-shirts since he's not here. I need as much of him near me as possible. I haven't heard from him since he landed in Vegas. I hope those wolves haven't killed him and dumped his body somewhere. I wouldn't put it pass them. I'm sitting on the bed blankly looking at my laptop when my iPhone sings that I have a text.

_****Skype?****_

It's Christian. Thank God. The wolves haven't disposed of him yet. I open my Skype and text him back.

_****Doctorlady206****_

Moments later, I get a friend request on Skype from CEO1920. I snicker to myself as I add him to my friends list, then almost immediately get a call from him. My hands tremble as I click the mouse to answer the call.

"Hello, Beautiful." His voice soothes me immediately. He looks deliciously wonderful propped up bed in a t-shirt and pajama pants.

"I miss you." I say before I can get anything else out of my mouth. He sighs.

"I miss you, too, Butterfly." He says, somberly. "You've been crying." He says, after a pause. Shit, how can he tell? That was at least an hour ago.

"Oh, don't pay me any attention." I say with a nervous laugh. "Maxie came by for dinner and she and Phil are engaged." I say as a reason for my tears. It was almost true.

"Really?" He says, just as pleased as I was.

"Yes. She played a terrible trick on me. She told me that she and Phil weren't boyfriend and girlfriend anymore, and I flipped the hell out." I added.

"You cried because you thought they broke up?" He asked, bemused.

"Noooo," I said, rolling my eyes. "She showed me the ring, then I cried." I answered. Christian shook his head.

"Sappy girls." He teased.

"Don't tease me, I'm having a hard time here by myself." I caution gently. His expression softens.

"I'm sorry, Baby." He says. I shrug.

"It's okay. So how are things going down there?" Do I really want to know? He shifts a bit on the bed.

"I've got a lot of information," he says. "Waiting for more to be sent over by Welch. I don't think I like this guy, Whitmore." Oh, good Lord, that's music to my ears.

"Do I even want to know why?" I actually should have _thought _that statement instead of saying it aloud.

"He's a poser. His son is even worse." He says, disdainfully.

"His son?" I ask. Did you meet that bastard? Please tell me you hated him.

"Cody." Christian says after an uncomfortable pause.

"Are you okay, Christian?" I ask. He shakes his head as if to release a bad thought.

"Yeah, I'm fine. First impressions are quite important to me and the Whitmores were less than presentable in my book." He responds.

"Did you meet any other members of his family?" Like _Amber_?

"No, just Junior and Senior Whitmore. If these two are any indication of the rest of their family, I don't think I could stomach any more time with them." He shakes his head.

"So why not just cut your losses and come home?" _Please?_

"Because I still haven't finished gathering information on the company. Granted, he's not my first choice of someone that I would put out front to represent _my_ business, but I always want my decision to be educated...even if I decide to say 'no.'" And that's why _he's _the brilliant businessman.

"Okay, that makes sense to me." He relaxed a little at my statement. You don't have to explain your business choices to me, Christian. I just don't want you anywhere near those snakes, that's all.

"So, what brought Maxie by today?" He asked. I can tell he's concerned.

"I asked her to come over. I was lonely." I say honestly, well, mostly honestly.

"How was your day?"

"Long." I admitted. "I'll be fine, Christian. I just have to get used to those times when I have to be without you," I say trying to quell his obvious concern. Hopefully, I'll never have to worry about you talking to the fucking Whitmores again. That will make it a whole lot easier!

"I thought our experience yesterday would have made the separation a little easier." He says, seductively. I giggle.

"If anything, it made it worse." I say, laying down on the bed. His breath catches a bit.

"I know what you mean." He says, and I can see his hand moving a bit. I know what he's doing.

"Let me see..." I say. He pulls the laptop back and adjusts the webcam so that I can see him stroking his erection over his pajama pants. Fuck, that's hot. I bit my lip and my hand immediately goes to my nipple. I tease it gently over my shirt and gasp when a jolt of pleasure shoots straight to my core.

"Take off your shirt, Baby." He says, his voice deep and hungry. I slowly remove his t-shirt and I am naked underneath. "Oh shit. You look so good." He's reaching into his pants now.

"Your turn," I breath as I continue to stimulate my nipples. He accommodates me by removing his t-shirt to reveal his sexy, muscular chest. I let one of my hands wander to my stomach then tell him, "your bottoms, Mr. Grey." My voice reveals the ache inside. He groans before he raises his hips to remove his pajama pants, releasing his erection into the webcam. I whimper involuntarily as he springs forth. My mouth actually waters for him. I immediately slide my hand down to my clitoris. I don't think I can take one more second without satisfaction. I am so hungry for his closeness and his touch, I could just burst.

"You're a little anxious, aren't you, Baby?" He says, his voice a mixture of mirth and arousal as he fists his shaft.

"Very." I breath and I open my legs to reveal my hot, wet pussy to the webcam. "Talk to me." I prompt him as I stroke my folds. He moans loudly and his dick seems to stand taller with each stroke. God he looks so good.

"You are so wet, Baby." He moans. "I can see you dripping for me. Stick your finger in it, Baby. Spread that wetness around." I do as I am told and plunge my finger into my hot core.

"Ah!" I gasp as I pull the wetness out and spread it around my core.

"Yes...yes...that's it...massage that clit, Baby." He says, his voice labored and sexy. I feverishly stimulate my clitoris and my nipple as I watch his hand stroke mercilessly over his throbbing dick.

"Oooooo, you like that, Baby?" I purr as I feel my release coming.

"Yes, Baby," he chokes, "I...like that a lot."

"Show me," I say, plunging my fingers into my pussy again. "Ah! Show me how much you like it."

"Oh fuck!" He hisses as he quickens his stroke, keeping his eyes glued to the screen, his breath quickening.

"Tell me how it feels..." I mewl...any second now...

"Oh, Baby...so good...it feels...so...good." He croaks.

"Yes...yes, Baby...it feels...aaaaahhh!" I throw my head back as my orgasm takes over me. I am squirming wildly on the bed, pinching my nipple and riding out my release, unable to keep my eyes open. "Christian!" I croak.

"Look at me!" He growls, causing my eyes to fly open and my head to dart to the screen. He has moved closer to the computer and he is pulling ferociously at his dick. The sight causes another small wave of pleasure to flow through me—a mini-gasm, I like to call them. Delicious aftershocks that prolong the pleasure.

"Ah! Christian!" I whimper again, breathless.

"Gah! Ana...Baby...fuck!" I love to watch him make himself come, or even watch me make him come. He has pushed himself back against the headboard and his seed squirts up and back down over his dick as he squeezes and holds it up to jerk out his release.

"Yes, Baby, spread it for me. Spread it over your cock like I would." I tell him. He spreads his come up and down his dick and over the head, writhing with each stroke and grunting as I know the tenderness is almost too much to bear. "Oh, yes, Baby, that looks so good." I coo. Once he stops jerking and grunting, I know that he has worked out every bit of his release. His breathing is starting to slow and he begins to relax.

"Damn, Ana. Even from 1100 miles away, you still make me come hard as fuck!" He says between his calming breaths.

"Ditto, Mr. Grey." I say, my body still tingling from its release. He raises his head and looks at me adoringly.

"I think we both may need a trip to the bathroom to clean ourselves up." He smiles.

"I think you may be right." I coo.

"Back in five?" He bargains.

"See you then..."

I was able to sleep okay through the night only because Christian stayed on Slype with me until I fell asleep. I woke this morning to a Skype picture waiting for me—a still of Christian holding a hand written sign that says, "I love you, Butterfly." Now I can make it through my day.

Today, I had an appointment with Melanie again, the one patient that I have for dignity therapy. Some days are better than others for her, and today seems to be one of her weaker days.

"So, why are we here today, Melanie? You seem like you're so tired, we could have done this next week." I say sympathetically.

"That's the problem, Ana. I never know when there may not be a next week for me." Melanie says, her breathing labored.

"Okay, I understand that. I'm not a medical doctor, but I'm sure that in this type of discomfort, rest will be better for you." I try to reason with her.

"No offense, Ana, but I'm dying. I'll rest when I'm dead." She says, smiling weakly. I nod. It's her decision if she wants to continue.

"So, where did we leave off last time?" I ask.

"No regrets. Number 7, marrying my first husband..."

Melanie and I laughed through her session this time. She discussed how marrying her first love seemed like a good idea at the time, but that they were too young and neither of them had done any living. They had a child who is now living with her father since Melanie was too sick to care for her anymore. It seems that every time she talks about her teenage years, she gets a feeling of remorse and regret—which is strange since the dignity therapy is primarily to help her release those feelings. Every time our session is over, I just want to run to Christian's arms and hold him and thank him for being a part of my life. Unfortunately, he's not here right now.

After lunch, I go over to Helping Hands headquarters to see the facility and meet with some of the families as scheduled. Of course I see John there and resist the urge to call him a _quack._ He seems to work well with the families, though, so I guess he can't be _all_ bad. As Grace takes me around introducing me to various staff members and families, I keep getting a glimpse of a teenage boy who stares blankly out the window. Anger is emanating from this kid and everyone seems to avoid him, including the staff.

"What's his story?" I ask Grace, pointing to him. Grace sighs.

"He's a very angry young man. His father abused him, his mother, and his little sister. His mother ended up in the hospital—she nearly died. That's when they finally decided to leave. He feels like he should have been able to protect her, but he couldn't even protect himself. So now, he's dealing with the fallout from abuse as well as the guilt from not being able to rescue the women in his family. Like I said, very angry young man." She explained.

"No one's trying to help him?" I asked.

"_Everyone_ has tried to help him." She exclaimed. "He's belligerent, uncooperative, and sometimes violent. We've found it best to leave him alone while his mother and sister are able to get assistance." I look at her bemused and she puts her hand on my shoulder. "I think sometimes the company is enough for him, even though he doesn't say anything, but you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped." I look over at this very angry young man about to be unleashed on society one day.

"Do you mind if I try?" I ask. She eyes me suspiciously.

"He hasn't struck anyone recently, Ana, but that's not to say that he won't strike _you_." She warns. I laugh. Oh trust me, Grace, he wants _none _of this.

"I'll take my chances." I say and she nods. I walk over to Little Mr. Angry and sit on the window-seat next to him.

"Hi." I say. He turns to look at me and every angry and hurtful emotion imaginable is hiding behind his angry green eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" He says, coolly. Oh...okay. This is how you want to play it? Fine by me.

"I'm Ana. Who the fuck are you?" I respond flatly. _There's_ an emotion I didn't see behind those green eyes...surprise.

"You work here, don't you? You're not allowed to speak to people that way." He says, matter-of-factly.

"But you are?" I ask. He just stares at me. "You get what you give, Buddy." He turns his head and looks out the window again. "See anything interesting?" I ask. He turns to me again.

"Why don't you just leave me the hell alone?" He snaps. I shrug.

"Fine. Fuck it." I stand and proceed to leave.

"Are you supposed to do that?" I hear Little Mr. Angry ask from behind me.

"Do what?" I ask in the snottiest, high-school voice I can muster.

"Walk away." He says like he's scolding me. I fold my arms

"You said 'leave you alone,' I was leaving you alone." I reply, snapping my head on every word and glaring at him. He stares at me like I have two heads. "What?" I snap, the snotty high-schooler returns.

"Nothing! It's just...everybody else tries to get me to talk." He drops his head. I walk back over to the window seat.

"Well, it's kind of clear that you don't want to talk. I just want to know why you're sitting here, looking out at...nothing." I turn to the window and look for something to catch my eye. "Pretty fucking boring." He looks over at me again.

"You're strange." He says. I turn and meet his eyes, not so angry anymore.

"_I'm _strange? Hey, I'm not the one sitting here looking out the window at nothing." I throw back and roll my eyes. He snickered. Holy cow, we're getting through.

"You must be new." He says, turning back to viewing nothing out the window.

"Well, besides the fact that you obviously haven't seen me before, why do you say that?" I ask.

"Because nobody here talks to me. They're afraid I'm going to go all _ragey_ and scratch their eyes out or something." He says without looking back at me.

"I'm not worried about that." I say, flatly.

"Why not?" He snaps, looking at me again. "What makes you so damn special?"

"Oh, because if you go all _ragey_ on me, I'll beat your little ass." I say, doing the finger quotes around the word "ragey."

"You will not!" He says, incredulously.

"Oh, yes I will!" I retort, snapping my head again. "I train with a 6th degree black belt martial arts master and I have had him on the ground begging for mercy. I will beat. Your little. _Ass_!" I say definitely. He laughs aloud and the few people in the room fall silent. I turn around and look at them, afraid they are going to undo all the work I just did.

"What!?" I yell, irritated at the gawkers. They look at me surprised. I'll apologize later. Right now, I'm on a mission. They go back to conversation or whatever they were doing.

"They're not going to like you very much here." I turn and look at him, my gaze dripping with sarcasm.

"And this should bother me because...?" I spit. "This aint my day job!" He laughs again.

"So what are you doing here anyway?" He asks.

"Right now, trying to find out who the fuck you are." I say glaring at him again. He pauses.

"Marlow. My name is Marlow." He finally confesses.

"Well, I'd say 'nice to meet you, Marlow,' but it wasn't that nice. So what's your deal? Who pissed in your Cheerios?" I ask.

"It's just the way I am." He says, looking out at nothing again. Okay...

"So Marlow, do you prefer 'black' or 'African American?'" His head snaps at me.

"What!?" He shoots.

"I've got a question for you but before I ask, I need to know. Do you prefer 'black' or 'African American?'" He looks at me like he completely doesn't understand what I'm asking him. "It's not rocket science, Dude," I shrug, "'black' or 'African American?'"

"Black." He spits at me after a pause. "I prefer _black_. I aint no fucking African American. I was born _here._ I aint never been to African in my damn life."

"Yeah, that's been my experience with most black people." He glares at me again. "Look, I don't know where the fuck _my_ people came from, so I have no idea what kind of hyphenated-American_ I_ would be!" I shoot.

"They wouldn't hyphenate you. You're white." He said, a little disdainful.

"Yeah, but as far as I know, the only people that really come from here are the '_na-tive_' Americans," I do the finger quotes again with the word "native" and deliberately split the syllables. "The rest of us landed on somebody's shore, voluntarily or involuntarily."

"So what was the question?" He asks.

"Oh, yeah. I've never seen a black person with green eyes." I say, leaning in like his eyes are the most interesting thing in the room—which right now, they are. "How does that happen?" He leans back a bit and takes a deep breath.

"My mom is white, and my dad is black. My mom has green eyes..." He says, his voice low. I stare in his eyes.

"You don't like them." I say, tilting my head.

"I don't know." He answers. "They cause me problems." He says still looking at me. I snap my head back.

"Problems?" How can your eye color cause you problems?

"Yeah." He looks back out at nothing. "The kids at school used to say that I was trying to be white. They thought I was wearing contacts—like every other bitch in school wasn't wearing them already. And then my dad..." He trailed off. I waited for a moment before I asked,

"What about him?" Marlow sighed.

"He used to beat me...because he was mad I got my mom's eyes and not his...like that was my fucking fault!" He spit.

"Damn," I said shaking my head. "That's fucked up." I turn back to look at nothing with him.

"They teach you a class in this shit?" He said, turning to me.

"What shit?" I said, looking at him.

"Relating to somebody. Getting on their level." Oh shit, you got me. I shake my head.

"I don't think you can teach something like that. Either you relate or you don't. It is what it is." I say with a shrug. I relate, because I could have very well been Marlow if I had decided to stay angry for what happened to me.

"It's just that...every time they send somebody to talk to me, they send some fucking phoney..."

"Okay, who are 'they' and why are they sending people?" I ask, mimicking confusion. He laughs again.

"You really are strange, Ana." He says.

"Ah, well...it takes one to know one." I reply. He smiles and rolls his eyes.

"I'm just tired of people trying to 'fix' me." He says.

"Why? Are you broken?" I say with one raised eyebrow. He narrows his eyes. He can't figure me out.

"They think I am!" He says waving his hands and pointing at nobody. I catch a glimpse of Grace out of the corner of my eye standing just outside the door with another woman. Oh, forgive me, Grace.

"There you go with 'they' again. Who the fuck are 'they?'" I say with my hands open, looking flustered. And he's still trying to figure me out. "Do _you_ think you're broken?"

"No, I'm not broken!" He declares.

"Fine, so you're not broken. What's the damn problem?" I say, hands still open, flustered.

"I want people to treat me like a person, not a fucking charity case." He yells.

"So why don't you just say that?" I yell back, and now he's shocked. "Is there something wrong with your mouth that you cannot tell people 'I am a fucking person?'" I stare into his green eyes, now guileless and somewhat confused. I hold my hands out wide and stare. "Feel better now?" I snap. His whole body relaxes. I put my hands down.

"People will only treat you the way you allow them to treat you." I say definitely. "'They' have been trying to help you, but 'they' can't because they don't know how. They don't know what you need and apparently, they don't know how to treat you. But Marlow, you can't make them feel bad for trying to help you. We've all got a story, _believe_ me, and _none _of us really wants to tell it. Hell, I wish I could bury mine forever and never fucking tell it again." I say, doing a patented Christian-Grey-fingers-in-my-hair gesture. "You don't have to constantly _tell_ your story to get _past_ your story, but you do _have_ to get past your story!" He drops his head at this statement.

"Maybe I can help you get past your story, get a little peace in your life, stop being so damn mad all the time. But I won't shove anything down your throat. I don't know what the hell 'normal' is," air quotes again, "and if there a such thing as _fixed_ and _broken, _then I'm somewhere in between!" I say making illustrative gestures with my hands.

"No, you're strange." He laughs.

"Whatever," I say, leaning in to him. I put my arms on my knees and fold my hands in front between them. "I'm going to leave here tonight, go home, eat my dinner, watch some TV, and everything will be everything. I'll help you if you want me to, and if you don't, I'll get up, carry my happy ass out of here. I won't lose any sleep if you decide you want me to get the fuck out of your face. The choice is yours." I sit there waiting for Marlow to make a decision.

"Lady, the minute I feel like you are trying to run some kind of game on me, I am done." He says.

"That is always your choice, Marlow. I just want to see you not be so damn pissed. Can we work on that?" He nods.

"Yeah, we can work on it. Will you be here next week?" He asks.

"I'll be here next week." I nod and proffer my hand to him. He shakes my hand just as Grace and the other woman enters the room. Marlow shoots up and puts his hands in the air.

"I wasn't doing anything!" He nearly shouts. I stand up and turn to him smacking my lips.

"At ease, soldier." I say sarcastically snapping my head again. He looks at me and then at Grace, then puts his hands in his pockets and drops his head. I notice he's a lot taller than I thought, maybe about 5' 8" or so, but stress can make you look and feel very small.

"Ana, this Is Marcia, Marlow's mother." Grace introduced the green-eyed brunette to me and I shake her hand.

"He's right, he does have your eyes." I say.

"It's nice to meet you, Ana." She says sweetly.

"Same here." I respond. Marcia is about the same height as Marlow, with healing bruises on her face. Her last encounter must not have been that long ago.

"I see you've met my son." She says, cautiously.

"Oh, yes, he's just a bundle of joy and laughter." I say, sarcastically looking at Marlow, who chuckles again.

"Yeah, and you're short." He says with mirth.

"Whatever. I'll still kick your little ass." I say, playfully punching his arm while he continues to laugh at me. "Next week? Same place?" I ask. He nods.

"Next week." He says and he walks out with his mother. Grace watches them leave and turns to me once they have cleared the door.

"He hasn't spoken to anyone in months! What did you _do_?" She asks in wonder. I shrug.

"You do whatever you have to do—within reason—to get through to them. He's a very angry child, and none of that psycho-babble-mumbo-jumbo was going to work with him. He needs to be seen. He needs for people to see _him_, and that just hasn't been happening." She looks at me, her eyes still full of wonder.

"He doesn't see me as a threat. I'm not shoving anything down his throat, I don't have anything to sell, and the door is open for him to leave any time he wants." I say to Grace. "It's like you said, you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. They have to make the decisions. We can't do it for them." She shakes her head.

"You've been here, what, two hours? Maybe? Do you know how many people have tried to help that young man?" I shrug.

"I can imagine." I reply.

"I was coming in here to investigate since one of the workers said the new girl yelled at her." My hand flew to my mouth.

"Oh my God! Please apologize for me, I'm so sorry! I had to get on his level and it required that I get a little brusque." I squeak on the last word. "I didn't mean to offend anybody," I say shaking my head.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Dear." She says. "If you can turn _that one_ into a success story, everyone here will be eternally grateful."

"Do you have prior files on him? I want to find out as much about him as I can, but I don't want to push him to talk about anything that he doesn't want to discuss." I say. Grace nods and I follow her to her office.

* * *

_**GREY**_

I spent most of the day trying to weave together the information that I already had from Billings as well as the unspoken information I have gotten from Sullivan and the Whitmores. While sitting at the desk in the penthouse of the Bellagio, I have made a list of the people who are definitely responsible:

_Cody Whitmore and his asshole father, Franklin  
Kevin Van Dyke—identified by Billings_

There are some _strong possibles _that need to be examined:

_Carly Madison—Whitmore's high school girlfriend  
Mary Wiseman, Rhonda Yick, and Lana Milligan—most likely guilty by association; flunkies that hung around Madison.  
Michael Underwood—Identified by Billings as "Michael and them guys"  
Brian Moleham, Richard Swanson, William Wood, and Justin Roundy-"them guys"_

Strong evidence points to Madison because although Whitmore claimed that Butterfly lied on him and that the sex was consensual, that would not instigate the need for him to brand her a whore...literally or figuratively. He may have assisted in pegging her as a _liar_, but not a _whore_. That particular label is personal and would have been granted by someone who felt particularly slighted by the situation—hence, the woman scorned.

If that be the case, Madison would not have carried this out without her closest partners in crime—again, literally and figuratively. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that, among other possibilities, those partners would certainly have been Wiseman, Yick, and Milligan. Madison was photographed over 20 times in the 2001 yearbook—not even _her_ year of graduation. Whomever else may have been in the shots with her, these three were always there.

I only have Billings' information to follow Michael and his crew, but something still does not sit well with me with Sullivan. I can't figure where he would fit in with this puzzle. There's no payoff according to Welch, so we know that Whitmore didn't get to him—unless he used some untraceable assets and nothing at all even points in that direction. I think it's pretty safe to say that he wasn't paid off. He was the cop at that time so he certainly wasn't one of the students that took part in the attack. There's absolutely no evidence that he knew the Steeles/Mortons before any of this happened. So what is he hiding? He has covered every track possible that could lead to that ranch or that night, and nobody questioned him. He clearly doesn't want anybody to see the evidence. Why would a cop want evidence to be covered?

I look at the picture of my Butterfly again. The beautiful, fresh-faced, bright-eyed girl reminds me why I am doing this. They stole her innocence and put her through hell when she should have been going on dates and to movies, picking a dress for the prom. No, she was working crazy hours at odd jobs saving her pennies and planning escape from her own personal hell. You would never know what she went through by looking at this beautiful picture. You would also never know that, quite possibly, anybody on this page could have taken part in her attack—a page full of shiny-eyed, pimply faced teenagers. I look at the different expressions and make a game out of trying to figure out what they could be doing now.

Kevin Schau—he probably went to Hollywood and became a movie star.  
Danielle Titus—probably president of the PTA after punching out a couple of kids.  
Robert Sol—oh, he is so gay.

I see one picture that has an air of familiarity and I have to do a double-take. Right there on the same page—as a matter of fact, right _next_ to Butterfly...how did I _not _see that?

"No fucking way!" I exclaim aloud. Taylor appears in the doorway from the bedroom on the other side of the penthouse.

"Sir?" He greets cautiously, but I am feverishly opening the folders to access the background checks and information on the Green Valley suspects. I open a file and read carefully, and there it is. There is no mistaking it. The resemblance is uncanny and it's right there in black and white. I'm glad it only took me a day to see it and I don't know if I would have _ever_ made the connection if I hadn't been staring at Butterfly.

"Fuck!" I exclaim again as I stand quickly from my seat, knocking the chair back onto the floor behind me. This discovery has completely infuriated me! I walk away from the desk cursing and ready to kill someone with my bare hands. I pour myself a bourbon from the wet bar and immediately throw back the double-shot. Taylor approaches cautiously.

"Boss...what is it?" He says, his voice forceful. We cross a certain line when I go from "Sir" to "Boss." The latter is more of a term of endearment...if you can call it that. When he needs to get my attention for something—or bring me back from the cliff—he calls me "Boss."

I look over my shoulder at Taylor, trying to gather my thoughts to explain what I have just figured out. "Pick up the chair and have a seat, Taylor." Bemused, he places the chair in front of my laptop and looks at me expecting. I come back to the desk and move the mouse. The picture that I was studying pops up. "In the yearbook, the kid next to Anastasia—hold it up to the screen." It only takes a few moments for Taylor to see the resemblance.

"Ssssssssshit!" He hisses viciously, looking up at me.

"I'd bet my next acquisition that little fucker was at that bonfire." I spit.

"I'd bet my pension that you're right." He confirms. I launch my glass at the nearest wall and it disintegrates into dust.

"She never had a _chance_ for justice here, not a fucking _chance! _There was never a hope or a prayer that _anybody_ would be brought to justice for this shit. Yet this asshole calls her anytime there's a hit or an inquiry on her case. What the fuck is that about!?" I am beyond all levels of livid that I have ever reached in my fucking life! I am so pissed, you could fry an egg on my head right now.

"What do you want to do, Boss?" Taylor asks, his anger levels evident in his voice as well. I am so angry that I'm shaking.

"I have dinner with Crestwood in three hours. I am going to the hotel fitness center for a while to try to curb my current need to kill someone!" I bark the last two words through my teeth. "Find that bastard. I want to know every fucking thing about him and I want to know what he knows. I want to know where he is _tonight! _If he's dead, I will exhume his body, hold a fucking séance and question his ghost!" I say as I pick up the vase of flowers from a nearby table and launch it at the wall as well, the vase meeting the same fate as the bourbon glass, before I retreat to the bedroom in search of gym attire.

At 4:50pm, I am showered, changed, decked out in Paul Stuart gray and black lightweight tweed and Crockett & Jones black leather shoes, and seated in Jasmine facing the door and sipping on a cranberry spritzer prepared to Butterfly's specifications. I am early because I hate being late. At five minutes to the hour, I watch as the hostess points a woman to my table. Cynthia Crestwood is in her mid forties and very fit. Her hair is a very light brown with natural blonde highlights. She is very attractive and wears very little make-up. Her dress is modest and tasteful. I stand as she extends a well manicured dainty hand to me.

"Mr. Grey? I'm Cynthia Crestwood." I kiss her hand.

"A pleasure to meet you Mrs. Crestwood. Please have a seat. Would you like a drink?" I offer.

"A lemon breeze with mint, please." She says to the server.

"Cubed or crushed ice, Ma'am?" The server asks.

"Crushed, pleased." The server nods and retreats to bring her drink. "So, Mr. Grey, I'm anxious to hear about your organization. I will confess that I Googled you last night and I am aware of your philanthropic endeavors. So the fact I am being honored by this charitable organization supported by such a prestigious company is a bit of a surprise to me. I'll admit that I've helped more than a few troubled children in my time, but none that I would think would gain any acclaim outside of my little community."

"Well, this is nothing like the Nobel Peace Prize, granted," I begin. "It's something that we do that recognizes smaller contributions that would otherwise go unnoticed. You come highly recommended by one of our psychologists." This has piqued her interest.

"All the way in Seattle?" She smiles. "Who is this psychologist?" _Showtime_.

"Her name is Anastasia Steele." I answer casually, taking a sip of my spritzer.

"Really?" She says, her voice showing particular interest now. "How do you know Anastasia Steele?" I guess it's time to let the cat out of the bag. After a pause, I answer,

"She's my girlfriend." Crestwood's expression changes and she looks as if she will make a mad dash for the door any second, ready to run just like the rest of them and wanting to do _anything _in the world but talk to me right now.

"Before you clam up on me and run away, Helping Hands is a real organization. My mother Dr. Grace Trevelyan Grey is really the Chairperson—this is her baby. Anastasia really is a psychologist that works with the families there. She's really quite remarkable with people in light of what has happened to her."

A myriad of emotions cross Ms. Crestwood's face. "That's why you're here, isn't it?" She asks with conviction. I nod.

"Yes Ma'am, it is. No one was ever brought to justice for what happened to her. She doesn't know that I'm here, but with my resources, I am sure that I can bring her some kind of closure." Ms. Crestwood is no doubt weighing the pros and cons of talking to me. Will she run like everyone else? Someone has got to be willing to give me some answers. I'm good, but I don't think I'm going to just stumble on to too many more leads like the one that presented itself earlier this afternoon.

"Seattle? A psychologist, huh?" She asks.

"Yes. She has helped quite a few people through some pretty rough times. She even helped me and my family. I can tell you with all honesty that she has a profound effect on everyone that she meets." I answer. She smiles and nods. The look on her face can only be described as pride.

We pause for a moment while the server brings her drink and we place our order for dinner. Once she leaves, Ms. Crestwood starts talking.

"That same year, Stephen got a large sum of money from one of the kids' father—Whitmore. I'm pretty certain the culprit there was Cody. He's always been a problem—spoiled, entitled little brat. And his girlfriend Carly was even worse. Her father owns horse ranches in the area..." That ties right in to what happened to Butterfly. Ms. Crestwood notices the change in my posture. "You know _exactly_ what happened to her don't you?" She asked.

"Yes," I say. "I do."

She sighs. "The only person that I can give you with any certainty is Cody. From talking to my brother-in-law and to Ana, he's your prime suspect." She has just told me that Cody is the one that raped Butterfly but she doesn't want to say the words—and she doesn't know that I already know this, but I'm glad to have someone confirm it. "His girlfriend was quite malicious. I would bet my retirement that she had something to do with Ana's attack, if she wasn't the ring-leader. From there, you want to focus on her 'crew.' They were the typical snobby arrogant bunch that picked on the not-so-wealthy kids. I see it all the time." She held her head down and toyed with her flatware.

Throughout dinner, she gave me several names as a starting place of who could have been involved. "I'm not 100% sure about this. I do know that if there was trouble in this area, these kids were usually involved. They're notorious for stirring things up and getting away with it because their parents have money and could always buy them out of it, or Daddy knew someone that knew someone that knew someone that could fix it. I'm sure you're aware of this sort of thing, Mr. Grey." She says with some contempt.

"Yes, Mrs. Crestwood, I am aware of this sort of thing. The difference is that I always try to operate within the letter of the law." I state flatly.

"Try?" she questions. I fold my hands on the table.

"The _law_ hasn't been very kind to Anastasia in this matter. I'm going to gather as much information as I can and I'm going to do my best to operate within the letter of the law. However, someone that I love has been grossly mistreated and badly hurt. Although she has overcome what occurred, I will spend every dime of my fortune if I have to in order to see every person involved in this incident pay for what happened to her." I say sternly. She nods.

The server has cleared our dinner dishes and is now serving after-dinner coffee before Mrs. Crestwood starts to tell me about her brother-in-law.

"Stephen and I were never that close. I was married to his brother Justin. Justin was very good to me, but he died in 2000." She took another sip of her coffee. "The house is a family house—Justin and Stephen's parents. I didn't want to live there alone without my Justin. So I took the money from his life insurance and, after I paid all of Justin's medical bills and burial costs, I bought a condo in Las Vegas. That's the address that Ana used to go to Chaparral." She looked out of the window of the restaurant.

"I was very angry with Stephen for bringing her back here after everything that had happened to her, poor girl. I don't know how she survived living in that city after that. I'm not sure how she avoided running into anyone that had attacked her. I got her lots of little odd jobs with my friends—babysitting, cleaning, running errands. Many times, I brought her back home—if you could call it that—at 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning...on _school nights_. I didn't want her catching the bus that late and she was determined to do whatever she needed to do get away from those people.

"I knew there was money involved. Justin was the salt of the earth, God rest his soul, but Stephen is one of the most unscrupulous men I have ever met. He never did anything to me personally, but the way he treated Ana. And Carla—his wife, Ana's mother—I don't know, she just seemed...detached from the whole thing. If that had been my daughter, I would have been screaming from the mountaintops for justice, but not Carla. She was content to sit by and watch whatever was going to happen just..._happen_." She sighed.

"Anyway, little Ana left the minute she graduated from high school...and I do mean the very minute that she graduated. She told me that she was leaving but she never told me where she was going, and I haven't seen her since. I haven't talked to her folks since then either. I married my husband Larry a few years later and never looked back at that part of my 'family.' I've often wondered how little Ana fared." She looks at me. "Looks like she's doing pretty well." She says before finishing her coffee.

After dabbing her lips with her napkin, Mrs. Crestwood says, "I'm not sure that there's anything else that I can tell you, Mr Grey. I think I've covered everything that I know about the situation. I know that you should probably talk to the officer that discovered Ana that night because if anybody is hiding anything, he would know what's hiding. He would certainly be remiss to tell you, but he would know."

"You have been more than helpful, Mrs. Crestwood. I do thank you very much for the information." I say extending my hand to her. She shakes it before standing to leave. When I stand with her, she asks, "Where were you raised, Mr. Grey?"

"In Bellevue, a suburb outside of Seattle." She nods.

"I'm sorry, I just don't see a lot of chivalry anymore. It's very refreshing—especially from one so young." She says, with a matronly smile. I return her smile.

"Thank you, Ma'am." I say with a small nod. She takes a few steps, then turns around.

"When you get to a point where you can talk to her about this, will you please tell Anastasia I said 'hello' and that I think of her often." She asks. I smile.

"I will." I assure her. She returns my smile and leaves the restaurant.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Ana talks about running around the house, stopping clocks and wasting away in a wedding dress. This comes from a character in **_**Great Expectations**_** by Charles Dickens. Miss Havisham was jilted on her wedding day and basically stopped time and never left her mansion and never changed her clothes—a wedding dress and one shoe—because she was so heartbroken. **_

_**Ana broke into insurance company slogans in case that was confusing to anyone:  
"Get a piece of the rock"—Prudential Insurance  
"The good hands people"—Allstate Insurance  
"The good neighbor folks"—State Farm Insurance  
"even the little fucking lizard"—the Geico gecko...they are mostly known for car insurance, so she was just being sarcastic here. **_

_**A lemon breeze is basically lemonade made like Christian's spritzer—Lemon juice, simple syrup made with soda water (soda water and sugar) and mint leaves over cubed or crushed ice. You can use concentrated lemon juice or real lemons, whichever you prefer.**_

_**As always, pictures can be found on Pinterest including Maxie's engagement ring at Pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Please Review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_


	40. Chapter 40: Drawing To A Close

_**Happy Birthday to Glory2bee. Thanks for sticking with me!**_

_**We had varying views on "Black" vs "African-American." Thank you all, I appreciate your comments.**_

_**I got a lot of mixed reviews to the last chapter. Some people had problems and they sent me PM's and I appreciate that. I appreciate being able to have intelligent conversations on opposing points of view. But every**_** s****o**_** often, you have to reach into that bag of "ghetto" and show people your bad side. Case and point, I had a guest reviewer who belittled me **_**harshly**_**—NOT because I said something offensive, NOT because they didn't agree with the story line,**_**but because they didn't see their review posted on my page and they think I deleted it...**

_**This is one of those times where I wish I could insert a picture—Ah! I know what to do! If you all would like to see them, please check out my Pinterest page...**_

_**Then they inserted some acronym insult that I was SUPPOSED to know what it was and if I didn't I was instructed to GOOGLE it or check my "HOOD" dictionary...**_

_**Insert remaining pictures here...something on the order of "What the fuck?"**_

_**Now, I've gotten some doosies in my day, but when I saw this, I cracked the fuck up! When I tell you that I was literally ROTFLMAO, I mean that I was laughing so hard that I had tears in my eyes and I had to stop writing. So excuse me while I reach into my hood bag and get a little ghetto (make sure you read that last statement like a snobby English professor pronouncing every word with an overemphasized air of superiority—because that's EXACTLY how I meant it...).**_

_**To the guest reviewer who is having a hissy fit because their review disappeared: From Chapter 29 all the way until now, I have deleted two...count them...TWO reviews. One because she said she knew I would delete it, so I deleted it to be spiteful. The other because she cracked on me about mythology. Was one of those yours?**_

_**If I delete a review, I put in the author's note WHY it has been deleted. As a matter of fact, I discuss a review below that **_**also**_** mentioned something about Ana being obsessed. I didn't delete **_**her**_** review, why would I delete **_**yours**_**? I don't know if your review got lost in Cyberland, you forgot to hit "enter" or click "post" or what the fuck happened, but I don't owe you shit so don't be coming down on me like I do! If I were looking for this, I've got nearly 3000 reviews "blowing rainbows and roses up my ass" as you so rudely and crassly put it—do you fucking think I need you!?**_

_**And don't go talking in damn code then tell somebody to Google a fucking insult. You got something to say to me, be a fucking grown-up and say that shit! Who in their right mind would Google a fucking insult? "Oh, she said something about me...I better go look that up." Dafuq is that!? (Google that shit, Bitch!) "Pull out my 'hood' dictionary!?" Oh, now you got jokes. Tell me, was that a crack at my race or your ignorance?**_

_**I completely appreciate that people like my story. I love getting good reviews; I cringe at reviews that don't agree with me, but I take it in stride if it's done in a respectful manner; I detest, deplore, and degrade reviews that insult and disrespect me (need a dictionary for any of those words?). Make no mistake, I love great reviews, but don't get it twisted. I have a LIFE outside of Fanfiction. THAT'S where I get my validation. If I needed roses and rainbows flying up my ass, I got them flying everywhere, Baby, in REAL life. I don't need your fucking validation, ASSHOLE. Shove it up your ass!**_

_**By the way, do you think I give a flying fuck what you think about my people skills? You insulted me on nearly every level that you could and you think I give a rat's ass about what you think about my people skills!? That's fucking laughable. I don't have to belittle you to feel superior to you—you belittle yourself with that shit. "Wah, wah, wah, she didn't post my review! Boo hoo hoo, I'll tell her what I think of her! Wah! Wah! Wah!" Well, whip me with a wet noodle and call me chastised...and you still got deleted.**_

_**I don't know what the fuck happened to your first review and I really don't fucking care, but you were right about one thing that you said—I **_**am**_** the Queen, this is Bronze-Goddess-ville. Now get the fuck off my planet! **__**Moving on...**_

_**To the guest reviewer that talked about Ana being obsessed and delusional because she thinks of Christian all the time. First, thanks for your review, but I do respectfully disagree. Every single new relationship is exactly like this...and these people are not obsessed or delusional. Every time you get into a fresh new relationship with a new love, you're all starry-eyed and goo-goo-faced. "Oh, I dreamed about him last night." "Oh, I can't wait to see him." Oh, I think about him all the time." There are songs written about this type of thing. Usher wrote a song called "You Got It Bad," talking about "hang up and you call right back. Michael Jackson did a song in 1975 called "All I Do Is Think Of You." The title is self-explanatory. If you can't find that one, a group called Troop remade the song about 10 or 15 years later. That's not obsessed or delusional. They're talking about that butterflies-in-your-stomach, giggly feeling you get when you first fall in love. If you've never felt that feeling—that "I can't wait to get off work so I can see you again" feeling—I feel sorry for you because you're missing out!**_

_**I got one even better for you. I was with my husband for six years before we got married. When we said, "I do," he took a week off of work. Mind you, I was still going to work because they wouldn't give me the time off, but he worked the night shift and I worked the day shift. So this meant I had my husband to myself for a few nights. When he had to go back to work, I actually **_**cried**_**! I think at six years, I'm well beyond the obsession mark. I just got all googly over my husband again. It's a wonderful feeling...you should try it sometimes... ;-)**_

_****__**Thanks to Carol, Chocolate (very, very, very good points), CG Girl, Gwen (yeah, he's going to have to pay for that glass and that vase, lol), Jaimini, JN, michelle b, morgan5909 (good guess - we'll see), Sonnie, Tara from Bronze-Goddess-ville (you have taken up permanent residence, huh?), Tempress (Violent much? lol. Join the club! Have faith in Christian, Baby, but I love your analytical thought process!), Teresaromance, titch, Tj (it was sneaky, wasn't it?), and all of my guest reviewers that I couldn't PM including the Hood Dictionary Bitch and the second guest reviewer above.**_

_**I totally, totally love to write. I've been writing since I was 12 years old, mostly for fun. But now I see what some of my author friends mean. There are some people out there who will completely take the joy out of it for you (totally aimed at Hood Dictionary Bitch). Well, you can forget about it, Baby, 'cause I aint goin' nowheres, 'kay? I'm going to write until my finger shrivel up and can't write anymore and even then I'll get some voice recognition software and keep writing. I don't care WHO don't like me OR my "people skills." **_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

_**And now, the saga completes...**_

_Chapter 40—Drawing to a Close_

_**GREY**_

Mrs. Crestwood didn't tell me much of anything that I didn't already know—except that I didn't know that Butterfly had depended on her so much during those last two years, and I can truly see that Mrs. Crestwood cared about her. This wasn't just a favor to "family;" she was genuinely concerned about Butterfly. I'll be happy when the time comes that I can tell Ana about this trip...I think it would do Mrs. Crestwood some good to see how well Butterfly really is doing.

Williams has taken Taylor and me to a little bar on the east side of Vegas called Dylans. It's nothing spectacular or even seedy. It's just one of those neighborhood, side street bars and gambling halls that the locals frequent to unwind. There is one particular local here that has my interest this evening...Stephen Morton. He's a fair distance from home tonight. In fact, he's closer to Mrs. Crestwood's neck of the woods. I'm wondering if Whitmore may have tipped him off that someone is snooping around. He would certainly want to get his money's worth...and my little trip to the bank will insure that I get mine.

Once again, Taylor is positioned at the end of the bar and I have taken a seat closer to Morton.

"What'll ya have, friend?" The bartender asks.

"I'll have what he's having." I say pointing to Morton. The bartender looks over to Morton who looks at me suspiciously, "and I'll buy him a refill." After an expectant pause, Morton murmurs, "Gin and tonic." As the bartender goes to fill our drinks, Morton asked, "Do I know you?"

"I don't know," I reply, "Do you? Christian Grey." Morton turns back to his drink.

"Can't says I do." He says, bottoming out his glass. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company? I'm sure you want something. Not accustomed to seeing expensive suits wander into this place."

Stephen Morton is a shell of a man. I can't really gauge his height but whatever it is, he's shortened further by the stance of a man who appears to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His skin is that clammy gray color that comes from too much alcohol and not enough nourishment. He looks like he slept in his clothes—they're wrinkled but not dirty. He has the stale smell of alcohol that has saturated his body and now seeps through his pores. I can tell that he's harmless enough, he's just not _there_ anymore. He's one of those people who just floats in and out of a day with no particular purpose. The bartender brings our drinks to us and I send him away with a $50 bill.

"You look like you could use a meal." I say. He raises his head slowly after swigging his gin and tonic.

"What's it to you?" He says, his voice clear and concise. He appears to have just crossed over into the _Land of the Drunks_ in that his appearance and language has not _completely _deteriorated, but he clearly doesn't care anymore.

"Nothing really," I said, sipping on the grotesquely watered-down drink made with obscenely cheap gin. Yeah, I won't be finishing _this_. "But we have a mutual acquaintance in common...a few in fact." He turns on his bar stool.

"I'm friends with someone who is friends with you?" He says, incredulously.

"I didn't say _friend_, I said _acquaintance_." I say, turning to face him. "Before I tell you that, I'd like to know something. What do you hear of your stepdaughter these days?" Morton's head jerks back quickly.

"My stepdaughter!?" He asked. "I haven't seen her for years! It's a shame she doesn't even call her own mother." He adds. I wonder why that is, Asshole?

"Why do you think she wouldn't want to speak to her mother? Could it have anything to do with the incident at the bonfire?" I ask casually. His eyes narrow.

"What do you know about that?" He asks coldly.

"Everybody knows about it. Young girl horribly beaten at a bonfire...no suspects. That's no secret." I continue.

"Yeah, but that happened 10 years ago. Why are you so curious about it now? What are you, a reporter? Looking for a story?"

"No, I'm no reporter." I fold my hands on the bar. "But I am looking for information."

"For what?" He says.

"I want to know exactly what happened to Anastasia. I can't for the life of me figure out why something this bad happened in an affluent community and you were all willing to sweep it under the rug—particularly you and her _mother._" I say the last word with more disdain than I intended. He looks at me and back at his drink.

"All I know is that Carla called me to the hospital telling me that the girl was there and she wasn't waking up. She didn't wake up for a few weeks. She didn't finish that school year either." He swigs his drink again. I gesture to Taylor who comes over and occupies the stool on the other side of me.

"I'm sure you know more than that." I say to Morton and Taylor pulls a ream of bills out of his jacket and puts it on the counter in front of me. Morton eyes the bills and then looks at me.

"How are you?" He asks.

"I told you. I'm Christian Gray."

"What is this to you?" He presses.

"That is of no consequence. What's important here is that I want to know every single little thing you know about this situation, including how it involves Cody Whitmore." Now Morton sits up straight and has that Green-Valley-ready-to-run look on his face.

"I don't know nothing about Cody Whitmore." He says quickly, like the phase is a rehearsed answer to the question; practiced, ingrained, and perfected over 11 years—name, rank, serial number, and _I don't know nothing about Cody Whitmore._

Oh yes you do." I say calmly. "I have a record of $750,000 that _guarantees_ that you do. You want to try again?"

"Look!" He says leaning in to me and looking over his shoulders to see if anyone could hear him. "If you know about that money then you know damn well that I can't say shit. Nobody has asked me _anything_ about that shit in 10 years. So tell Whitmore that his fucking secret is safe with me!" He spits. I didn't think I could dislike this man anymore than I already did. I was wrong.

"Morton, I already know your kind." I sneer. "You'd sell your soul for a dollar and you sold your stepdaughter for three quarters of a mil—part of which I'm told was _supposed_ to have been her college fund. Now she's buried in student loan debt because you, what, drank away her future? I don't work for that phony, fake, small-time, fucking poser Whitmore. When I'm done with that asshole, he won't know what hit him, and if you're afraid of him then you should be fucking _terrified_ of me!" I am glaring in his eyes and he is completely devoid of arrogance or haughtiness of any kind. I only see uncertainty and fear. "I'm making two lists of people to take with me when I leave Vegas. Which list will _you_ be on?" I say, picking up the stack of bills and slamming then down on the bar in front of him.

Morton looks from the bills to me a few times then begrudgingly asks, "What do you want to know?"

"Where to begin? Ah, how about your first meeting with Whitmore, when Anastasia told you that little shit raped her. Let's start there." I growl. He swallows.

"Well, we went to Whitmore's and confronted him and the boy. The kid swore he didn't rape her...that they went to the desert and had sex and that she was trying to blackmail him or something. I was suspicious at first, but then Whitmore starts talking about how his kid was an honor student and on the football team, well-known around school. While we were talking, the kid's girlfriend shows up—gorgeous little blonde thing that shouldn't have been in high school! It's illegal the way these girls look—like grown women! And their mothers don't have the good sense to make them put on some damn clothes!" Well, that's new—an asshole with some morals.

"Anyway, one look at that Carly girl and there's no way this kid would have raped Ann. Rich, good-looking, popular kid with a hot little girlfriend is taking this poor little dusty nobody to the desert to _rape_ her? Come on, Man..." He finishes his drink and gestures for another. My blood is boiling.

"So you took the word of some stranger over your stepdaughter because he had money and a hotter girlfriend? Did you expect the lecherous little dick to wave his hands and openly admit to it?" Is this guy for real? He suddenly turns to glare at me.

"I'm not going to let you sit here and put me in judgment for this shit. I'll tell you what I know, but you are _not_ going to cut me down for my decisions. Whether they were right or wrong, _you _don't get to judge me and I don't give a fuck _who_ you are, _Mr_. Grey!" You have to admire the man—he's got a pair. I respect his chutzpah, but that's all I respect about this guy.

"By any chance, did you take a look at Anastasia when you left that day? Did you pay any attention to her behavior after that day?" I ask, coldly. He shrugged.

"I was pissed that she was trying to pull me into this—whatever game she was playing with Whitmore. I wasn't paying any attention to her. She was always a kind of quiet kid, but if you're asking if I noticed a _broken little girl that turned into a recluse because she had been raped and nobody believed her, _no! I didn't notice that!" He was very sarcastically spitting the words at me as he knew exactly where I was going.

"Listen, you sarcastic worthless piece of shit. I already have enough information to ruin the lives of a whole lot of Green Valley's good citizens, including you. My only reason for speaking to you today is to try to understand the mechanics of this situation because I already have my primary targets! To say that I am losing my patience with you would be a lie. My patience for you was gone before I even took a seat. I want to try to fill in some blanks, but I don't fucking need to sit here and listen to your shitty ass attitude because you don't want anybody drawings conclusions about your feeding a young girl to the dogs! Contrary to how _you_ feel I should judge this situation _Mr_. Morton, I _do_ hold you responsible for what happened to Anastasia. Now are you going to talk to me with some manners and behave like a good little boy, or do I take my wads of cash and go?" Almost on cue, Taylor takes out another ream of bills and places it in front of me on the bar. Morton reaches for the first ream that I placed in front of him.

"Touch those bills before I tell you that this transaction is concluded and my bodyguard here will break your fucking arm...assuming that the one at the door doesn't _shoot_ you first." His hand freezes midair and he turns to see Lawrence sitting at a table near the door watching him.

"Are you mafia or something?" He asks, his voice unsure. Are you kidding me!?

"Why would I tell you that?" I spit. "Are you a slimy little man that marries divorcees then effectively sells their daughters' virginity to young violent rich pricks with hot girlfriends?" His shoulders deflate at this statement. Fuck the kid gloves, this asshole is getting on my nerves. I just want to see if he can fill in any blanks for me. As I could see that he was duly chastised, I continued with my questioning.

"How soon after your meeting with Whitmore was Anastasia attacked?" I ask through my teeth. He paused to think.

"I don't know...a couple of weeks, maybe. Not too long." He answers.

"And let me guess—you had your head stuck so far up your ass that you never thought the two could have been connected." I sneer.

"I was _sure_ that they were connected. That's how I got the money from Whitmore." He says. What the fuck!? It's very hard to maintain the CEO impassive face right now.

"Elaborate." I say, placing the second set of bills in front of him. He licks his lips and bottoms out his drink, gesturing for another one. Good Lord, his liver must be pickled.

"When Carla called and told me that Ann was in the hospital and she had been beaten, my mind went immediately to Whitmore. I went to the hospital and saw her beaten all to hell and I was scared, okay? I didn't know if she was going to die or wake up and start talking or what the hell was going to happen. The doctors told us that she had lost her baby. I didn't even know that she was pregnant. Something changed in Carla that day. She sat there by Ann's bed for three days not saying anything. On the fourth day, she left the hospital and only came back a few more times to check on her before Ann woke up." So basically, Ana woke up all beat to hell in a hospital, alone. No doubt, she thought they blamed her for what happened to her and she still feels that way. No doubt, they _did_ blame her for what happened.

"When she woke up, she didn't remember anything that happened. She didn't even remember being pregnant." That's because she didn't know, you asshole. "Once she was released from the hospital, Raymond came and got her. He said he would take care of her if Carla allowed him. They went off to Washington somewhere and that's when I approached Whitmore."

_He_ approached _Whitmore_? All this time, I thought it was the other way around.

"I told him how much of a coincidence it was that my daughter had been beaten so badly on the Madison Ranch weeks after she accused his honor-roll son of raping her." The Madison Ranch! Carly fucking Madison!

"How do you know it was the Madison Ranch?" I ask coolly.

"You hear things. It was the Madison Ranch." He says. The alcohol seems to be getting to him a bit. He's starting to sound a little maudlin. I better get everything out of him that I can before he's a useless mound on the bar.

"Madison, as in Carly Madison—Cody's hot little blonde girlfriend?" I ask. He nods, still looking into his drink.

"I brought that to his attention, that it all seemed so strange that nobody had any information about what happened to her but the cops found her on the Madison Ranch a couple of weeks after she accused his son of rape. I mentioned that they did a rape kit because of the violence of the act and that even though it came back that she had not been raped _that night_ that they kept the embryo and could run DNA if Ann were to give them a suspect."

"They had to know that meant nothing. That just means that Cody got her pregnant—it didn't mean that he had anything to do with her attack." I point out.

"Apparently, they didn't know that—or they were too frightened or too nervous to think about that. All of this stuff put together gives the police probable cause..." Except the _police_ had their own reasons for not pursuing the matter. "...That was enough to take to Whitmore. I originally went for answers. Ann was gone and Carla has changed. People were looking at us like some circus side show. Yeah, the community was shaken since everybody claimed not to know what happened. But hell, I had to go outside of the city just to buy a bar of soap! It was fucking ridiculous." I guess not as ridiculous as a young girl being beaten nearly to death and never seeing justice.

"What happens next?" I keep my voice flat. Morton is still throwing back gin and tonics like water.

"Whitmore tells me that he needs some time to talk to his kid and find out how true this shit could be. I thought I had lost my meal ticket. About a month later, he comes to me telling me that we had a deal, but I had to get Ann back to Nevada so that we could be sure that she wouldn't talk. Carla and I had a terrible fight about that. She didn't want Ann to come back. She wanted her to stay in Washington with Ray so that both of them could have some kind of normal life." He said.

"Ray and Ana?" I asked.

"_Carla _and Ann." He corrected me. "She talked about how young she was when she had Ann and how it basically ruined her whole life and now that Ann was gone and Carla was still somewhat of a young woman, she could have a life now. Carla was being accepted into some of the social circles before this shit happened with Ann, and she was fighting to get back what little standing that she had with the snobs of Green Valley. Ann had picked up where she left off in Montesano, so according to Carla it was working out for everybody...except for me, that is." He's taking another swallow of his drink and I am getting sicker and sicker listening to this man.

"What finally convinced Carla to bring Ana back here?" I ask.

"The money...and the fact that I wouldn't let up on it. We showed up at Ray's and told Ann that it was time to go home. That was the fight from hell. Although Ray had given Ann his name, he never adopted her and he wasn't on her birth certificate, so he didn't have any legal rights. Just like I couldn't force Ann to come to Nevada, Ray didn't have any rights to fight for her to stay in Washington. Ann begrudgingly came back to Nevada and she was an unbearable little shit from the moment she got there."

"Fuck! Wouldn't _you_ be?" I spit before I could stop myself. "Just consider this just for a second. You're a young girl and you've been raped and nobody believes you. Two or three weeks after you've been raped, you're brutally beaten by unknown assailants in the community in which you live. You manage to escape the community only to have the people that should be protecting you come and get you from your safe haven and bring you back to hell! How would you feel, Mr. Morton? Erase that whole _money_ thing you've got going on and the fact that you had to go to Walmart in Sunrise Manor instead of Green Valley and consider for a moment how that young girl must have felt. Think for one second—just for one fucking second—that she may have been telling you the truth about what happened to her! That she was the undeserving victim of a violent crime twice in one month and you sold her like a piece of cattle!"

"I know that she was telling the truth." He has the nerve to have a little shame in his voice...and again, I'm shocked.

"How did you know?" I spit.

"He was too willing to pay me off. He was too willing to shut me up. He would have given me anything that I asked for, I knew it. I asked for 750 and he agreed immediately. I _did_ plan on giving some to Ann, but she acted so fucked up when she got back..." He trailed off.

"That you decided to punish her further." I finished, steam coming off my forehead. He didn't respond.

"I probably could have gotten some money from that Madison kid, too, but I didn't want to press my luck." He mutters.

"What happened after she came back here?" I spit, seething.

"Nothing. She went to school in Vegas. She got a job. She was never home. Her mother and I rarely saw her and when we did, she was aloof on good days and a terror on bad ones. Carla stopped dealing with her completely." Neither one of you would have had to deal with her if you had left her in peace in Montesano with Ray.

"Any idea why nobody was ever arrested or even questioned about this?" I ask.

"I don't know. Maybe somebody paid off the cops, too. That one cop kept coming around asking if Ann remembered anything, but she didn't."

"Oh, she did. She remembered _everything." _ I said. A look of pure horror came over his face. "She remembers being attacked from behind, thrown into the trunk of a car, dragged naked to a bonfire, and being brutally beaten and burned with no idea as to why this was happening to her! As I listen to this atrocity—this complete and utter travesty of justice—I can't believe that something like this could happen in 21st century America! This has the look and smell of the brutal lynchings of the 50's and 60's. I can't believe something this monstrous could still be happening in my lifetime! If I hadn't seen it unfold with my own eyes, I would believe this was the conspiracy theory of a sick mind running around with a tin-foil hat! I hope you got your money's worth!" I said, pushing the bills into his face and standing to leave.

"This is not my fault!" He defends and I walk pass him. "I didn't rape her, and I certainly didn't tell her to go swinging her ass around some young kid! These young girls are out here being prick teases and then want to scream _rape_ when they are expected to deliver!" I realize this is probably the alcohol talking...or maybe he's just being an asshole again. Unfortunately for him, my fist couldn't tell the difference when it made clean connection with his face, sending him sailing out of the barstool and landing on the sticky saloon floor. I stand over him as he is lying on his back holding his jaw.

"Now you get to know the importance of who I am. I am in love with Anastasia. I hope that one day in the future, she will consent to be my wife and spend the rest of her life with me. I plan to bring down every single person involved in her attack. I plan to have Whitmore and his snide little rapist son begging me to release my clutches from them, which by the way, I won't. I haven't decided what you deserve yet. I do know this...that little comment just cost you one." I took one of the stacks of bills off of the bar and threw it over my shoulder to Taylor without looking. I have absolutely no doubt that he caught it.

"You fucking asshole!" Morton shoots, trying to get off of the floor.

"Do you want it to cost you both?" I say glaring at him. Morton purses his lips so tightly that it almost looks painful. "My regards to your _wife!" _I sneer as Taylor, Lawrence and I leave the bar.

* * *

_**DAVID**_

I just about have my plan in place, but I hate having to depend on this asshole Bob. I'm still not sure if I really trust him, but so far, he's come through with everything that I need so I don't have much of a choice. As long as I keep syphoning money to him, I can buy his help and loyalty, but I don't doubt for a second that he would sell me out to the highest bidder—even Grey if Bob wasn't so pissed with him.

I'm ready to get things moving. I'm normally a patient man, but I'm not sure that I can be without my Rosie for one more minute.

"We have a development." Bob says coming into the house.

"What?"

"Grey is out of town until Friday night. If we want to move on this, we probably want to do it before he gets back. Not much he can do from a distance, but it's going to be all hell when he gets back." I couldn't care less about that fucking Rich Boy as long as I can get to my Rosie, but Bob's right—it will be easier if he's not around to influence her in any way.

"Friday, then, before Grey gets back. You'll take care of her guard." I confirm.

"Friday it is, then." He nods. One more day, Rosie. Just one more day.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Christian and I were both completely exhausted when he Skyped me last night. Not only had we both had terribly trying days, but it was after 11:00 when he finally got a chance to call me. I know that he bought a beautiful new desk and filing cabinet for the library for me and I was pleasantly surprised when I got back to Escala this evening. It was wonderful not to have to use the small table that I had commandeered for my laptops and files—and I had somewhere to put important documents. He's such a wonderful man. He doesn't _make _room for me in his life—he makes sure that there _is_ room for me in his life, which is completely different. I told him about my visit to Helping Hands and my breakthrough with Marlow. He informed me about tracking down one of Whitmore's shady business deals that's making him more and more certain that Christian won't be doing business with him.

Thank fuck for that!

I ask Christian when he will be home tomorrow and he informs me that it's looking more like late afternoon or early evening than tomorrow night as he had originally planned. That makes me happy as my soul is aching for him. Even though we were both too tired for Cyberplay, he still stayed on Skype with me until I fell asleep.

Friday, I am refreshed and ready to face my day, thrilled beyond thrilled that my man will be home this afternoon. I see my regular Friday patients and I am sitting at my desk when my iPhone rings. It's Ray.

"Hey, Dad. How are you?" I answer the phone. Maybe he's coming down for the weekend again. I'm wondering if I should introduce him to Christian. Is he ready for that? Hell, he introduced me to _Mandy._

"_Hey, Annie. You got a minute?"_ Oh hell, please don't ask me if you can marry Mandy. I'm all for happily ever after, but give me a chance to absorb the whole _Dad's got a girlfriend _thing before we start hearing wedding bells.

"Sure. What's up?" I brace myself.

"_What do you hear about Green Valley these days?" _Green Valley!? What the hell!?

"Absolutely nothing!" I spit, Whitmore's name bubbling up in the back of my throat like bile. Why in the hell is Green Valley rearing it's head at me right now? "Why do you ask me that? What do _you_ hear about Green Valley these days?"

"_Well, I got a call from Carla this morning." _I gasp.

"What the fuck does C...I'm sorry, Dad. What does _Carla_ want?" I spit. Why the hell is this woman calling my father?

"_I was wondering the same thing. She called me trying to find out if I had someone down there looking into that incident that happened to you all those years ago. I have no clue what __she's talking about. She told me that there's some suit down there asking questions about your attack. You know how I hate talking to that woman." _

"Dad, I need you to tell me exactly what you're talking about because right now I'm a little clueless." Somebody is digging into Green Valley _again_? What the hell? Why can't this nightmare just fucking die already?

"_Some guy cornered Carla's husband in a bar. She said the guy roughed him up to get information out of him about your attack. I don't know how true that is since Stephen is heavy on the bottle these days, but Carla says he came back bruised and beaten talking about some guy named Grey digging into the...situation." _ Christian.

"What the hell? What do you mean? I know that he went down there and I know that he was talking to Whitmore..." And then the lightbulb goes off. The last time someone was asking questions in Green Valley, Christian was doing a background check and where is Christian now—in Nevada!

"_Who is this guy and why is he in Nevada? And who is Whitmore?" _Ray has gone many years without any answers to these questions. Now I think the chickens are coming home to roost.

I sink back in my chair and tell my father everything about Green Valley—the rape, Stephen's unsuccessful confrontation of the Whitmores, what I remembered about the beating. Ray fell deathly silent listening to me tell the horrifying tale that was the last two years of my childhood. I informed him that Christian was the one that initiated the background check that scared me half to death, and why he did it. I think I knocked the wind out of him when told him that Christian and I were now dating.

"_You're dating again? I think that's wonderful." _

"Thanks, Dad." I respond, less than enthusiastic.

"_What's wrong, Annie?" _Ray presses. I sigh.

"He _lied_ to me, Dad. He told me that he was going to see Whitmore about K&R Insurance. He knew the whole time why he was going down there to talk to that snake, and he _lied_ to me." Some Mistress _I_ am! I can't get him to tell me the truth about something so vital...we're just playing games here. Of course, I didn't ask him about this in Domme mode...it might have turned out differently—but that's beside the point. "I asked him not to pursue this...and he said that he wouldn't. Now he's down there stirring this pot all over again." I put my hand on my forehead. This shit will never just die, will it?

"_He must care about you a lot to single-handedly try to find out what happened to you." _Ray points out.

"Dad, you don't understand. The cornerstone of our relationship is _trust._ It's _extremely_ important." More important than even you know, Ray. "If we can't trust each other, we simply can't continue." I am fighting back the tears that are threatening my eyelids. "I have to be able to trust that he is truthful with me and he needs that same guarantee from me." I sigh. "I gotta go, Dad."

"_Annie, before you make any rash decisions, just hear him out, okay? I don't know this guy, but if he's willing to take on a town to find out what happened to my daughter, then he's okay in my book." _

"I will, Dad. I love you."

"_I love you, too, Annie." _I hang up the phone and resist the urge to scream. I snatch my purse and phone and breeze out the door, telling Marilyn that our day is over. Chuck is nearly running trying to keep up with me. I get to elevator and punch the floor before he can catch me. I'm not trying to get away from him, I just need to get the hell out of here. He must be wearing Mercury's winged shoes because he is on the ground floor before the elevator gets there.

"Ana?" He questions but I just run past him and out the door to my car. He is hot on my tail in the Audi as I break several traffic laws to get to my apartment. I am damn near out of my car before it stops moving to get to the elevator. I stop Chuck before he gets in.

"I need to be alone. You don't have to leave, but right now, I need to be alone." I say, fighting back angry tears.

"Let me ride up with you and I'll stand outside. Is that okay?" He bargains. I nod. We ride up the elevator in silence and I dash to my apartment once the doors open, slamming and locking the door behind me. He _can't_ be down there doing this...he _can't_ be. After the whole ordeal we had last week...he couldn't possibly betray my trust this way. I feel like my chest is going to cave in on me. There must be some mistake. Someone is mistaken—that's what it is. If Christian had gone to Green Valley, George would have called me. I'll call George. He'll know what this is about.

My heart sinks when I get George on the phone and he doesn't want to talk to me.

"Why would I want to talk to you once you sent your dogs after me after all of this?" George says.

"I have no idea what's going on, George. I just got a call from my dad. What's happening?" I yell. After a pause,

"You really don't know, do you?" George asks incredulously.

"No I don't! Every time something happens, you call me. Why didn't you call me this time?" I bark.

"Because he threatened me! He told me that if I called you that there would be problems for me. So whoever you tell him that you heard this from, you didn't hear it from me. Are we clear?"

"You got it, but you have to tell me what's going on." George proceeds to tell me that Christian is down in Green Valley questioning any and every body that he can get his hands on to find out what happened with my attack. I can't believe what I am hearing since I asked him not to pursue this matter.

"He said he wouldn't do it," I say, my voice squeaking. "I told him not to dig this up. I told him to leave this alone!"

"Well, you need to call him off," George says. "He's making a lot of people nervous and angry down here." What the hell? He must've forgotten to whom he was speaking!

"Well, they _should_ be nervous!" I exclaim. "They beat me and they burned me. And you may not know this, but one of them _raped_ me—and that's why I was beaten and burned!"

"Well, why didn't you say any of this!?" George exclaimed horrified and something in me snapped.

"Because I told one person—one person, my _stepfather_—that I got raped and look what happened to me. What happens if I tried to take him to court? My word against his...a poor girl who happens to live in a nice Green Valley house against a Whitmore. I can't even imagine what would have happened to me if I had identified anybody from the mob that tortured me, not that I really could since the fucking cowards all wore masks and only one of them spoke to me. Oh they could all beat the shit out of me, but none of them could fucking _say_ shit to me.

"But now the tables have turned—and those pompous, self-absorbed, entitled, rich little brats are now dealing with someone who has just as much money and power as they do if not more. This man owns more companies than they have vacation houses. Now they are shaking in their boots because they are dealing with one of the most powerful men in America now trying to get to the bottom of who attacked me 11 years ago."

"Well, you're going to have to do something, Ana, because he's getting pretty close." I fall silent for a moment. What the hell does he mean by that?

"Getting pretty close?" I ask. "Close to _what, _George?" George wouldn't answer my question. "George, close to _what_?" Still silence on the line. And then it hit me. Mother fucking demons and bitches from hell! George _knows_ something. "George, what do you know?"

"Ana, I don't know anything." He says, flatly.

"Don't give me that, George!" I spit, my voice shaking. "If you didn't know anything, you wouldn't have said that he's getting close. You've kept in touch with me all these years..." And the next shoe dropped. He kept in touch with me to see if I was doing anything on the case, to see if I had gotten any closer to finding out who attacked me. He always needed to know what I knew; and when anyone went digging into my past, he knew that I would do anything in my power to stop them to keep the Lambert/Steele saga under wraps. He knew that I didn't want that to be public knowledge. So even though the law says that I had to be notified of any developments on the case, I didn't have to be notified _personally_. George has personal stake in this. All of this time, I thought he was doing this for me—but he's not. There's something else. I feel so fucking betrayed!

"George, I think you better give me any information that you have, because if you don't, I'm going to set the full fury of Christian Grey loose on Green Valley. And if you think feathers have been ruffled now, you aint seen nothin' yet, Buddy!" I hear a long pause. "Don't think about it too long, George, because I am out of patience."

George sighs heavily before telling me, "Vince was out past curfew the night that you were attacked and Mom called me at the station. I hated chasing that little bugger down, but I had to find him so that Mom could get some sleep. He knew that we had installed the tracking system in his car in case of theft or car trouble, and the idiot still took his own car."

"What does your little brother have to do with me?" I say, impatient and confused. George sighs again.

"When I found Vince's car, he was at a bonfire. When I went to the bonfire, everybody scattered like roaches so I couldn't see who all was present...but I knew my brother's car was there. I don't know all of the details, but when everybody left, Vince's car was still there. I really believe that he thought he was at a harmless bonfire and he took off somewhere to get laid or something. I don't know if he was actually there when everything was going down—he swears that he wasn't there and he had nothing to do with it...I had to protect my little brother, Ana..."

Am I hearing what I think I'm hearing!?

"Wait! Wait! Wait a minute!" I yell. I feel cold, pure, undiluted horror rise up from my stomach, into my chest, and start to take over my thought processes. I have to fight to form my words as my brain-to-mouth functions seem to be failing. "Are you telling me that the same bonfire where you found your brother's car is the same bonfire where they were mutilating my body?" George was silent for a moment.

"Yes." He says, solemnly. "I had to know if any information would lead to my brother. He swore that he had nothing to do with it, Ana, but if I pursued anybody, I would have had to pursue Vincent, too." I'm feeling a little dizzy hearing this story. I fall down onto the sofa simply because my legs couldn't hold me up anymore.

"You know who did this to me, don't you, George?" I say with as much conviction as I could muster. He pauses...he's stalling again.

"I'm not 100% sure, Ana..."

"Don't fucking play with me, George!" I snap. My wits are at their complete end and I can't take many more secrets at this point.

"I recognized some of the cars there, Ana. I can't say for sure who all was there—but I knew some of the cars. But just like Vince claims that he had nothing to do with it, they could claim that they were just in the area, too. I know Vince, Ana. He's not _that_ kid and he's not _that_ man."

"But you know who was there. And you know that some of the people that were there _were_ _that_ kid..." George has fallen silent again. "...and you just let them go?" Still no answer. "You _found_ me! You _saw_ what they did to me! You know the whole story. How could you just let them go?" I say, my voice quivering.

"I tried, Ana." He says, desperation in his voice. "I tried to pursue them the best that I could, but somebody knew that Vincent was there. Every time I went to go investigate a lead, I got a threat against Vincent. Ever since my father died, my mother made me swear to protect him...I had to protect him Ana...I had to..." his voice trails off.

Was the whole world against me? I was the victim. I was the one that was raped, beaten, and burned. Was everybody against me? Did I have no one in my corner? Not my parents? The school? The community? The owner of the ranch where I was tortured? Not even the fucking police? Would the doctors there have even bothered to try to save my life if they hadn't been bound by the Hippocratic oath? This can't be real. This absolutely, positively can't be real. Who did I piss off in a past life to deserve this kind of treatment? At 15, no less?

"I could have died, George. I could have died out there. Did you see what they did to my back? Those weren't burns, George. Those were brands! I still have the word on my back!" There is a sharp intake of air on the other end of the line. Apparently, George never knew that the burns were actually a word.

"Ana...I..." Yeah, I would be at a loss for words, too, you bastard.

"You let an entire community of brutal bullies get away with damn-near killing me—with murdering an unborn child—to protect your brother, and you are not even certain that he didn't have anything to do with it. Are you proud of that, _Officer Sullivan_?" I spit the last two words out at him. I know he can't respond to me. What can he say to that?

"I was raped, Officer Sullivan," I say, flatly. I hear an almost inaudible groan on the other end. Yeah, I know. I didn't tell anybody but dear-old-pretend-Dad, and look where that got me. So of course you didn't know. "I was raped by the son of one of Green Valley's upstanding well-off citizens. And when I told my stepfather and we went to confront my accuser, he denied it. He said it was consensual. He told his girlfriend that I lied on him, and she told her friends, and they told their friends, and the next thing I know, I'm being dragged naked from the trunk of a car to be beaten and burned by hooded strangers.

"The only reason why I was able to connect the two incidents is because one—only one—of my attackers spoke to me and told me why this was happening to me...and I recognized her voice. They spit on me, they laughed at me, they urinated on me. I remember every slap, every kick, and every punch. Thank God I only remember one burn, because I passed out from the pain—and woke up in the hospital three-weeks later. The doctors told me that I had been attacked and that I had lost my rapist's baby—a baby I didn't even know I was carrying. I tried to get away, and even my parents couldn't afford me _that_ luxury.

"I've had so many nightmares about that night that right now, here in the state of Washington, I hold a license to carry a concealed weapon and I own three firearms. I'm wondering where in the world these people are and if I'll ever have to see them again—not that I saw any of them the first time, but they would sure as hell know who I was when they saw me." The tears are falling freely down my face as I spit the words at him.

"Now you know the full extent of my nightmare, but I am so glad that you were able to sleep soundly at night knowing that you protected your brother from such a horrible fate. Goodbye, Officer Sullivan, and good luck with Christian Grey." I end the call. I stand up from the sofa, walk to my room, bury my face in my pillow, and scream until I have no voice.

* * *

_**GREY**_

It's about 11:00am on Friday morning and I am only too ready to get the fuck out of Nevada. My bags are packed and I am checking out of the Bellagio. I can't wait to be back in my Butterfly's arms. With all the shit that I've learned being down here and all of the new leads I now have to follow, I don't know how these people have been able to live with themselves. I would be just as outraged by this action if it had not been the woman that I love. How could this happen? The entire community conspired against her and she _never_ found justice. Well, that shit is over now. I will take her to dinner tonight at Rover's and tell her everything. It's not going to be easy, but I don't want to keep any more secrets from her and I want her to know that we can now bring these bastards to justice.

We are on our way to McCarran when I realize that I have settled affairs with everyone except one person in particular. All of the parties involved that have met me pretty much know where they stand—except for one person.

"Taylor, contact Sean and McCarran and let him know we will be slightly delayed. Williams, we're making a detour..."

Security at this place sucks and if this ever happened at GEH, I would fire an entire department full of people. But I strut right into the work area of Daddy's Little Boy, and my determined stride along with the two CIA-looking gentlemen assured that we had the attention of everyone in the office.

"I know who you are, and I know what you did. I'm going to make you pay for it. And not Mommy, Daddy, the Governor, or the fucking President is going to be able to save your ass." I say glaring down at him in his seat.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Cody Whitmore responds, not making eye contact with me.

"I'm sure you _do_!" I bark. "Or after all of these years have you finally convinced yourself that it was consensual? Have you rewritten the story to make yourself believe that she _wanted_ it? Did Daddy's little payoff make you think rape would go away? Did the fact that you and a mob of hooded cowards were able to frighten her into silence for a couple of years make you think that you would never have to face this again? She was 15, you sick fuck—15! And you and a heartless bunch of animals beat her damn near to death because she didn't want to fuck you!"

I could hear various people mention Ana's name. Yeah, the story is still alive and well in Green Valley. The Golden Boy here has finally been forced to see the levity of his actions. I can see the fear in his eyes and hear it in his voice when he speaks.

"You got it all wrong, Man. Girls say '_no'_ all the time when they really mean '_yes_.' You know that..." He protests.

Oh no the fuck he is not trying to convince me that Ana wanted him to screw her in the back of his jeep and dump her in the middle of the desert after he has clearly admitted that she said, "no." I try very hard to swallow the bile that is rising in the back of my throat seasoned with the flavor of sheer contempt for this man as I stare coldly into his eyes and say:

"Go back into the recesses of that sick, twisted, fucked up mind of yours—back to that place where you won't let anybody else go and you're afraid to go yourself—and recall that fateful day that's about to change the rest of your fucking miserable life. Recall that day that you have no doubt recalled hundreds of times between then and now. Look at her face. Look at it good. Observe her carefully—observe her screaming and crying and most likely _begging_ you to stop while you forcibly ripped her virginity from her, and _try_ to tell me that she _wanted_ it. Go ahead..._try_!" I growl that last word at him and I am willing the words to come out of his mouth as I would like nothing more than to kill him...right here...right now.

The office has fallen completely silent...even the phones have even stopped ringing. Whitmore has turned a sick shade of greenish-gray as I glare at him and wait for him to speak.

"The only good thing that came from this whole ordeal is that she lost your baby in the process." His face goes from gray to flaxen white with this news. "Oh, you didn't know. Yeah, she was pregnant. And thank God that she doesn't have to spend the rest of her life raising a reminder of your sick ass, but what's more is that I can sleep a little better at night knowing that your ass hasn't procreated!" At that moment, I feel a hand on my shoulder. Without turning around, I say, "Since I haven't laid my hands on this man, this had better be my bodyguard with his hand on my shoulder, because if it is not, you are about to have a bevy of attorneys on your ass."

The hand quickly moves from my shoulder as simultaneously I hear Taylor's voice say, "It's not me, Sir." I turn around to look into the familiar face of one Officer George Sullivan.

"Sullivan! You have _got_ to be kidding me! They sent _you_?" I say with disgust.

"Mr. Grey, this is private property. You will have to leave." He says, flatly.

"Are you the only cop in Green Valley? Is that why this whole thing has been swept under the rug all of these years? Is that why the police department has failed to do their job and has allowed a group of teenage murderers to roam the street? Is that why Anastasia was made to suffer the physical and emotional pain and humiliation all of these years? All to protect one person? All to protect Vincent?" I shoot. Sullivan is now turning the greenish-gray shade I previously witnessed on Whitmore's face. "Oh, yes. I know all about it. You didn't think I'd find out?"

"Mr. Grey, you need to leave." He repeats, his voice shaking, and now I step to him.

"That's fine. I have everything that I need now. And I've already warned you, I will pick this little piece of shit town apart until I get to every single person who is responsible for what happened to Ana—including your little brother." I spit. I throw a look back at a sickly looking Cody Whitmore and then make an announcement to the office.

"Congratulations, citizens of Green Valley. Your little city is about to be the most popular place on the map..." I look from Whitmore to Sullivan, "..._again_!" With that, Taylor, Lawrence, and I walk out of the office.

Las Vegas is a beautiful city full of color and lights. People come from all over the world to visit the Oasis in the Desert—Sin City—What happens in Vegas...you know the rest. Money is spent and drinks are flowing, good food and gambling. There's something for every taste in Vegas...and yet, I can imagine that the people that live there must be pretty miserable. Yes, it's an oasis in the desert, but it is just that...a desert! A barren land with barren people who muddle about in their barren lives. The only thing I found pleasant about Las Vegas...was _leaving. _

When we landed as McCarran Airport in Nevada two days ago, I couldn't help but notice the view and wonder how it was possible for people to live there. All I saw was brown...dirt and sand. Gray buildings, no life. There were tall buildings off in the distance, but there seemed to be nothing vibrant anywhere. Nothing but desert...

Landing at SeaTac this beautiful early afternoon, I am greeted with Puget Sound and the wonderful Pacific Ocean. Rows of coastal houses and businesses on beautiful green grassy hills surrounded by trees in full bloom. Here was a scene that spoke life when you saw it...and I have never been so happy to be home.

It's about 2:30 Seattle time when we land and I immediately take out my Blackberry and call Butterfly. Her phone rings then goes to voicemail. It's odd for her to have Friday afternoon appointments and that's the only time that she doesn't answer her phone. Maybe she's doing something with Grace at Helping Hands. I send her a text so that she will see it as soon as she's free.

_****Back home in Seattle. Can't wait to hold you in my arms. Love you.****_

Lawrence and Williams are putting our bags in the SUV when Taylor comes to my side. "Sir, I think there may be a problem."

"A problem with what?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowed.

"Ms. Steele. I got a text from Chuck that just says 'something is wrong with her highness.'"

"Well, did you ask him what was wrong?" I bark. What the fuck is going on.

"Yes, but he doesn't know. And this text is time stamped at 12:18...while we were in the air." He responds.

"Shit." I say, scrambling to get into the SUV. That's why she's not answering her phone. I pull out my blackberry to check my texts. Nothing. "What else did he say?" Taylor is scrolling through his texts.

"She left the office very upset and went back to her apartment..."

"_Her _apartment?" I ask.

"Yes sir, her apartment. She told Chuck to wait outside, but she went inside alone and locked her door. I'm waiting to see what else he says."

"Williams, get us to Ms. Steele's apartment. Quickly please." What the hell has happened now?

"Wait!" Taylor exclaims and Williams pauses. "She's back at Escala. Still very upset, but Chuck doesn't know why." I run my hands through my hair.

"Get me home. Now!" I order and Williams proceeds towards Escala. She was fine when I talked to her last night. What the hell happened? "Did Chuck say that anybody came to see her at the office?"

"No sir, but I didn't ask. I'll ask him now." I don't want to alarm anyone trying to find out what is wrong with Butterfly, but it is taking everything in my not to call every one of her friends and find out if someone has spoken to her today. "No unusual visitors, Sir. She had two appointments this morning and was staying in the office to do some work. All of a sudden, she got up and left. Chuck had to run to keep up with her and ran several red lights following her to the apartment. So we will probably be getting some traffic tickets."

"I don't give a fuck about traffic tickets. I'm trying to find out what's wrong with Ana." The ride from SeaTac to Escala is only 20 minutes, but I swear it is taking hours.

_****Butterfly, please answer me.****_

I am racking my brain to figure out what is wrong. If someone were hurt, she would have told Davenport. She wanted to be alone in her own apartment, and she locked him out. She's upset about something, but nobody knows what it is, and from her behavior, she's _really _upset.

"Sir...could she know?" Taylor asked.

"Know what?" I ask, bemused.

"Where we've been?" Could she?

"Who would have told her?" I ask. No one that we spoke to knew how to get in touch with her except...

"Sullivan?" Taylor suggests. It's a possibility, but why would he tell her? He has more to lose by telling her than he would by keeping it a secret.

"That man was scared shitless. There's no _way_ he would have told her." I say. Taylor shrugs.

"Maybe not, but I have a feeling that she knows." He says, solemnly. I tell him to ask Davenport if there is any indication that Butterfly know the details of our trip. Taylor confirms that there is no indication, but that doesn't mean that she doesn't know.

After the longest ride in the world, I burst from the backseat of the Audi SUV and sprint to the elevator, leaving my security staff behind. When I walk into the apartment, Gail greets me like everything is just fine.

"Well, hello, Mr. Gr...Mr. Grey, are you okay?" She asks, obviously taking in my demeanor.

"Where is she?" I ask. Gail frowns.

"Who?" She asks bemused.

"Anastasia!" I bark.

"She's here!?" Gail exclaims. I sigh heavily. I call Taylor who is still in the parking garage waiting for the elevator. "I thought you said she was here." I snap into the phone.

"She is. Her car is here, Sir." He says, calmly. I end the call and go through the apartment. This is a lot of space, but not that much, and I can't find her—the bedroom, the library, my study, the playroom. I check the guest room and panic immediately when I see that most of her clothes are gone. Taylor is bringing in my bags when I come back out to the great room.

"Gail, did Ms. Steele take her things back to her apartment?" I ask, almost timidly. Taylor freezes in his spot.

"No sir, she moved what she could fit to your closet on Wednesday." She replied. I breathed a huge sigh and went to my closet to confirm that Butterfly's clothes were still there.

Good. She hasn't left me...but where is she?

"Sir?" Taylor's voice interrupts my thoughts. "She's on the balcony." I quickly run to the balcony to see her standing there looking out over the city of Seattle, facing away from me, her arms folded. When I open the sliding door, she doesn't move.

"Butterfly?" I say, stepping out onto the balcony.

"Hello Christian," she says, her voice thick with tears. "How was your trip?"

* * *

_**A?N:**_

**_Among his many titles Mercury was the _****_Roman god of communication_** (the Greek is Hermes...and OMG here she goes with that damn mythology again!) He was also messenger to the gods, so he wore magical winged shoes that gave him super-godly speed.

**_You don't want to miss Pinterest this time...that's all I'm saying. Pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/_**

**_Please review!_**

**_Love and Handcuffs,  
Lynn x_**


	41. Chapter 41: It All Goes South

_**IT'S BRONZE O'CLOCK. BONUS CHAPTER!**_

_**I love my readers! You guys always have my back! Thank you for the over 100 reviews that you guys gave me IN ONE DAY telling me how much you loved the last chapter. It really outnumbered and overshadowed those assholes who think I should shut up, roll over, and keep letting people disrespect me. I mean, true, there were still ignorant idiots who showed up TRIED to tell me to shut up, but there were SO MANY MORE—guests and logins—who praised me for defending myself and loved the fact that I let assholes and bitches have it the same way that they give it to me—so thank you so much for your support! And for the rest of you—kiss my ass and leave...PLEASE, leave...and go to someone who doesn't rant. Buh-bye! :-)**_

_**Gotta love haters...**_

_**Oh, one reviewer in particular—You say that I'm full of myself like that's a bad thing. Honey, I thought you knew...I AM full of myself, thank you for finally noticing. Wake up and smell the cappuccino! Nobody calls herself a "Goddess" that is **_**not**_** full of herself. For the record, that's the only line of your review that I read—I have no idea what else it said. But since I took the first line as a compliment and I knew you meant it as an insult, there was no need for me to continue...I'll just take the compliment and move on. Thanks! :-)**_

_**To the guest who says Christian and Ana's love is abnormal—we disagree, but it's okay. Thank you for your review; I appreciate you input!**_

_**To the rest of my reviewers, thank you so much for you input. I'm still making my way through them and you know that I will get to each of you as soon as I can, but I wanted to get this bonus chapter out. Love you all - including the haters (you keep me motivated).**_

_****__**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

_****__**Okay, Bronze-Goddess-villers...you knew that something was coming so just BRACE YOUSELVES...this is big...**_

_Chapter 41—It All Goes South_

_**GREY**_

Her voice is soft and cold, and it is very evident that she has been crying.

"Long and lonely without you." I answer as I approach her cautiously. "What's wrong, Baby?"

"How did things turn out with Mr. Whitmore? Did everything go as planned?" She asks, her voice still soft. No malice, but very cold. I still can't tell if she knows.

"Yes, it did. That's something that I need to talk to you about." I say as I stand by her side.

"Oh?" She says, wiping away some tears but not making eye contact with me.

"Baby, please look at me." I plead. She wipes away more tears and looks up at me, her beautiful blue eyes pooling and glassy, faded azure orbs screaming with pain and confusion, her arms folded protectively around herself.

She knows.

_I _wanted to be the one to tell her. I wanted to tell her that I had found some answers for her, that we can finally bring these assholes to justice because we know where to start—but I know that look. That look is screaming pain and betrayal. So much for dinner at Rover's and breaking it to her gently.

"Baby, I should have told you this sooner, but I know who Whitmore is." I confess.

"You do?" She asks, no surprise in her voice. She lets me take her elbows in my hands but she doesn't reach out to me.

"Yes, I do. I know what his son did to you."

"How do you know?" She asked flatly. I sigh.

"I...followed some leads that led me to Whitmore."

"Leads? What leads?"

"Baby, can we please go sit down? There's so much that I have to tell you." I say.

"Things that you probably should have told me before your left." She says, again—cold and soft, no malice. _This_ Ana is making me nervous. I hope I haven't fucked up beyond repair.

"You're right. I should have." I say, dropping my shoulders.

"Then why didn't you?" She snaps, her anger growing with each second.

"Because I didn't want you to try to stop me." I answer honestly. "If I had told you what I was doing, you would have told me not to go—and if you had told me not to go, I wouldn't have gone."

"But I _did_ tell you not to go," she cries. "I told you not to go when you first asked me about this...and you said you wouldn't. You _lied_ to me, Christian!"

The words stab me like a thousand knives. I could dress up my words and tell her that I didn't _lie_ to her, I just changed my mind and didn't inform her—that's the truth. From the moment that she told me not to pursue it, I told myself that I wouldn't pursue it _yet_, but I always knew that eventually I would get to the bottom of what happened to her.

"Butterfly, I'm sorry..."

"Sorry for what!?" She spit, cutting me off. "Sorry for lying to me? Sorry that you went? Or are you just sorry that you got caught?"

"You didn't let me finish." I say, curtly, and she jerks from my grasp. "I'm sorry that I wasn't completely honest with you, but I'm _not_ sorry that I went. I'm not sorry that I was able to find some of the bastards that did this to you, and I'm not sorry that I'm going to be able to bring some resolution to this situation." She drops her arms and her mouth is gaping.

"Resolution!? For whom? For you? For me? Who?" She is _very angry Ana_ now.

"For both of us." I say, my voice rising more than I wanted. "Every time I see the evidence of what those monsters did to you, it makes me love you more, it makes me want to protect you, but most of all it makes me angry beyond measure that someone could do something like this to another person—least of all, _you_! I couldn't be _that_ powerless that I couldn't get you some form of justice!"

"Is that what this is about for you? Power? You didn't have _power_ over this situation, so you go traipsing off to Green Valley to throw your weight around a bit?" She is roaring now. If I scream, this will be a screaming match that will only end badly—not that I don't want to fucking scream right now, fuck knows that I do. I sigh and drop my head, running my hands through my hair.

"Do you know what it's like to see someone that you love hurt and you can't do anything about it? Do you have any idea how helpless that makes you feel—how sick you feel inside that they were in pain and you couldn't stop it?" I ask, my tone measured.

"Yes, Christian, I do." She says, matter-of-factly. "I felt that way last weekend when you were unconscious and starving yourself to death!" I take her arms in my hands again.

"Exactly! I hurt myself! I almost died. You had to watch that...but Ana, you _helped_ me! You sat with me in the hospital. You slept with me when I could barely move. You spoke for me when I couldn't speak. You took care of me and made me feel cherished. You stayed with me and nursed and loved me back to health. I just wanted to do that for you...I wanted you to have some closure, not to have to worry if one of those fuckers was walking behind you and you had no idea who it was. Please, Ana..." I drop my head. I don't know how to tell her what I'm feeling. I know that fear that she must have felt as a teenager. I know how you bring those feelings into adulthood with you. "You're such a good and kind and beautiful person. I...I didn't want you to feel like me." She takes a step back from me. I look up and see her expression and she's puzzled. What door have I opened now?

"Is this about _you_, Christian?" She asks. "Is this about what you went through? By getting justice for me, you somehow get justice for yourself?"

"No!" The word is out of my mouth before I could even think about it. "How could I look at that scar and not want justice for you? What's the use of having money and power if I can't use it to help the people that I love? You are my world now, Anastasia, and I couldn't let this situation go on the way it has for the last 11 years! Now, I'm so glad that I went! The cover-up was atrocious—this thing goes deeper than you can even imagine!" If my motives were selfish at all, it was only to the degree that I couldn't stand the thought of her suffering at the hands of these bastards, and nobody paid for it. It was all for her..._all for her_.

"You should have told me, Christian. You should have explained it to me, at least let me have some kind of say-so in the decision instead of doing this behind my back." She walks into the penthouse and picks up her purse. Oh, fuck, where is she going?

"Anastasia..." She puts her hand up.

"I need some time to myself. I'll be back...please, just leave me alone." She says as she walks to the door.

"I'll text Chuck." I say in defeat. She turns around.

"I said _alone!"_ She screams. "If you send one of your goons behind me, I'm going to shoot him in the balls!" She declares as she storms out.

"Fuck!" All this pent up anger and nothing to throw. Although it's not a good idea to start throwing shit when you live in a glass house..._literally_. Taylor emerges from wherever he was.

"That went well." He says sarcastically.

"You were listening?" I ask appalled.

"I didn't have to, Sir. They heard her in _Bellevue_." He responds. I push my hands through my hair.

"Now is not the time, Taylor." I warn. He puts his hands up in surrender and I brush past him to my study and close the door behind me. I'll admit that I didn't expect her to be falling at my feet with gratitude, but I didn't expect _this._ Can't she see that I had to do this? She fell apart at the mere mention of Whitmore's name. No matter how she tried to deny it, no matter how well adjusted she is, this situation carried the weight of Atlas on her back. I just want her happiness...that's all I want. I can't help but consider what she mentioned—about this being partially for me...

Was I really doing it for Ana? Could it have been for myself—restitution for what the crack whore and her pimp did to me, vicariously through justice for Ana? I don't know. I can't be 100% certain that there wasn't a bit of vengeance mixed in with my actions, but ever since she told me her story, I have wanted to see those bastards pay. It was always about her from the very beginning.

I love this woman but I haven't had one quiet, simple weekend since the day that we started dating.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

We have never had an argument—_a real argument_—since we've been together, but I can't just let it pass that Christian lied to me. I hate nothing in the world more than a liar—_nothing_. Once someone lies to you, you look at them differently. You never know if they are ever telling you the truth. You question everything that they do and you just can't function the same with that person.

I listen to him give me his reasons for making the trip, his impassioned pleas about having to find justice for me and all I can focus on right now is his dishonesty. Why was it so important for him to pursue something that in a fit of stuttering tears, I asked him _not _to? Anger and betrayal boiled up in me until I listened to him explain his feelings of helplessness and I could see and hear the pain on his face and in his voice. I had to get out of there. I have to clear my head, to think about this logically. I am so hurt that he went behind my back that I can't even stick around to hear what he discovered. I am happy to discover that he respected my wishes to be alone and, as I turn off of 4th Avenue and onto Lenore, I notice that none of his prized Audis are following me.

Only a mile away from Escala, I find the refuge that I seek to soothe my troubled thoughts—the Seattle Aquarium at Waterfront Park on Elliot Bay. I take my Magnum out of my purse and put it in the glove box—they wouldn't like my bringing it into the aquarium. I walk into the Aquarium as one of the last patrons of the day and turn off my phone so that I won't be disturbed by endless phone calls and text messages from Christian. This place always calms me…something about the water. The fish are beautiful, but it's the water that draws me here. It helps to cleanse me—my mind and my soul. It was one of the first places I came to when I moved to Seattle. But now I have a pressing matter on my soul and I'm not sure the water can cleanse it this time.

Christian lied to me.

He told me that he would drop the Green Valley incident when I asked when the whole time, he was digging up more and more information. I don't want to relive this. I want to forget it. I want it behind me…

___But every time something goes 'bump,' you are looking over your shoulder wondering if they are coming to get you again.  
_It's not that bad. Stop exaggerating.  
___It __**is**____ that bad. I'm here, remember? I'm part of you and I say it __**is**____ that bad. You're carrying your guns again for Christ's sakes!_

The Bitch does have a point. But why couldn't he just tell me? Why did he have to lie about it? Why did he hide it from me and let me find out from somebody else? I told him from the beginning that I could not accept dishonesty. Why would he do that?

___How would you have reacted if he had come to you and told you what he was doing?  
_I would have been pissed!  
___Would you have let him continue?  
_Hell, no! I want to let this go.  
___He wants that for you, too. And you _can't___ let it go—not without closure. And if you had closure, you wouldn't be so pissed about it.  
_Where the fuck did you come from?

I put my hand on my forehead as I look at the triggerfish and the wrasses in the coral reef exhibit. I love the bright colors of this tank. It makes me feel like the world is such a big place and my problems are so small. I thought I _had_ closure on this until people and circumstance started bringing it up again!

_Then why does it still scare you so much?  
_I don't know.  
_You don't have closure, Hon._

I walk through the Life on the Edge exhibit. I love sitting on the rocks running my fingers through the tide pools. Although I hate the hermit crabs, I love the sea urchins. They don't have brains, you know…kind of like many humans I'm acquainted with.

___So now he's brainless because he wants to protect you.  
_I didn't mean him and you know it.  
___Yeah, but you were kind of thinking it.  
_Well, it is pretty brainless to keep something from someone that you claim to love when they have repeatedly asked you not to.  
___Ahem! Ahem! Are you serious Steele? Are we really going to have this conversation?  
_Yeah, I guess I am sort of the pot calling the kettle black since Christian had to find out about Cody on his own...

The Bitch and I argued (or reasoned, I should say) all the way from the Window on Washington Waters, around the Ocean Oddities exhibit and back around to the Seal and Sea Otters exhibits. By the time we were down in the Underwater Viewing Dome, I had lost the fight.

___He __needs____ to do this. He __needs____ to know who hurt you. He loves you.  
_I know.  
___Then what's the problem?  
_He lied about it. I can't deal with that. He can't lie to me. He can't keep things from me.  
_Then maybe you should go back to your man and talk about this instead of running away._

And there's the knife. I don't want to fight. I don't even want to be right. I just want _Christian_. I sit in the area watching the fish go by for a few more minutes…or what I _thought_ was a few more minutes…until I was interrupted by a man's voice. "Ma'am?" Security has startled me from my thoughts. "The aquarium is closed, ma'am."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry. I lost track of time!" I rise from my thoughts and head towards the exit. Just as I get outside, someone snatches my purse!

"Hello, Bitch!" He greets with an evil smirk on his face. Fuck, it's Harris. What the fuck is he doing here? Without thinking, I immediately kick him in the balls. When he goes down, I kick him in the face. While he's on the ground I lean down and relieve him of my purse. When I stand up to make my getaway, I feel a sharp pinch in my neck. As the world goes dark, I hear a familiar voice say, "Nighty night, Rosie."

* * *

I'm still so groggy. I can't see anything yet. I hear a voice…very faint.

"You are so beautiful."

Christian? Is it Christian? I tried to speak, but it only comes out as a whimper. I'm cold…and I can't move my arms. Christian, untie me. I don't like this.

"I've wanted this for so long."

That's not Christian, but the voice is familiar. He's touching me now, but I still can't see clearly. I'm cold. I'm naked! What's going on? His lips are on me…on my nipples. I try to speak again, but only a whimper.

"You like that, Baby?"

No! No! I do ___not _like that! And I'm ___not _your baby. Who _are _you? Where's Christian? Where _am _I?

My eyes are focusing a little more, but everything is still a blur—and I recognize the voice. It's _Edward_! Why is Edward touching me? ___How _is Edward touching me?

He is on top of me now. Oh God! He wouldn't. Not while I'm damn near unconscious! He couldn't! I'm still so weak that I can't prevent him from opening my legs. When he positions himself at my opening to drive into me, I find my voice and scream:

"CHRISTIAN!"

* * *

_**DAVID**_

It's time. I have followed her from her office to her apartment. She is pissed off about something because she is driving like a bat out of hell. Her guard is having a hard time keeping up with her and I'm having a harder time keeping up with him. So either she's pissed at him or she's pissed at Grey. This is perfect, especially if she sends him away. I drive right into the parking structure behind them in the borrowed Taurus that we have been driving.

"Man, what are you doing?" Bob says lying down in the back seat. "They'll see you."

"No better time to test this disguise, right?" I drive right past them and they don't recognize me. They don't even _look_ at me. Rosie gets into the elevator while her guard stands outside. After a moment, he gets in with her. Damn! That would have been too easy. They seem awfully comfortable with each other. I wonder if he's fucking her behind Rich Boy's back? That would be his just desserts! I push the thought out of my head as quickly as it enters. I can barely stomach the idea of Grey drilling my girl...only _just_ barely. I exit back out of the garage and park down the street.

"You can sit up now." I say to Bob. He rises and takes in our location.

"I take it they didn't recognize you." He says, lighting a cigarette.

"They didn't even look at me," I respond. "She's pissed about something. She wouldn't even let him get into the elevator with her. He talked her into it though." Last week when they were fighting, she sent the guard away and stayed at home alone—except for when the faggot was here with her. If she does that tonight, it will be perfect. She doesn't recognize me with the facial hair and shit. I'll disable that security camera and go right up to her door and knock.

"So what do we do now, Loverboy?" Bob says sarcastically.

"We wait."

After about an hour, she and the guard are on the move again. This time, they are back at Rich Boy's glass tower.

"I think you missed your chance, Casanova." Bob taunts from the back seat.

"Maybe. Maybe not." I say. She pissed at somebody. I know her. I'm going to wait for a while to see what happens.

"Yeah, I'd say you fucked up." Bob says, after we have waited another hour.

"Man, just give it a little more time. We'll get to her." I snap.

"If you say so. I'd just like to know how you're going to get through _that_." He points to a black SUV speeding up the street. Please don't turn into the garage. Please don't turn into the garage. "Wish all you want, Buddy. _That's_ Grey." Sure enough, the SUV turns into the garage.

Fuck! I probably _have_ missed my chance.

"I thought you said he wasn't supposed to be back until tonight!" I snap at Bob.

"Hey, that's what my information said." He says, callously.

"Does this look like night to you?" I snap. I hold up my watch. "Do this even look like _evening_ to you?"

"Look, I gave you the information that I had. Don't bite my fucking head off!"

"I'm fucking paying you for this shit! If your information is no good, what the fuck am I paying you for!?" I spit.

"Well, excuse the hell outta me if the guy had a last minute change in plans! This shit is not my fault!" He defends.

"Man, I have paid you all this money and as soon as I'm ready to make my move, your information is faulty. Shut the hell up and sit back there and let me think!" I bark. Bob lights up another cigarette and we wait some more. As if the planets were aligning themselves in my favor, I see her 300 come out of the garage. "Get your ass ready—we're making our move." I say. We wait until she goes pass Virginia Street and turns on Lenore. Still no Audi. I look at Bob and we are thinking the same thing...

"No security? Shit!"

I drive quickly down 4th and catch up with her on Lenore before she turns onto Western. Is she going where I think she's going? I laugh aloud.

"What's so funny?" Bob asks.

"This is going to be like taking candy from a baby." I answer. He snickers.

"Did you forget that bitch carries a gun...oh I'm sorry, Princess Perfect carries a gun?"

"Even so," I say. "Where she's going, she most likely won't take her gun." If I know my angry little Rosie well enough, she's going to look at some fishies.

Like a said, candy from a baby. The exit to the aquarium is concealed enough to block a clear view from the street. So while Bob finally earned some of the money I've been paying him by distracting her, I subdued Rosie with a tiny—well, maybe not-so-tiny—dose of Propofol. And now, here she is...lying in bed in front on me—naked. She's less likely to run away if she can't find clothes. Since Bob is so afraid of her "toxic pussy," I'm not concerned about him seeing her naked, her hands cuffed together on the headboard.

"Isn't she beautiful?" I ask, admiring her.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. So now you've got Sleeping Beauty. When do I get the rest of my money?" He asks. I laugh.

"Did you think that my having her here would make me so euphoric that I would forget our deal? Five days, or until she agrees to come back to me...whichever comes first. If after five days I can't convince her, we go somewhere not even you can find us, and then you get the rest of your money. Now if you don't mind, I need some alone time with my girl."

"Whatever, Man." He leaves and closes the door behind him.

I didn't have enough time to furnish the room like I wanted, so this old country look will have to do for now. I sit on the bed next to my Rosie...beautiful Rosie. The Propofol is starting to wear off and she squirms. She looks like a beautiful nymph, writhing delicately on top of the bedding.

Oh, God, I have to have her.

I quickly shed my clothing and climb in bed with her. I caress her beautiful skin, just like I used to.

"Remember when I use to make your body sing, Rosie?" I say as I stroke her soft thighs. "You told me that nobody could make you feel like I could. I bet that's still true." I kiss her navel and her tight stomach. I've missed her so much. I don't know how I could have ever thought there could be anyone else for me except Rosie...my Rosie. I move her hair away from her face and she whimpers a bit. So fragile...so perfect...

"You are so beautiful." I kiss her lips, her neck, her shoulders and she whimpers again...just like old times.

"I've wanted this for so long." I cup her beautiful breast and take her nipple in my mouth. Oh Rosie, my body still yearns for you. After all this time, I ache to be inside you. She moans in response to my lips.

"You like that, Baby?" Not another moment. I can't wait another moment. I'll make love to you, Rosie. I'll make love to you like I use to and you'll forget all about anyone else. I lay on top of her and gently part her legs. Just as I am about to enter my Nirvana...

"CHRISTIAN!"

What the fuck?

Is she delirious? I'm not Christian! Even with this blonde hair, I don't look like fucking Christian. She finds super human strength from God knows where and she is kicking the _fuck_ out of me!

"OH GOD! NO! NO! CHRISTIAN! HELP ME! OH GOD!" She is hysterical. Does Propofol do this!?

"Rosie, it's me!" I yell, but she's screaming like a banshee. I can't stop her. I put my clothes back on and sit on the bed next to her. She screams until she is just too tired to scream anymore.

"Rosie, it's Ed. Calm down." I try to sooth her. She is pulling frantically—but uselessly—at her cuffs.

"Why am I here? What's going on?" She wails mournfully. She looks at me like she doesn't know me. Oh! The disguise! I remove the beard and carefully take out the contacts. She's still breathing hard but the crying stops as she begins to recognize me. Oh, thank...

"You sick _fuck_! What the hell are you doing!? Have you lost your ever loving mind!?" She screams as she fights maniacally to free herself from the cuffs. Oh, shit...this isn't going as planned at all.

"Rosie, stop it! You're going to hurt yourself!" I say.

'Get these off of me! Let me out of here! Oh God, help me!" And she's screaming again. Fuck, I didn't expect it to be _this_ bad.

"Rosie, let me talk to you please." I beg.

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say! Let me go! Let me out of here!"

"Rosie, stop screaming. Nobody can hear you." I yell. The screaming stops like someone pulled the plug on a radio. Thank God for that. However, I would have taken the screaming to the look that she has on her face right now—pure unadulterated fear. I don't want her to look at me like that. She won't let me anywhere near her like that. I reach out to touch her and she scrambles to the head of the bed like a scared rabbit.

"No." I say. "No, Rosie, I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you. I love you." She just looks at me, like she's a cornered animal and I am a wild beast about to rip her to shreds. I can't take her looking at me this way. She just needs a moment to be resigned to her fate. I pull the blankets back and cover her. She shrinks at my touch. I thought I could talk to her, finally explain my feelings to her now that I had gotten her away from everyone. But she can't hear me. She's frightened right now and she has to be assured that I won't hurt her. I'll leave her alone for a while and go fix her something to eat. When I leave the room, I hear her sobbing uncontrollably.

Bob is sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette with a smug ass look on his face.

"Not quite the reception you were expecting, was it?" He says through cocky laughter.

"She'll be fine, she just needs a little time." I say, trying to make myself believe the words.

"Well good luck with that. If this little reunion of yours doesn't work out, I still want my money." He says.

"You'll get your fucking money." I say as I start to prepare dinner for Rosie.

* * *

_**GREY**_

It's 9:00pm and the sun is setting over the sound...and still no word from Butterfly. She said she would be back and I'm trusting that she will, but it's been hours now. I try to call her cell phone for the 100th time this evening and it goes straight to voice mail. I haven't left a message all of the other times, but I finally decide to leave one now:

"Butterfly, please talk to me. I only did what I thought was best. Please, I miss you so much. Call me."

I end the call and Gail comes to the door of my study.

"Mr. Grey, your dinner...please eat, Sir." She coaxes. Butterfly's TPE comes to mind, and then Grace crying in my arms. I rise from my chair and go to the breakfast bar to eat my dinner alone.

I thought we would be making love tonight. I thought I would be holding her in my arms and declaring my undying love to her. Instead I sit here choking down some beef dish that Gail made so that I won't disappoint her when she returns. My heart aches..._again_. I didn't think she would be so angry with me. I thought that once I explained to her what I did and what I found that she would understand why this trip was so necessary, even if neither of us knew just _how _ necessary it was in the beginning.

Gail sits a bottle of water next to my empty plate, and I obediently take several swallows. I know what I put them all through and I won't do it again, but I feel just as forlorn now as I did then. I don't know if I can go without her for _days_ again. I don't think I could take it. It would just be too much for me. I would rather she leave me and never come back than to keep putting me through this repeated torture...

What the fuck am I saying!?

Before I know it, I am back on my piano again, and Moon River is keeping me company.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I wake up and it's dark in the room. I have no concept of time and I think it's still Friday night...or early Saturday morning. I had screamed and cried myself into exhaustion and now I'm awake. I'm still chained to this damn bed and my throat feels like sandpaper...and I have to pee! _Badly_! Did anybody allow for this contingency or are we just playing this shit by ear? "Oh boy." I whimper to myself. Suddenly I hear movement in the room. A light comes on at the foot of the bed and as I adjust my eyes, I see Edward with eerily blonde hair sitting at a desk.

"What do you need?" He says softly. Oh, how nice...my kidnapper is kind - _fucker_. I don't want to say a damn word to him, but if I don't I'm going to piss on myself. Second only to being cuffed to this damn bed in this strange place with this fucking psychopath sitting over me, the last place I want to spend the night is in a puddle of my own piss.

"I have to pee." I murmur. He comes over to me and pulls a bedpan from underneath the antiquated faded brass bed.

Oh you _must_ be kidding me!

The look on my face must have said it all. "It's either this, or you wait until I bind your hands and feet and gag you to carry you to the bathroom." He says, calmly.

"Why would you gag me? You said no one could hear me."

"So that you don't bite me." He responds. I'm definitely not going to be able to hold it until he's done binding and gagging me, though part of me wants to give it a shot just so that I can piss all over him. I decide against it since I am hopelessly tied to the bed and opt for the bedpan. It still wasn't the most sanitary decision since I couldn't clean myself afterward...and he thought I was going to let _him_ do it. I decided to part my legs slightly under the covers and let air do the rest.

"You need to eat, Rosie." I just glare at him. I will starve to death, and I mean that I will starve to _death_, before I eat anything that he puts before me. This man drugged me in broad daylight. I am not putting anything in my mouth in his presence...not food, not water, not _anything_. "You'll have to eat sometime." He says.

"You think so, huh?" I mutter. He sighs heavily. "What are you _doing_ Edward? Why am I here? Do you hate me that _much_?" His face changes to something I can't read.

"No, Rosie. I love you." He says. What!? What in the blue hell...?

"You call this _love?_" I say, holding my raw wrists up for him to see. "You have me chained to a bed, naked, peeing in a bowl. This is your idea of love?"

"I had to talk to you, Rosie. I had to get you alone, but you wouldn't let me. You got that damn restraining order. You pulled a gun on me, and that fucking guard is always around." His voice is almost whiny and he's pleading, but I can only hear the devil himself. "You're always with him...with Grey. At your office, at his office, at your place, at his place, that house in Bellevue...even in the hospital. You couldn't even leave him for one night in the hospital!"

Oh my God. This man has been watching every single move I have been making for weeks! What good is a damn restraining order if he was still able to follow me everywhere I went?

"I didn't break the law, Rosie." Huh!? "I was always 1001 feet away from you and your location at all times, but I just had to be near you, to see you." He drops his head. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't be without you one more minute. It took everything that I had in me not to throw you over my shoulder and take you away the day that you wore that red dress."

This is insane! Where was his tail? How could he get that close to me? Even with the blonde hair and blue eyes...

Oh, fuck!

Of course they didn't know it was him. Hell, I fucked him for two and a half years and _I_ didn't know it was him. Oh, God. He could have been in the room right next to me and I wouldn't have known it.

"I just had to get you away from them—from _all_ of them—so that I could talk to you. I just want things to be the way that they used to be, before I turned into the asshole that had to sleep with everybody in Seattle; when I was your whole life and you were mine. Remember when we talked about getting that place in Richmond Beach?" He laughed like we were sitting here reminiscing about old times. Maybe _he _was, but _I'm _horrified. "You remember, the two-bedroom with the vaulted ceilings and the view of the Sound. We said we'd expand when we had kids. Somebody bought that little house a while back, but it's back on the market now—still on that huge plot of land and still as beautiful as ever. I want to buy that house for you, Rosie, get you away from Seattle and the distractions there."

Well, wherever we are right now, we're not in Seattle.

"We could make all new friends and have a whole new life. You would love it. I know you would." I can't believe what I'm hearing. I don't dare answer him or dispute him. Right now, I'm scared out of my wits. What does he plan to do, keep me prisoner? Chain me to the stove and force me to be his happy housewife? Drug me whenever we need to leave the house? Keep me naked and tied to a bed for the rest of my life? This has to be a nightmare! I was on my home to Christian! This can't be real? Why did I leave without Chuck? Why didn't I just let Chuck follow me? Oh God, this can't be happening. This just can't be happening...

The entire time that he is describing this scene, I'm hearing The Turtles singing "Happy Together" in my head while Edward and I are holding hands, skipping across a field of green towards a little house in Richmond Beach. The only problem with this lovely scene is that I am wearing a filthy, muddy wedding dress, my hair is nasty and putrid, and my wrists and ankles are shackled leaving only the freedom to skip. Edward, on the other hand, is wearing dirty tattered clothing and a hockey mask and carrying a machete!

"Why did you sleep with him, Rosie? You broke my heart when you slept with him." Is he going to beat me...like he did those two girls? I can't even defend myself. The most I can do is kick and he can immobilize me by sitting on my legs. Oh, God, please, no... "You had dinner with me, you got my hopes up, and then you dumped me and slept with _him_." I didn't _dump_ you. We weren't together. "And when I came to talk to you the next day, _he_ was there, leaving your apartment." He's getting angrier, I can hear it in his voice. "All I wanted to do was talk, but you're standing there damn near naked with this fucker leaving your apartment! Then the minute _he _comes back, you kick _me_ out!" He's blaming me again. He was harsh and cruel to me that day, and my hands were _free_. Now I'm helpless, and he's getting pissed all back over again.

I curl my body up to the headboard and bury my face in my arms. I make myself as small as I can and hopefully, when he hits me, he won't have much area to hit. I close my eyes and think of some other place...any other place but here. I can't hear him anymore as my mind drifts to many of the wonderful memories Christian and I have made in the short time that we have been together. I think of watching the sky while laying on the grass in the backyard at his parents' house; playing Charades when he had no voice last weekend; walking out of the bedroom and watching him comfortably chatting about the Mariners at our first dinner party.

I feel a hand touch me and I immediately know that it's not Christian's. This is it! Here it comes! I pull myself in tighter and shriek like the touch is burning. Actually, it is. It's burning my soul and my heart. He's going to hurt me and he's going to keep me away from Christian.

"Rosie! I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?" His voice is full of concern. No, he didn't hurt me. I was just afraid that he would, but he might as well to keep me away from my love. Oh please go away. Go away so that I can be with my love, even if it's only in my mind. The hopelessness of the situation envelopes me, and I begin to weep. How will I get out of this? What am I going to do?

I miss Christian.

* * *

_**GREY**_

The sun is coming up over the buildings and I still haven't heard anything from Butterfly. She said that she would come back and we promised one another that we wouldn't do anything like this again. I only spent half of the night at my piano this time before going to my bedroom and running my hands over her clothes hanging in my closet. I aimlessly tried to get some sleep but I ended up only lying there looking at the ceiling until the sun invaded my bedroom. I purposely make myself do everything I would do if all was well with Butterfly and me—six miles on the treadmill, shower and shave, get dressed, eat breakfast, check my emails...

Still no Butterfly.

Should I go to her apartment? I truly don't want to barge in and I know she is mega-pissed at me, but I can't go without her like I did before. I have to see her, to hear her, even if she's angry with me. I grab the keys to the RS7 and walk to the elevator.

Her parking spot is empty when I get to her condo. She's not here. I try her cell again. Still going to voice mail. I send her text number 12 begging her, again, to please call me. With nothing else that I can do at this point, I turn around to go back to Escala. Ray LaMontagne strums a guitar softly on my iPod playing through my radio, and I just want to hold my Butterfly. The ache that I feel for her is getting stronger and stronger. I keep driving and trying to figure out what I could do to fix this. I want to say that I would have done things differently had I known she would be so upset, but I can't. I love her and I still would have to get to the bottom of what those monsters did to her...even if it was possible that she never speak to me again. I could still give her the peace of knowing that those bastards are going to pay—even if _I _was never at peace again.

I'm still driving, past trees and houses, and Frou Frou sings about the beauty in breaking down. If that's true then I must be fucking gorgeous right now. I just want her back home and the pain of being without her is killing me. My blackberry interrupts my maudlin thoughts as well as my iPod and I answer it without looking—not wanting to be hopeful that it's her.

"Grey."

"Sir, Gail asked me to find out if you were returning for dinner." I know this was just an excuse to call me and make sure that I hadn't driven my sports car into the Sound.

"Yes, I am." I respond. "Taylor?"

"Yes sir?"

"Can we track her phone?" I ask hopeful. I just want to see her.

"Not unless it's on, Sir." I know that it's off so that's a no-go.

"I'll be there later." I say before ending the call. I pull the car over to the side of the road and just sit there. I clear my mind and let the music play from the iPod. I don't want to think of anything right now. I want complete nothingness...if only for a moment.

Several hours and a near-empty tank of gas later, I pull into the garage at Escala. Her car is not in any of the parking bins. I was hopeful although I know someone would have contacted me had she returned. Dusk has now fallen over Seattle and I am feeling a combination of anger and sorrow. I choke down my dinner once more with a bottle of water, then call Butterfly again. When her voice mail immediately picks up, I am unable to holster my feelings:

"Anastasia, why are you doing this? We promised we wouldn't do this again. Why are you shutting me out? I don't understand. I gave you your space and I accept that what I did was dishonest, but this behavior is so unfair to me...to _us_. I'm eating and drinking, but I'll admit that I am not resting well. I'm trying, but sleep just won't come to me. I miss you, Ana. I need you. I only did this because I love you. Please call me, Baby. Please come home."

I end the call feeling completely helpless. I don't know why she's doing this. I didn't do this to hurt her, she knows that. I know that I should have handled things differently, but this is not solving anything. She has _got_ to call me so that we can talk about this. I go to iTunes and search for the song. I should have found it way before now, but something always seemed to sidetrack me. I found it and downloaded it to my iPod. Instead of going to my piano, I went to my bedroom and put on my pajama pants and a t-shirt—one of the ones that had her scent in it. I put in my ear buds and lay on her side of the bed. I put the song on repeat. I don't know how long it took, but I was finally able to get some sleep.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Daylight is invading my senses, but I do not welcome the dawn. I am not in the soft warm king-sized bed that I was dreaming about, wrapped in the arms of my beloved. I am in a room with ugly yellow walls plastered with hideous flowers, old ugly nightstands and an equally ugly desk and chair at the foot of the bed—an uncomfortable, outdated, tarnished brass bed with knotted bedding from the 1960's and old pillows that smell of mildew. Nothing in this room matches including the heavy drapes that show signs that they were once lavender, but are now a nasty faded gray.

Gray...like his eyes...

Edward returns to the room with a tray of breakfast food, the smell of which only serves to turn my stomach. "I know you're hungry, Rosie. You didn't eat dinner."

I know how he felt now. I know why he couldn't eat...I hope he's eating now. I turn away from Edward without a word.

"Dammit, Rosie, you have to eat!" He says, forceful but concerned. I don't respond and I don't turn around.

"Well, I know you have to pee." Damn! That's one bodily function that I can't deny, but I still don't move. He gets the bedpan and positions me so that I can pee. I take pleasure in that small relief, the only relief I will afford myself today besides thinking of Christian...and sleep. I don't know how I could do it, but ever since I was a kid, I could sleep at will—tell myself to go to sleep and then I'd sleep. When he puts me back in the bed, I turn away from him again. He abandons the effort of trying to make me eat but leaves the tray of food on the desk. I guess he figures that the smell will be so overwhelming that my hunger will get the best of me.

Nope, not working.

I close my eyes again and dream of the bathtub at Escala filled with lemongrass bubbles.

* * *

"How do you expect to win her over? She _hates_ you." I hear voices outside the door.

"You let me worry about that. I'm working on it. I'm talking to her." That's Edward.

"Well, one of your five days is already up, Man, and she don't seem no closer to seeing things your way." Five days? What's happening in five days?

"And again, you don't have to worry about that. When our five days are up, we'll go our way and you go yours." He's talking to Harris. That has to be Harris. How did they know that I would be alone at the Aquarium? Nobody knew where I was going! And what's happening in five days? His words play over again in my head.

"_When our five days are up, we'll go our way and you go yours."_

Fuck! He's going to move me to another location, and nobody is going to know where I am. Hell, I don't even know where I am now! This is fucking insane. He can't believe he can get away with this. The door opens and now Edward has appeared with a lunch tray.

"I know you must be hungry, now, Butterfly." He says as he sets the tray on the desk. My head snaps over to him immediately.

"What did you just call me?" I gasp.

"Butterfly. Isn't that your name now?" He says, smiling. I have gone from hopeless and helpless to seething and livid. The hell if I let him taint that name for me!

"You don't get it, do you, Edward?" I say turning to him, my soul full of rage. "You just can't see the forest for the trees. I will _never_ love you, I will _never_ be with you. I don't care what you do to me, because there nothing that you _can_ do to me that is worse than what has already been done to me. So nothing that you can do to me can scare me, coerce me, or convince me to be with with you. This whole thing is an exercise in futility. There's nothing that you can do to me that hasn't already been done except kill me, and although I do not want to die, I am not afraid of death.

"Do you even understand the magnitude of what you've done here? Christian is never going to rest until you are dead or in jail. No matter what happens to me, he is never going to rest until he takes you down. You don't understand what you have done at this point, do you? You have no idea how serious your actions are. I don't know what's _wrong_ with you. I will never want you, Edward. _Ever_! And everything that you do just further enforces the fact that I will never, ever want you. So beat me, rape me, kill me, torture me, do whatever you want to do. But in the end, you are still not. Going. To get. What you want. Get over it. Understand it. Now you've made a decision that guarantees that it will be impossible for you to even just get on with your life. You have now even thrown _that_ option away. Are you happy now? Was it worth it? What is wrong with you? What screws are loose in your head that you can't figure out when a woman doesn't want you? Either she wants you or your rape her, torture her, and beat her? What is wrong with you?"

His face has lost all color. He didn't know that I was aware of Camilla and Phyllis. Oh yeah, I know, Asshole.

"I would _never_ do those things to you. I love you, Butterfly..."

"Don't you ever _fucking _call me Butterfly again as long as you _fucking _live! You have no idea what that means and it has absolutely nothing to do with you and never will. And what do you call this...some new love potion that I'm not aware of? You tried to fuck me when I was unconscious for Christ's sake! You've got me chained up in a room in the middle of God knows where and you have the nerve to talk to me about _love? _Did you _love_ those girls when you raped them and beat them? Am I next if I don't fall in line?" I spit.

"Oh God, Rosie, I would never hurt you, I swear." He pleads. Well, at least we're back to fucking Rosie!

"You're hurting me now, you sick, sadistic, twisted fuck! Are you enjoying this!? I don't know what in the world made me _ever_ love you in the first place. I don't know if I was just in a bad place in my life, or I was just fucked up and screwy as you are, but I can't see for the life of me what made me think that I wanted to spend more than a _moment_ with you, much less a lifetime! This is insane. Why would you even want a woman that doesn't want you? What major malfunction is going on in your mind that you would want to be with a woman that doesn't want you? Are you sick?"

I'm spitting the words out without even thinking. This man has pushed me beyond all limits and I no longer have anything to lose. He is going to move me to parts unknown in five days—four now.

"You just need time, Rosie." He says, his head down as he opens the door to leave.

"Time isn't going to make one bit of difference, _David_. I hate you now, and I'll hate you later." I spit before he leaves. I turn on that automatic sleep mechanism and pray for dreams of my man.

* * *

"Rosie, wake up." It's getting harder to open my eyes now. My stomach is growling and I _do_ feel hungry—but I refuse to eat a thing. My head is hurting now, too—probably from lack of fluids—but if I lay still, it doesn't hurt as much. "You need to eat or you are going to make yourself really sick. I don't want to have to force feed you." Doesn't he know that there really is no such thing? Swallowing is not an automatic mechanism. You have to make yourself swallow. He's stupid.

"You kept calling me a whore that day in the parking garage." I said, my voice weak. He looks at me. "You knew, didn't you?" He shifts uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I knew." He confesses. This doesn't surprise me.

"How?"

"Ev." He says. Is this supposed to mean something to me?

"Ev?"

"Everest Billings. He was my roommate at U-Dub the year that we met. We saw you at that dorm party. He told me about it." He answered.

"How did _he _know about it?" I ask.

"He graduated from Green Valley." He said matter-of-factly. Fuck my life! Christian was right. I'll never be free of this shit if he doesn't get to the bottom of it—but that's not all.

"Christian was right! You profiled me, didn't you?" I asked in horror. He twitched a bit at the word. At least he had enough conscience to feel ashamed about it.

"I wouldn't call it profiling." He responded, obviously searching for a better word.

"What would you call it then?" I snap. "You saw a girl that you thought was weak because of what happened to her years ago. Truthfully, I _was_ weak. It was you and your crazy ass antics—your cheating and your lying—_that_ made me strong. But you profiled me because you saw that I was weak and you thought that you could control me. And for a couple of years, you _did_ control me. That's really twisted. You're more sick and twisted than I even imagined." He picks up a forkful of food.

"Enough of this yapping, you have to eat!" He says, forcefully. He tries to push the food into my mouth but I won't open. He pinches my nose to force my mouth open for air. I part my lips but not my teeth. He loses his patience and grabs my hair, pulling it back forcefully. When I cry out, he shoves the food in my mouth. I spit the mouthful back in his face. His anger raises up in him and he snatches my hair again. His free hand is in the air, in position to strike. I look at him square on with tears in my eyes.

"You'd never hurt me, huh?" I say. His eyes soften immediately but his hand is still in position, the other one still holding my hair. "Go ahead. Remember, there's nothing that you can do to me that is worse than what has already been done...but of course you already know that." A single angry tear rolls down my face. He releases my hair with a frustrated jerk, picks up the tray and leaves the room.

I now know that I have to put a plan in motion or I'll never see the people that I love again. This man is sick and unstable, and I can't play his game...I have to play my own.

Christian went down after four and a half days. I weight considerably less than he does, so that should take me down at least one day. Even though I'm getting rest and he didn't, Dr. Fischer said that it wasn't exhaustion that made him drop...it was dehydration. Christian ate breakfast on Monday and was hospitalized on Friday evening. I'm at least 60 pounds lighter than he and almost a foot shorter. My last meal was breakfast yesterday. Even with rest, by tomorrow night—Monday morning at the latest—I'll be down for the count. Ed will either have to let me die or get me some help. By then, I'm praying that Al has kicked in the contingency plan. If he hasn't, I'm fucked.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

**Atlas_—again with the Greek mythology. After losing a war with the Olympians, Atlas was sentenced to hold up the sky to keep it from combining with the Earth. Classic art shows Atlas holding celestial spheres that represent the sky, which lead to the misinterpretation that he was actually carrying the _Earth_ on his back, hence the origination of the saying "Carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders." This is how Christian envisioned Ana must have felt bearing the burden of the Green Valley incident all of these years._**

_**Unfortunately, if you have the right connections, you can get Propofol recreationally. I would have thought "not so" after the death of Michael Jackson. But alas, it's true. :-(**_

_**Edwards clothes are a tribute to Jason of Friday the 13th. Ana in the dirty wedding dress is just...sad and twisted. **_

_**I'm sorry that I can't remember the reviewer's name that game me the idea for "Happy Together" but thanks, and let me know who you are. **_

_**Be Here – Ray LaMontagne**_

_**Let Go - Frou Frou**_

_**The song that lulled Christian to sleep was their song, Love All The Hurt Away.**_


	42. Chapter 42: Calling In The Troops

_**Seriously, zingers and ego and Bronze-Goddess-ville and everything else aside—just for a serious moment...**_

_**Hateful and spiteful guest reviewers, if you dislike me that much, why do you keep coming back? I mean, seriously, it is such a bad look on you guys - it really makes you look MORE STUPID than you say I look. If you feel like my author's notes are better than my story, or you are Modest and Proud and offended by my huge ego, or you want me to shut up like the DJ on the radio, or you are afraid that my head is going to explode because I am full of myself, or you think I'm a delusional liar because I speak up for myself...why are you still here!? After upwards of 40 chapters, you still haven't figured out that this may not be the story for you? You didn't figure these things out after chapter 10? Or after the first crazy, long-winded, egotistical zinger? You're like that kid from high school that graduates but keeps going back to relive his glory days. Move on, for Christ's sake!**_

_**Sometimes I get no crazy guest reviews at all. Other times I may get two or three in a chapter. Rarely do I ever get those reviews two or three days after the chapter posts. It does happen, but most often I get them like in the FIRST HOUR after I post...even bonus chapters! You know how that looks to me? It looks like you are sitting there chained to your computer, hitting refresh every five minutes just hoping and praying for an update from Paging Dr. Steele so you can say something crazy. That's just strange. Zingers aside, that's just strange.**_

_**Here's the thing. You are all adults...or at least I think you are! If you don't like something that is in my author's notes or even in my story, you have the right TO LEAVE. Do you realize how pathetic you look to come to my story for 40 chapters just to look for something wrong with it...so that you can leave some kind of derogatory review that nobody is going to see but me? And by the way, these days I'm so busy writing the story I usually only read the first line or so - the rest of it is wasted breath. Even if for the sake of argument each review is one person—which I know it's not, but let's just say that it is—if your derogatory comments about me or my story came anytime after chapter 10, you need to just go hide your face in a hole! Now I'm not talking about people who disagreed with me, because hey—opinions differ and that's okay. But I am talking about people who have insulted me and tried to belittle me. This has been the same story and I have been the same loud-mouthed author since chapter one. You knew well before now whether or not you like me or you thought my story was crap—yet you are still here. Sad...so sad.**_

_**"Well I'm going to give her a piece of my mind..." AND? SO? Guess what that means? It means that the thing that I have been doing that offends you so much...I'm just going to keep doing it! Really, what you need to do is go to the mirror, look in it really hard and ask yourself "Is this really worth it because this crazy lady aint listening to nothing I'm saying!" Oh I hear you—which means I hear what you say, and I respond—but I'm not LISTENING to you. Listening means I'm taking what you say to heart...and I don't. I'm going to keep doing what I do—huge ego, DJ-mouth, big head, delusional liar and all! So do us both a favor and un-favorite and un-follow me (because that's the only way that you can know when I'm posting) and stop allowing me to ruin your life with my horrible story, massive head and ego, deleting your reviews, etc, etc, etc...unless this is the only entertainment and life that you have, in which case, carry on. I pity you, but I can't stop you just like you can't stop me.**_

_**That is the closest thing to civil that you will EVER get from me. After this, the Zing Queen is back.**_

_**Whatever reviewer made the crack about roses and rainbows - thanks so much! My reviewers have just been shoving roses and rainbows at me in PMs and reviews ever since you said that. **_

_**To the guest that said Ana was stupid for leaving by herself - yep, you're right. I can't even argue with you on that one. She was being led by her emotions and her emotions led her to do something GHASTLY STUPID. She even admits it somewhere when she says "Why didn't I take Chuck with me?" Yeah, my Ana is strong and she's a boss bitch...but she made a REALLY STUPID DECISION, didn't she, lol? I bet her ass won't do that shit again. Thank's for your review. ;-) **_

_**Another guest wants to know who Melanie is. Right now, she's just one of Ana's patients.**_

_**To Dot - All of the relationship issues and some of the sexual encounters are drawn from real life experience. I'm only just learning about BDSM, so a lot of that comes from research and imagination (except orgasm denial, bondage, and blindfolds). **_**All**_** of the drama comes from imagination. I've have some rough experiences in my life, but nothing like what happened to Ana in Green Valley. Thanks for asking and for reading, and thanks for your review!**_

_**To Beachycolor, Beth (thank you, Honey; maybe they'll just go away soon, but who knows?), Carol, CG Girl, Chocolate, CM (fabulous idea, I think I'm going to use it...), Ellie, English Rose (my dear, your review was just lovely! Thank you!), futrCSI1490, GSue ("really toots my flute" - that was so cute!), hauntedone (I shall "keep them coming" lol ), Jaimini (thank you so much for the new term that I'll be using in the future - guestpondscumlosers), Kayla, Laney, Lilian (WHACK 'EM and keep going, that's my motto), Mary, mavebelikova, michelle (b), Morgan5909 (nope, you're not wrong, lol), Ness, Nessi72, Pamela114, Sonnie, Tempress, Teresaromace, Tj (IKR! He's crazy as fuck, aint he? sorry about the neat heartattack), Toefrumpy (See. I didn't leave you hanging, Baby! Love the name!), and all of my reviewers everywhere, including the haters. **_

_****__****__**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

_****__****__**What will happen to Ana...? The saga continues...**_

_Chapter 42—Calling in the Troops_

_**STEELE**_

"_Butterfly! Butterfly, where are you?" _

_I'm here. Here I am, Christian._

"_Butterfly, please, where are you? Come back to me. I can't take this anymore."_

_Christian! I'm here. I'm trying. I want to come home. I miss you._

"_Please come back to me, Butterfly. Please don't hate me."_

_I don't hate you, Christian. I love you. I love you with all of my heart._

_I can hear his voice but I can't see him. I am reaching out for him, but I can't touch him. I hear his pain but I can't comfort him. Oh God it hurts so bad. Wait for me, Christian, please. I'll find my way back to you. Somehow, I'll do it...even if I have to watch over you from Heaven, I'll be with you. _

_Oh, God, help me..._

I open my eyes and I am still lying in this dingy yellow room. I begin to cry. I'm starting to lose hope already and it's only been a day or so. If I don't hold on, Edward will win and I will never see Christian or Al or Val or any of the people that I love again. This can't be my story, it just can't.

_You told that fucker that you've been through worse, now you suck it up and prove it to him!  
_Yes, Ma'am, but can I have this one little pity cry?  
Y_eah, I'll give you this one..._

After that, she lets me weep in peace.

When I open my eyes again, it's not quite dawn. I'm feeling weaker today and the slight urge to pee, but not really pressing. It's hard to focus, but I can see a shape in the room from the light that is threatening to invade the window. Get the damn bedpan, Asshole. At this point, I no longer care about sleeping in my own piss. He comes closer to the bed and I see that it's not Edward...it's Harris, and he's standing there sneering at me.

Now, I'm afraid.

"Hello, Bitch! Fancy meeting you here." He jeers. I move as far away from him as I can. I can't move far—or fast—because I'm weak, oh, and the cuffs may have something to do with that too.

"What's the matter? Are you scared?" He taunts. "Not feeling the convictions of calling me a 'piece of shit useless bad excuse for a rent-a-cop' now, are you?" Boy, he remembered every damn word.

"I bet you never thought you'd see _me_ again, huh? Well, here I am, standing over you while you're here cuffed to a bed and naked. Quite serendipitous, isn't it? Well, it is for _me_ anyway." He laughs. "For you, it's just ironic...and a bit tragic." He sits on the bed next to me and I shrink away from him.

"You got your wish...I lost my job, and thanks to your arrogant, piece of shit boyfriend, I couldn't get another one. So, I had to find financing elsewhere. Luckily for me, you have a psychotic _ex-_boyfriend who needed my expertise. Boy, you can really pick 'em, can't you?" He scoffed. This guy scares me. In his twisted way, Edward does have feelings for me—enough to keep him from hurting me too badly I hope. Harris, on the other hand, would piss on my grave. So I do have the good sense to be frightened right now.

"Oh, are you worried? You don't have to worry about me. You're my meal ticket right now so I wouldn't do anything.._serious_ to you yet. And I don't know what the big deal is, but I wouldn't fuck you with _Ed's_ dick." He moves closer and grabs my face roughly. I gasp. "But I do reserve the right to come in here and torture you from time to time." He released my face, banging my head roughly against the wall before rising from the bed.

"He's not going to let you go. He's obsessed with you...he'll die before he lets you go. He's going to take you off to some little house somewhere in the middle of nowhere and keep you there until you see things his way. He could just keep you here. Hell, this place isn't attached to either one of us and nobody would sure as hell find you here, but apparently even_ I _don't get to know where you're going...not that I care anyway. So...now you know what your future holds. Dream about that for a while, _Bitch!"_ He laughs fiendishly and leaves the room. I released a breath that I didn't know that I was holding and the water began to flow—from my eyes _and_ my bladder.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"_I'm here. Here I am, Christian."_

_Butterfly? Is that you?_

"_Christian! I'm here. I'm trying. I want to come home. I miss you."_

_Where are you, Baby? I'll come and get you. I need you here with me. _

"_I don't hate you, Christian. I love you. I love you with all of my heart."_

_I know, Butterfly. I love you, too. Where are you? _

_Wait for me, Christian, please. I'll find my way back to you. Somehow, I'll do it...even if I have to watch over you from Heaven, I'll be with you."_

_Ana! Ana! Ana, where are you? Are you hurt? Baby, please tell me where you are and I'll come and get you._

_Her voice is fading away..._

"_Oh, God, help me..."_

_Ana! Ana, please! Ana, where are you? Ana! Ana!_

I sit up in bed with her name echoing in my head. Is she in trouble? Could that be why she's not calling me and I can't reach her? No...that's not it. My mind is playing tricks on me. I can't accept that I fucked up again not telling her about Green Valley and now she won't speak to me. I throw the covers off of me and get out of bed. Fuck the routine—I'm going to my study.

I do manage to read some emails and review some of the preliminary information that Welch has uploaded to the network. I'll just work—I'll work until she decides to call me. This shit is just getting fucking ridiculous. How am I supposed to apologize and make it right if she won't even talk to me? She won't even give me a fucking chance. Of course, my blackberry rings now while I'm having a mini-inner-temper-tantrum.

"Grey." I bark into the phone.

"Hey, Chris. Don't sound so happy!" It's Allen. Save the sarcasm, Man. I haven't fucked my girl in five days and I could really bite your head off right now and not feel bad about it. I'm sure you know that!

"Al, what can I do for you?" I ask impatiently.

"You can let my girl up for some air. I don't appreciate being ignored." He says with a chuckle. What the hell is he talking about?

"Excuse me?" I ask. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean my girl has not called me this weekend and she is not answering her phone, so I'm figuring that you have her in some kind of sexually-induced coma. Can I speak to her please?" He's starting to sound a little irritated and I have alarm bells ringing loudly in my head as I rise from my chair so quickly that it slams on the floor behind me.

"Allen...you haven't seen Anastasia this weekend?" I ask curtly.

"Of course I haven't, she's been holed-up in your ivory tower since you came home from the hospital...hasn't she?" His voice changed on those last two words. My hands are shaking and I nearly drop my blackberry as I am trying to control my own voice.

"Allen, I haven't seen Ana since Friday afternoon." I say as calmly as I can, my shaky voice betraying me. Allen is silent for a minute.

"What do you mean?" His voice is high and squeaky now and I know he is frightened because I've never heard him like this before. "Thursday, she was planning this big 'welcome home' fuck-fest weekend for you and I haven't heard from her since! What the fuck is going on?" He barks. I would tell him to settle down, but I am feeling the same burning, frightful uncertainty that he is.

"I went to Green Valley, Allen. I dug into Ana's past to try to find the bastards that...I didn't tell her why I was going and she found out. Now, she's angry with me. But after last week, she swore that she wouldn't disappear on me again..." I hear my voice cracking. I can't fucking fall apart now.

"In 14 years, the only time that she disappeared on me was when her parents ambushed her in one way or another...or when she was living at the homeless shelter..." He trails off. We ponder the situation for about ten seconds and then simultaneously say...

"Something's wrong."

"TAYLOR!" I feel my face get hot as I am scrambling around my desk looking for something. For what, I don't know. All I know is that my Butterfly is missing. "Allen, I'll call you back..."

"The fuck you will!" He yells. "You're not leaving me out of the loop on this one, Grey! I'm on my way!" He hangs up without another word.

"TAYLOR!" I scream again. He dashes into my office with his hand on his firearm.

"What's wrong, Sir?" He says, breathing like he has run a marathon. I'm angry for having to call him twice, but I can't be concerned about it right now because...

"Butterfly is missing." I can't stop the cracking in my voice this time. A look of fear, surprise, and concern falls over Taylor's face as he straightens and asks, "How do you know she's missing?"

"Allen hasn't seen or talked to her since Thursday." I say, controlling my voice, my brain springing to life with different courses of action running through at 100 miles an hour. "She hasn't answered any of my calls and she promised that she would never do that to me again...even if she's angry." Taylor dials a number in his phone.

"Turn on the tracking software in Her Highness's phone." He says.

"The phone is off." I reply, dismally.

"It's a long shot, but we may still be able to pick up a residual signal from the battery, unless it's completely dead."

I feel completely lost. I have no idea where to even begin looking. I know it was around 4:00 when she left on Friday and tried to call her at 6:00 and it went straight to her voice mail. I feel like an asshole now for getting angry at her for not responding. If I had faith that she would keep her promise and not shut me out, I would have known before now that something was wrong. I try to sit in my chair and forgot that I have knocked it over, so I fall on the floor trying not to disappear into hopelessness. Could she be hurt? Could she be hiding? Is that what the dream meant? This situation was so much bigger than _I thought you were sleeping with my brother. _I tap into my blackberry a futile attempt to reach her once more.

_****You don't have to speak to me ever again if you don't want to. Just please let me know that you're okay.****_

I wipe away a single tear as I hit send.

* * *

"Mr. Forsythe," Taylor announces. I don't know how much time has passed, but I welcome Allen's company more than I thought I would.

"Call me Al, Agent T." Allen says rolling his eyes and brushing pass Taylor. He stops a few feet away from me. "You look like shit, and if you send yourself into the same situation that you did the last time this happened, Jewel is going to kick your fucking ass when she gets back...I guarantee it." Taylor disappears into the kitchen for a moment. I've been eating...haven't I? I had to think about it too hard.

"Sir." I look up just in time to see Taylor launch a bottle of water in my direction. I crack it open and take several swallows. He subsequently tosses me an apple. Better safe than sorry, I think as I take a healthy bite...and immediately think of Butterfly splatting the Pedophile in the face with a nectarine. I look up at Taylor, who is hiding a snicker because he apparently had the same thought. "Thank you, Taylor." I say as I swallow the bite of apple.

"Someone want to let me in on the joke?" Allen says, a little impatiently.

"Our girl accosted someone with a nectarine right there a couple of weeks ago." I say with a snicker as I point to the breakfast bar. Could this bitch have something to do with Ana's disappearance? I have absolutely no answers right now.

"Well, I have some news. I called Lojack and had them activate her theft recovery system." Allen says.

"I thought she was the only one that could do that." I say. Allen drops his head.

"Sit down, Chris. You're about to get a little insight into the relationship that is Jewel and Al." He gestures to the sofa, but I decline.

"I think better in my study. Follow me." I guide him into my study.

"After my parents died, I really didn't have anyone else to call _family_." Allen begins as he sits in one of the seats across from my desk. I listen attentively as I finish my apple. "Jewel and I were pretty much on our own once she came back to Washington—and I discovered she was here. Boy, I could have choked her for moving into that homeless shelter instead of coming to me." I can see that he recalls this time painfully, but he quickly shakes the thoughts from his head and continues. "Jewel has Ray, but I had no one...you know, in case of emergency. So we became each others' contingency plan." I frown.

"Contingency plan?" I ask. He sighs.

"On every piece of paper that makes any difference anywhere, I am listed as Jewel's brother and emergency contact. She, in turn, is listed at my sister. We know each other so well that if anything out-of-the-ordinary occurs, we can tell instantly—and we have contingencies in place. This time I was off my game, because you are an unknown factor." I don't like the sound of that.

"What do you mean I'm an _unknown factor_?" I almost snap. "I'm not some mystery molecule that's been thrown into the equation here, this is my woman!"

"That's the thing though, Chris. That's exactly what you are! For years, she hasn't been _anybody's_ woman! I knew exactly what her habits were and I could tell by a flutter of her eyelash if something wasn't right. Now twice, my girl has needed me and I wasn't there—and she didn't call me! Twice something has happened in my girl's life and I didn't know anything was wrong until the next day or so and only because I spoke to _you_. That's not how we roll, Christian. And the only anomaly here is _you_!" What is he trying to say...that I've come into Ana's life and now all of her perfection and order has been ruined because of me?

"What exactly are you trying to say, Allen?" I say, my voice crisp. He stretches his neck and closes his eyes, apparently trying to gather his thoughts before he speaks.

"I'm trying to say that you _are_ the unknown in this situation," he says, his voice even and methodical, "that things _have_ changed since you showed up. And yes, her perfect little world—if you can call it that—_has_ been shaken. I can see the question in your eyes. I'm good at what I do." This guy makes me nervous. I can read the fuck out of people, but no one has ever been able to read me. I need this guy; I can't afford to _ever_ have him sitting across from me in any situation.

"This may not be the best time to ask this, but I want to ask before I forget. Would you consider coming to work for me?" I ask. He glares at me.

"Oh, you get jokes." He snaps.

"I'm dead serious. You've got instincts like I've never seen, and I want that on my team. You can name your terms." I say flatly. He examines me for a moment.

"You _are_ serious." He says, surprised.

"Yes, I am. Think about it and we can discuss it if you like after we find out what's happening with Butterfly." He nods.

"I will." He breathes heavily and gets back to the business at hand. "Just before you saw her at that club, I followed her home in the middle of the night because I knew that something was wrong with her even though she tried to convince me that I was wrong. I found her in her car in the parking garage of her apartment knocked out from crying. She had tried to convince me that she was having one of her headaches when she left the bar, but I knew better. It turns out that she felt like the odd woman out that night. She was lonely and didn't want any of us to know."

Butterfly. Lonely. It doesn't seem possible. She is magnificent and remarkable and all things good, beautiful, and whole...focus, Grey!

Allen sighs heavily, again trying to organize his thoughts. "Chris, you have come along and scrambled everything _Allen and Jewel._..and that's okay, because I would have been completely shattered if I had found the remarkable and perfect love that I have with James, and my beloved Jewel was still on the outside looking in. But there appears to be some major changes going on in Jewel's life and I don't like being on the outside of _that_. The little—and big—mishaps that we have had could have been avoided if there had not been this invisible rift between us and I intend to fix that when Ms. Thang returns!" he spits. I think that was more for _Jewel_ than it was for me. He takes a heavy breath—drenched with sorrow and some fear.

"She's my split-apart, Chris. She's my soulmate, and if I were a straight man, she would be my wife...not because I desire her, but because I can't live without her. Do you understand me?" He says, his eyes glassy. I nod.

"Yes, Allen. I understand perfectly." I say softly.

"So since we obviously both love her very much, we are going to have to work something out where we are all informed on the contingencies. I don't know how to fix this...but...I can't...lose my Jewel." He drops his head. I want to comfort him but I'm not sure how. I step over to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

"You won't. I swear you won't. We are going to find her and we are going to get everything sorted out." He nods, not raising his head to me. "What do you know?" I ask.

"Lojack activated the theft recovery system in her 300. They are supposed to call me back when they get a hit on it." I don't know why I didn't think of Lojack, but without the codes and frequency of the device in Butterfly car, we wouldn't have been able to track it anyway.

"Taylor." I know he is nearby. He appears a moment later. "Any luck?"

"Not yet, Sir." He says, sorrowfully.

"Track her credit cards and her bank account. See if anything has happened since Friday. Allen, have you checked her apartment?"

"Yes, that's why I called you. It has been untouched since I brought her things here last Saturday." I know she was there on Friday, but I don't know what she did. Allen holds his finger up and looks at his phone. He puts it to his ear. "Allen Forsythe...yes...where is it?...How do you know?...Oh shit..." I don't like the sound of that. "Can we avoid that? I am her emergency contact and I can pay the ticket and move the car." They found her car. What the fuck? Where's Ana? "Oh, I see. I hadn't considered that. May I request that until we determine that there is or may be foul play involved that you stick to basic gathering of evidence and do not destroy Ms. Steele's vehicle? I am also her attorney." Oh shit, this is making me fucking ill. I look over at Taylor, who nods and leaves the room. "Is it on the street or in the parking lot?..Will you be taking it to the police impound or to headquarters?...Has Ms. Steele been officially been declared a missing person or do I have to do that?...I'm her brother...I'm on my way." He ends the call. I feel bile rise in my throat as I watch the color leave Allen's face.

"Please tell me what it is." I croak. I can't even imagine my Butterfly being hurt.

"Obviously, they found her car. It was in the parking lot at the aquarium." I frown. The aquarium? "That's where Jewel goes to think about things. She says the water calms her. Her car was ticketed at 9:10pm on Friday night. The police have been contacted. It's a crime scene now, Chris." A crime scene. That can only mean that they have no idea where my baby is.

"What are they going to do with her car?" I ask flatly, trying to keep all of my horrible thoughts at bay.

"They are taking it in for preliminary processing. Without any further information right now, it's just abandoned, so they won't do a breakdown unless..." he trails off.

"Unless they found out that something bad has happened to her." I finish, swallowing hard. "So what happens now?"

"I have to go down there and establish that it is actually Jewel's car. They know it is but...it's like..." Even he has a hard time stating the obvious.

"Like identifying a body." I finish.

"Yes." He says dropping his head. "So...we better get going." I look up at him. I would have stalked him when he left anyway, but I am so glad that he invited me along.

"I'll drive." Taylor says, having appeared in the doorway again.

* * *

I've seen things like this on television, but not in real life. Her car is taped off in a little square area by that horrible police tape that only makes me think that Butterfly is dead. Pull it together, Grey. Various items are lying outside on a tarp and all four doors are open. It's a really sickening site, only because I know Butterfly wouldn't treat her things this way. Various odds and ends are on display—her briefcase, some miscellaneous toiletries, but what I see next chills me to the bone.

"Allen." I call to Allen who is talking to one of the officers. He turns to me, and apparently my facially expression caused him concern.

"What is it, Chris?" He asks. I point to the tarp.

"Somebody took her." I say. Al follows my finger and tries to hide a quiet gasp. Her unloaded Glock and her Magnum are lying on the tarp. The don't allow firearms in the aquarium, so she wouldn't have taken her Magnum, and she leaves the Glock in the car. That means that she was completely unarmed because the Beretta stays at home. Someone had to ambush her at this spot or somewhere nearby because she wouldn't have left the Magnum.

"What is it, Mr. Forsythe?" One of the officers ask. Allen is trying to inform her that something is wrong, but I think it hits him at this moment just how wrong it is.

"Ms. Steele has been abducted. Wherever she is, she didn't go willingly." I say.

"And what makes you say that?" She says, sarcastically and suspiciously. It's taking everything in me not to tell this fucking _cadet_ that I can have her job in my hand by midnight. I step pass Allen and get in her face. She's only a couple of inches taller than Butterfly, but she doesn't take down.

"Have you looked at your evidence?" I say curtly.

"No, it's being bagged, Mr..." she waits for a response.

"Grey. That..." I point to the guns, "is Ms. Steele's .44 Magnum. She rarely goes anywhere without it. She has a license to carry a concealed weapon and that thing is usually in her purse."

"Hmmm, you know an awful lot about Ms. Steele." She says snidely, writing something in her little notebook. My cup boileth over.

"I should! I fuck her every night!" I spit, glaring at this sawed-off bitch with the Napoleon complex.

"Chris!" Allen is next to me in a moment. "We're on the same side, Chris."

"The hell we are!" I snap. "I'm trying to find out what happened to my Butterfly and this munchkin is treating me like a fucking suspect. She doesn't even know who I am!"

"Well, right now, _everyone_ is a suspect, Mr. Grey!" She says brusquely. "You show up on a scene we haven't released to anyone and you know everything about the missing woman—and you're right—we don't even know who you are." I glare at her again. Is she serious? Does the city of Seattle have it in for me?

"I'll tell you what." I snap. She seems to get a little shorter. "Why don't you get on your little walkie-talkie there and get in touch with your boss, and have him get in touch with his boss, and have him get in touch with his boss. Go as far up as you need to go—all the up to the governor if you need to—and find out if they feel the same about Christian Grey." I leer at this little insignificant bug in front of me. How dare you try to flex your little nonexistent police muscle in front of me! My Butterfly is missing and I'll crush you and anybody else that gets in my way to find her.

"Did he just say Christian Grey?" I hear off to my left somewhere. Someone is touching my arm. When I look down at the hand, I notice that it is unfamiliar. Efficient as always, Taylor is in my peripheral and the hand moves from my arm. I look up into the face of a suited cop—most likely a detective. "Excuse me, Mr. Grey," he says as he leans in to Little Ms. Napoleon. "You're about to piss off the most powerful man in Seattle. Do you want to be a meter maid tomorrow? Go find something to do!" He spit at her and nearly pushes her in the other direction. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grey," he says turning back to me. "She really shouldn't be speaking to _anyone_ that way." The fact that he acknowledged that her behavior was unacceptable to anyone and _not_ just me threw a little ice water on the raging beast inside desperate to get free.

"I was trying to tell her," I begin, "that Ms. Steele is licensed to carry firearms, and she carries that Magnum in her purse. If that Magnum is here and she is not, then she is unarmed and vulnerable and has most likely been abducted." He starts writing in _his_ little notebook.

"And, please, Mr. Grey, can you tell me how you would know this?" I almost hate to answer this question because I know that it will most likely be all over the tabloids before I even make it back to Escala, but hell...I already told She-Napoleon that I fuck her every night.

"She's my girlfriend." I say, sealing our media fate. The detective's head darts up to me quickly.

"She's your girlfriend?" He repeats. I nod. I know that this has just become a high profile case.

"I would like to keep this as quiet as possible, Officer..."

"Crab. Detective Gerald Crab, Sir." Oh boy, that couldn't have been easy growing up.

"Detective Crab. Of course, I want Anastasia found as quickly as possible, but I would like that with as little invasion of our privacy as is possible under the circumstances." I say.

"I'll take it from here, _Crab_." Another officer rudely interrupts Detective Crab just as he was getting information from me. I already don't like this guy. First, he put undo emphasis on Crab's name in the demeaning method that I know this guy has suffered his entire life. And second, he is the epitome of the stereotypical, arrogant, pot-bellied, bullying, doughnut-eating flatfoot from the television cop series that is willing to pin the crime on the nearest suspect just so that he can make the collar. I drop my head immediately as I am growing very weary of the situation.

"I've said the same thing to three different people. Now I have to say it to you, too?" I ask, perturbed. Oh, how dare me voice my opinion as a citizen of the city of Seattle and the State of Washington.

"I'll ask the questions, here, and you'll repeat it as many times as necessary!" Oh, no he didn't. I take a moment to size him up and then I make my decision.

"Let me try to put this into perspective for you. I am in love with this woman and she's missing. I am just about as rich as Walmart and I am going to throw every resource that I can get my hands on behind finding this woman. Either you can help me or you can get out of my way, but I can't guarantee you that everything that I'm going to do you're going to like. Now since they all know who I am, I can call the police commissioner, the president of the city council, the mayor, the governor, whomever you need me to call to put some fire under your ass and make this a priority. And believe me, I completely understand that you are concerned about 20,000 crimes being committed in this city. I am only concerned about one. So watch your tone with me, because it won't serve you well to piss me off!" I snap. He laughs loudly.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" He asks. Another smelling-his-own-ass cop who seems to think that I play by the rules. "This is an official police investigation! You don't have any power here!" He spits. I look over his shoulder to see Detective Crab shaking his head. I run my finger across my bottom lip.

"Are you the leading officer on this case, Mr..." I wait for a name.

"Roach. _Detective_ Sherman Roach." Ooooh, another one. Where are these people getting these names from? I nod.

"Mr. Forsythe?" I call to Allen. He is beside me in a moment. "Yes Sir, Mr. Grey?" He falls into professional mode very quickly. He's good. Yeah, name your price, Al.

"This is my attorney, Allen Forsythe. You can talk to him." I turn away from Roach.

"Lawyering up, are you, Grey? You've got something to hide?" He says accusing. I turn back to face him.

"No. I have nothing to hide. I just don't like you..._Roach_!" I spit his name with twice the contempt that he gave to Detective Crab. I actually saw him flinch. I open my blackberry and search through _my_ contingency contacts. I find the number I am seeking and dial.

"Charlotte...Christian Grey here...I wish I could tell you I was doing fine, but I'm not. I have a very severe situation on my hands and I need your help..."

A few minutes later, I go back to join Allen and Roach—well, I should really say to pull Allen away from Roach.

"Don't leave town, Grey." Roach barks. Silly little flatfoot. He still thinks he's in control of this situation.

"I just got back into town, _Roach_! I'm not hiding from _you_!" I growl. Again, he flinched. General public service announcement—if you're going to try to strut with the cocks, have some balls!

"It's not a good idea to piss off the cops, Chris." Allen says. "I just kind of got that guy on our side."

"I don't want him on my side," I say. "I'm assuming you are giving some serious thought to coming to work for me. I would give anything to have your expertise on my side."

"I'm thinking about it, Chris." He responds.

"In that case, you need to know that I do everything possible above board. I never dance with the devil unless it is utterly necessary. To prevent that from happening, I have friends in high and low places. I just put in a call to one of the high ones. I just want you step back and watch the 'Roaches' run—pun intended." I say. He frowns.

"Okay...and when will this running commence?" He asks.

"I'd say in about...ten minutes." I saw, looking at my watch. Taylor steps over to me at that moment.

"Sir, would you happen to have a picture of Ms. Steele handy?" He asks. Not one that I would want other people to see. Oh, wait...I have that picture of her at the dinner party on my phone. I open my phone and scroll to the picture.

"Why do you need a picture of her?" I ask.

"The very capable officers of the city of Seattle failed to ask the aquarium staff if any of them have seen Ms. Steele. I thought I would assist them in their investigation." He responds. I text him the picture of Butterfly.

"Good thinking, Taylor. Let me know what you find out." He nods and heads back to the aquarium.

"What's _he_ doing?" Roach barks as I send Taylor away.

"None of your damn business. That's my personal security!" I hiss.

"Need I remind you that this is an official ongoing police investigation, _Sir_?" He scolds.

"Need I remind you that I don't like you and don't give a _fuck_ what you say?" I retort. He opens his mouth for a rebuttal when his phone rings.

"Roach!...Sir...uh, yes sir...yes sir..." Ah...friends in high places. I fold my arms.

"That was faster than even _I_ expected," I say as I watch Roach pull nervously at his tie and sing several more "yes sirs" into his phone. Allen's eyebrows rise as he attempts to discern what is going on. I employ _the stance_, legs apart, hands clasped in front of me. Again, I look over Roach's shoulder and see Crab answering his phone as well.

_Much_ faster than I expected.

A few moments later, Roach and Crab make their way over to me.

"Mr. Grey," Crab begins, "I will be the detective in charge of Ms. Steele's case, Sir." He says confidently.

"Excellent." I state. "Roach, I assume you will be giving all of your notes over to Detective Crab?" Twist the knife a bit.

"Yes Sir." Roach hisses as he rips sheets of paper from his notebook and hands them to Crab. "My apologies, Sir, if I offended you or treated you disrespectfully in any way." He grumbles, looking in any direction but mine.

"Like my Butterfly, I don't accept insincere apologies." I say flatly, maintaining my stance. His head snaps toward me and he glares at me. "Unlike my Butterfly, I can't handle things with the grace and decorum that she exhibits...get the fuck out of my face!" I spit.

"Mr. Grey..." Roach begins to protest. I have no idea what the look on my face said to him, but I could see the chill go through his soul before he turned around and walked away from me. I turned back to Crab who is shaking his head at a retreating Roach.

"Who did you call?" Allen asked. I looked over my shoulder at him.

"The governor." I said, matter-of-factly before turning back to Crab, who clears his throat.

"Mr. Grey, although their tactics were deplorable, there is some truth in what the two officers were telling you," Crab says cautiously. "In a missing persons case, the first suspects to be considered are the people closest to the victim. The discovery process can be very invasive and uncomfortable, but I assure you that I will proceed with the utmost respect and discretion."

"That's all I ask," I reply. "The sooner you eliminate me as a suspect, the sooner you will find my girlfriend." He nods. "So what can I do?" I add.

"Tell me about the last time that you talked to Ms. Steele."

I explained to him about the Green Valley trip and the fight that we had on Friday which caused Ana to walk out. Allen and I both assured him that Ana would not have gone to Ray without her car and Allen repeatedly informed the detective that Ana doesn't so much as buy shoes without telling him that she is going to the mall. The longer we talk to him and give him information, the more dismal I begin to feel. I want to hold my Butterfly. I want to make sure that she is okay.

Nothing made me feel more separation anxiety than watching them load her car onto the flatbed. I felt like they were taking the last part of her away from me. Before I knew it, all the calm that I had stored up to help me get through the last several hours seemed to release all at once and fly away. I felt like there was a vice wrapped around my chest and I couldn't breath. My legs felt like jelly underneath me and before I knew it, I was on the ground at Pier 59 unable to catch my breath. People were reaching to help me and I couldn't hear them. I just saw their hands coming towards me and I kept swatting them away, afraid that they were going to touch my chest. I couldn't find a familiar face in the crowd...but worse, I couldn't find my Butterfly.

Out of the fog, I could hear Taylor's voice. I called to him and, within moments, he was on the ground beside me.

"They have to find her." I say to him through my tears. "They have to find her." I beg.

"We will, Sir." He tries to assure me, but all I can see is her car being secured to the police truck behind him. I clutch his arms and shake my head violently. "We have to get him out of here." He says to someone.

"No!" I bark. "We have to find her. I don't know where she is and we have to find her."

"She's not here, Sir." Taylor says sternly. "She left here Friday after the aquarium closed." I look up at him.

"How do you know?" I ask. My head feeling a little clearer as we speak.

"The guard inside, he said that she was here after closing—that she lost track of time and he had to ask her to leave." I rise to my feet.

"The aquarium closes at 6..." I begin. "Does he know exactly what time it was when she left?"

"No sir. He does his walk-through at about 6:10. He says she was in the last exhibit he checked which was the viewing dome. He remembers securing the aquarium at 6:40 because it was on his report. So she had to leave sometime in that last half hour."

"She left in broad daylight and no one saw her?" I ask bewildered.

"Sir, you should probably see something." Taylor says as we walk around the building. He takes me to the front entrance which is mostly glass and clearly visible. Then he takes me over to the side of the building. "Once you walk through the exhibits in the aquarium, the exit is there." He points to door that is down a long sidewalk nearly halfway to the back of the building and obscured from the street. Considering the fact that there is a delivery truck parked on that sidewalk right now, a car could have been waiting for her when she came out of the aquarium. They could have taken her without drawing any attention to themselves—but she would have to be quiet, and Butterfly would not have gone quietly...

...if she was conscious.

The feeling of doom has returned as all the nickels keep dropping and the pieces start falling together. I run my fingers through my hair and frantically start looking around for surveillance equipment. No security cameras on the aquarium or the attached cafe. No traffic cameras. No other businesses close enough to get a shot of the door that I can tell. Across the street is the Alaskan Way Viaduct and all businesses that could be of any use are on the other side of the viaduct. There's nothing for me to link to my Butterfly—nothing to give me an idea of what happened those last few moments she was here at this spot.

What if one of those Green Valley fuckers came back and got her? That's not possible—none of them knows where she is. Even if they were resourceful enough to connect her to my location—which I doubt—all they would know is that she is in Washington. There's no way any one of them could have located her and orchestrated a kidnapping in such a short period of time—especially considering that the trip to the aquarium was unexpected. So that's not likely.

What if someone has figured out that she is my girlfriend and they are holding her from some kind of ransom? Wouldn't they have contacted me by now? We haven't gone public with our relationship, but that doesn't mean that someone couldn't find out. If that's the case, it had to be someone very close to her or very close to me. Still they would have had to know that she was at the aquarium.

Who would have known she was at the aquarium? If Allen didn't know that she was at going to the aquarium, _nobody_ knew. Somebody _had_ to be watching her. Or had to know her routines...but this wasn't a routine. We fought and she left in a frenzy. I need some help—my brain is going in too many different directions.

"Allen? Crab?" I call to them both. I am pacing the walkway near the exit when they get there. "I need some help. My thoughts are in complete disarray."

"Okay, what do you need?" Allen asks.

"This may sound strange, but when I do this, I usually have my assistant taking notes to catalog my thoughts. I just need someone to help me sort them out." Allen looks at Crab who shrugs and takes out his notebook. Good...they don't think I'm completely crazy.

"She would have come out of this door. It had to be sometime after 6 because that's when the aquarium closed." I run my hand through my hair again. "Somebody had to know that she was here...but _I _didn't even know that she was here. She wasn't supposed to be here." Crab is scribbling feverishly in his notebook.

"What are you thinking, Chris?" Allen asked.

"This truck," I point to the delivery truck, "is blocking the view from the street. So a car or a van could have been here when she exited the aquarium." I look around at the buildings again. Directly across the street on the other side of the viaduct is a parking structure. No doubt, additional parking for the aquarium and surrounding businesses. My eyes scan for surveillance equipment and I see two cameras facing the aquarium. They are pretty far away and I don't know if the view was obstructed by anything, but it's worth a shot.

Next to the parking structure is the Seattle Antiques Market. The building has a large dock. If they don't have security cameras, they're just fucking stupid. Next to the Antiques Market is a large parking lot and then a storage facility. I _know_ they will have surveillance cameras. Finally there is an ATM express just under the viaduct that may have captured pictures of passing cars, but I don't know how much help that will be to us.

I fill Allen and Crab in on my thoughts and plan of action and we all cross Alaskan Way. Crab isn't too happy about it.

"No offense, Crab, but my heart and soul has been missing for more than 24 hours. If I don't do something about this soon, I may just expire. And quite frankly, I really want to find her before the FBI gets wind of this, because if this _does_ become a kidnapping investigation, they are going to bureaucrat this shit to death. This is likely to become another Lindbergh baby situation, and we all know how _that_ turned out." He sighs heavily.

"I'm on your side," he says, "but you have to keep me in the loop. Don't do anything illegal or I will have to arrest you. Please keep me informed of what you find and what you are about to do, because I can help you if you let me...but if you cross me, Sir, all bets are off and you become my number one suspect." He warns.

"Well, what I'm about to do may not necessarily be _ethical,_ but it's definitely not illegal. As long we are on the same page, you never have to worry about me crossing you, but you have to know that I do have resources that even you and the department don't have. This woman is the love of my life. She is my soul's breath and I will tear this city apart to get her back safely. So I will do everything I can to stay above board, because she would be pissed at me if I did anything illegal. But make no mistake, Detective...I'm going to get my woman back." He answered me with a curt nod and I texted Taylor to meet me at the parking structure.

There is a small office just inside the parking structure across from the payment booth. It's made of glass and there are two security officers inside.

"May I speak to whomever is in charge, please?" I say when I enter the office. An older woman appears from behind a concave wall of monitors and says, "I'm Officer Burnett. How can I help you?"

"Officer Burnett, my name is Christian. Christian Grey. This is my attorney Allen Forsythe, my head of security Jason Taylor, and Detective Gerald Crab from the Seattle Police Department. Ma'am, my girlfriend is missing and we have reason to believe that she has been abducted. She was last seen coming out of the aquarium in Friday evening. Now Officer, I know that there will most likely be subpoenas and all kinds of requests for this information once we get in front of a judge, but I will pay you any amount of money that you request to let us look at the surveillance video from the two cameras out front that you have pointing in the direction of the aquarium. She's been missing for nearly two days and they just towed her car away from the parking lot. Please, Ma'am, I will pay whatever you ask...please."

I want to use the Grey charm to my advantage, but I just don't have the strength. I have to find my Butterfly and I am truly broken without her—including the charmer. I will get on knees and beg if I have to. I don't know what she saw in my face, but she just pulls the chair out in front of the concave wall and tells me, "Sit down."

I sit in the seat and look at the numerous monitors in front of me as she asks "What time?"

"Six o'clock." She type into a keyboard for a few moments and then the four screens in the middle of the wall go black. Two monitors come alive. One has a view of the Alaskan Way and the front of the aquarium. The other has a straight shot of the aquarium exit and walkway, but it is so far away. Something is better than nothing.

I watch the screens without blinking, Allen, Taylor, and Crab all looking over my shoulder. There is a gray car parked in the walkway in front of the aquarium exit. There is someone standing near the door of the cafe next door, but I can't identify anything about him since he's standing under an awning. At 6:17, a blurry figure comes out of the exit. I can't see her face, but I'd know that body anywhere. That's my Butterfly. Cafe Guy comes up behind her and there's some kind of struggle. A second blonde exits the parked car and just as Cafe Guy goes does, he steps behind Butterfly. I can't see what happens next, but she must have collapsed because he is carrying her to the gray car. He puts her in the back seat and gets in beside her while Cafe Guy gets off the ground and gets into the driver's seat. A few moments later, they pull out and drive away down Alaskan Way.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the screen, like it will give me more answers—like Butterfly is going to pop up and tell me where the gray car took her. I don't know how long I sat there looking at the screen but I feel someone touching my hand. I look up and it's Officer Burnett—she's putting a tissue in my hand. I look over at Taylor who has this completely lost puppy look on his face and I'm having a hard time understanding what's happening. As if to answer my question, Taylor says, "Boss, dry your face."

I reach up to my cheek and didn't know I had started to cry. I accepted the tissue from Officer Burnett.

"Thank you, Ma'am." I managed to say.

"Sarah." I looked up at her after I dried the water from my eyes. "Call me Sarah." She smiled. I put my hands in my hair and try to pull myself together. Somebody took my Butterfly.

"What do we do now?" Allen asks.

"We have to enhance that video—see who's on it." Crab says.

"How do we do that?" Allen asks.

"We can do it at the lab, but we have to get a subpoena." Crab responds.

"Barney could do it." We all look at Taylor. Of course, Barney could do it! Why didn't I think of that!? "All we have to do is get him the section of the video with Ms. Steele in it and he should be able to do it in a heartbeat." I look over at Sarah.

"What do you need me to do?" She says without pausing.

"I don't want to get you into any trouble, but this is so important, Sarah." I say with pleading eyes.

"I understand. What do you need me to do?" She says again. I open my blackberry and call Barney's cell.

"Barney, I know it's Sunday but how soon can you be in the office?" I ask.

"I'm already here, Sir. I'm working on the new access software for the PR department. I thought I would come in today so I could work in peace." The gods must be smiling on me.

"I'm going to have some surveillance video sent to you. I need you to enhance it as much as possible so that we can see who's in it. This is priority one. If you enhance it enough, you'll see why we need it. What do you need from me?"

"What kind of system are they running?" He asks.

"Hold on." I hand the phone to Sarah. "This is Barney. He's my head of IT. He has some questions for you." She nods and takes the phone from me. I turn back to Crab.

"What happens once we identify who took Anastasia?" I ask.

"We put out an APB—but I'm not going to be able to do that based on what your guy finds. The video has to be processed at Police Headquarters and the suspects have to be identified there. Once they are, then we can hit all of the media outlets and they won't be able to move around so freely. But Mr. Grey, subpoenas can take days to get—we have to show probable cause. Then the techs have to come down and gather the evidence properly and it has to go through a process with the Crime Scene Investigation unit. That could take a really long time."

"Like how long?" I ask.

"Anywhere from several days to a few weeks." He answers.

"She could be dead by then! Or sold in human trafficking. Hell, she could be dead _now!_" The words burn in the back of my throat.

"Getting the subpoena is going to be the hardest part." He admits. I drop my head and bang it lightly on the desk in frustration.

"How long after you get the subpoena should this take?" I ask, my voice muffled by the desk.

"It depends on CSI. I mean, they could get in here in a day and get what they need, especially since we know exactly where to look. How long it takes them to process it, well, that depends on the priority level." He's singing all of my tunes right now. I'm going to do what I'm going to do behind the scenes, but I'm going to make sure all of the correct chains are followed, too.

"Mr. Grey," a soft voice calls me from my right. Sarah is handing me my blackberry.

"Thank you, Sarah." I say as I take the phone. "Barney?"

"Give me about forty-five minutes, Sir. I'll have it enhanced as much as I can, but you're going to need a computer to watch it." He says.

"Thank you, Barney. Call me when it's done." I end the call. I thank Sarah again for her kindness and let her know that she will probably be hearing from the police about the case very soon. I wonder how much she likes her job and if she would like to retire? We go to the antiques shop next door and their surveillance equipment was so old, it was of absolutely no use to us. The storage facility wouldn't even talk to us. There was nothing else to do at this point but go back to Escala. I didn't want to leave this area since this was the last place that my Butterfly was seen, but there wasn't anything else that we could do here.

The four of us went back to Escala since Barney called while we were at the storage facility to inform us that the video was complete. He had uploaded the videos to the network—both the original version and the enhanced snippet. Taylor called in Lawrence and Williams as we were going to need some extra hands on deck. The gentlemen agreed to a schedule where each would watch a couple of hours of the video at a time to see if there may have been anything that we missed since Sarah provided the surveillance files from Friday through to this morning when the police acquired her car.

On the way back to Escala, I called Charlotte again to see which judges that she had in her pocket this month that could get us a subpoena.

"Christian, dear, I can't just wave my magic wand and make this happen." Charlotte said.

"Oh, yes you can, Char." I protest. "There's a young woman's life at stake here. We know that she has been taken and there has been no ransom demand. So either they plan on keeping her, selling her, or killing her...if they haven't done it already. I'm going to know who did this in about three minutes, but I need this stuff to go through police chain of command so we can go through the media outlets and catch these fuckers."

"You know as well as I do that if you push their hand, they may kill her anyway." I didn't need to hear that.

"It depends on who has her. If I can't identify them, we'll take another course of action—but I need to get this ball rolling in case I can." She sighs heavily.

"Have Crab call me in an hour. I'll have your subpoena." Again, the gods must be looking out for me.

"Thank you, Char." I say.

"I really must meet this girl when you get her back, Christian." She scolds.

"You will, Char. That's a promise." I say before ending the call.

While I was on the phone with Charlotte, Taylor confirmed that according to Welch, Butterfly's bank account and credit cards hadn't been touched. Not good news. All trails are running dry and the only leads we will have from here on out will be the two mystery gentlemen on the video and the gray car. It's about 5:00pm on Sunday when we all sit down in my study and start making our various discoveries.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Lindbergh Baby Situation - The current FBI Federal Kidnapping Law (the Lindbergh Law) came into place in 1932 when famous aviator Charles Lindbergh's toddler son was kidnapped. It's been said that the FBI really messed this case up and were on a wild goose chase following false leads and the wrong suspects. A ransom was paid one month after the kidnapping but it turns out that Lindbergh was fooled out of $50,000. His son's body was found not far from his home two months after he was kidnapped - badly decomposed and mutilated. He was most likely dead when the money changed hands. Needless to say, this is why Christian is anxious to get Ana back before the FBI gets wind of her disappearance.**_

_**As usual, pictures on Pinterest at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/. There are also pictures of how I see most of my characters (actors and actresses) at Pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-characters/**_

**_Please review!_**

**_Love and Handcuffs!  
Lynn x_**


	43. Chapter 43: Liberty or Death

_**Well, it was Bronze o'clock yesterday, but Fanfiction had other plans! Dammit! Y'all should have seen me...I was so pissed! I tried for ten hours to post my story on two browsers in three different devices until my Facebook crew told me that it was Fanfiction and not me. One of my Facebook readers asked me to post my story in the group on Facebook until Fanfiction came back up. I am so sorry - I'll do that next time. I wasn't ignoring you. I just didn't see the message until this morning. **_

_**Thanks you guys for all of the messages asking if I was okay because even if I'm late, you guys know that I don't fail to post my story. I was braiding my daughter's hair yesterday and I told her that we had to stop because i had to post at three o'clock. Imagine my dismay when Fancfiction wouldn't let me post!**_

_** Thanks again you guys for how you have responded to this story line. It's pretty angsty, I know, but you all have really done well with it with your predictions, your reactions, and your responses. It's been fabulous on this journey with you (Don't panic! I'm not ending the story yet!).**_

_**I want to take this time to give sincere and heartfelt thanks to those of you who have stuck with me, supported me, helped me catch typos after I posted, helped me with my French, listened to my ranting, recommended my story to others, sent me a PM, wrote me a review, encouraged me, followed me on Pinterest...it is wonderful to know that so many people are pleased with what I do. A special thanks to my FSOG Facebook guys and gals who keep life VERY interesting. To my wonderful and gorgeous husband who keeps me FULL of lemony ideas...literally! To my daughter who reads the story (in between college and her numerous social activities) then comes home and sits in my room, chatting about the last chapter like it's the latest gossip at school. I spend so much time ranting at folks who disrespect me and take unnecessary personal shots at me that I don't tell you all enough how important you are to me. I know a lot of you on a first name basis, where you are from, what you do, what's going on in your life with your families and whatnot, and I appreciate you letting me in. You don't know me from Eve but you share these details with me, so thank you for that.**_

_**Send dome positive energy to MaryContrary82 as well. She has been very under the weather!**_

_**For those of you who pray (no offense if you don't), I am asking for prayers for MelDWake and her family. I won't share her story unless she chooses to do so, but you know that we all have our trials and it helps when someone has your back. So please mention her name in your prayers and if you don't pray, send some positive thoughts into the universe for her because I believe in that, too. ;-)**_

_**Please know that I have read every review even though I know that I didn't respond to each and every one. Month end came for my business this week and I was SWAMPED with closing out the month, so I was trying to read reviews from chapters 40 - 42. Some of you left reviews for each chapter, so I might have responded just once, but I hope I got the chance to thank everyone who reviewed. If I missed you, please forgive me. I'm thanking you now! ;-)**_

_**Someone asked in a PM how could Edward all of a sudden want Ana back so badly after so many years have passed. Good question! I decided to answer it here in case someone else had the same question. It could be a few things. It could be that he never stopped loving her even though he was cheating. It could be that no one else wanted him, so he went back to "**_**Rosie"**_** because she was his biggest sucker. It could be that he just suddenly developed an unnatural obsession with her. I've included some of all of that, but...some of it is from a real life experience. Two year after I broke up with my first love, I fell in love with him all back over again. Nothing happened, he didn't pursue me, I had been seeing him at church all of this time, nothing had changed. Looking back on it, I think it was because he was with another girl and it hurt a lot. I didn't go all psycho-obsessed on him, but I did have to get over him all back over again. It took a long time to get over him, and I kind of got some restitution when the same thing happened to him when I found someone else...once again, years later. It's hard to explain the human heart and the human mind, but maybe this gives a tiny bit of insight into what Edward may be feeling...besides the whole obsessed-psycho-cuckoo thing.**_

_**AliciaLou was my reviewer that suggested the "Happy Together" scene. Thanks, Girl!**_

_**Thank you to all of my reviewers that I couldn't PM, including the one who seems to think I suffer from low self-esteem...yeah, okay.**_

_**I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

_**What will happen to Ana...? The saga continues...**_

_Chapter 43—Liberty or Death_

_**STEELE**_

I was only slightly conscious when I felt him carry me to the bathroom. My hands and feet were bound when he sat me on the toilet. This whole weakness/dehydration thing is setting in faster than I thought. He left me there for several minutes and I had no idea why until I finally did business that I couldn't do in a bedpan. Two days, huh, Brainiac? Maybe I should have done _that_ in the bed, too. My subconscious mind is as crisp as a shiny new penny. My conscious mind can't put two and two together. I did have enough brain function to clean myself. Who wants to sit in _that_ all day? I flushed the toilet and laid my head on the basin. I guess he figured the gag was of no used since I couldn't even hold my head upright.

He finally comes back into the bathroom after several minutes, picked me up from the toilet and put me in the bathtub. It was one of those beautiful, old deep tubs with the clawed feet. I would have really appreciated this experience had I not been bound hand and foot, in the presence of my psycho-lying-cheating-ex-boyfriend-kidnapper. My head is pounding like the devil and I just lay on the side of the tub. He begins to wash me and I'm too tired to fight.

"Rosie, please. Please, eat." I hear him say, but I'm tired. I want to go back to sleep so I can see Christian.

"You peed the bed. Why didn't you call me?" Because your fucking rabid dog partner was manhandling me at the time. He literally scared the piss out of me.

"I won't let that happen again, Rosie. I'll check on you more often." Oh joy! My life's dream has come true!

"Rosie, why are you hurting yourself? Why won't you eat?" Because I'd rather die than be here with you, and if you're fool enough to let that happen then I'll be better off gone.

At this point, it really doesn't matter what he does to my body. I'm not here...I'm with Christian. I'm going back to sleep to be with my beloved.

* * *

_**GREY**_

The video starts playing and it's larger and much clearer than it was at the parking structure.

Thank. You. Barney. You will be getting a raise after this.

The Cafe Man is still unidentifiable yet, but there's my baby. She looks glorious...and she's actually smiling. She feels better..._felt _better...after her trip to the aquarium. Cafe Man snatches her purse now. I still don't recognize him, but Taylor is glaring at the screen with heavy concentration. Butterfly actually takes the asshole down—good girl. Too bad there was a second asshole waiting for her. These are some big guys—why the fuck are they picking on my little Butterfly? Blonde number two injects her neck with something. I knew she wouldn't go quietly.

"Run that again." Taylor says.

"Yeah, run that again." I look over my shoulder and Allen is concentrating on the screen, frowning deeply. We run the video again and Taylor and Allen are deathly quiet.

"Something you gentlemen want to share with us?" I ask annoyed.

"Run it one more time." Taylor says.

"I don't want to keep seeing this...!" I protest.

"Then leave the room, Boss, but I need you to run it again." He says forcefully. I run the fucking video again. As the video is ending, Taylor proclaims, "Fuck!"

"Taylor, what is it?" I ask. He doesn't answer me. He just slams his hands hard on the desk.

"God dammit, Taylor, what is it!?" I demand. He sighs heavily, wiping his hands over his eyes before he looks at me.

"Sir, that's Harris." He confesses. My face must have looked like death.

"What?" I ask, nearly dumbfounded.

"That's Harris, Sir. His hair is different, but that's definitely him."

"How the hell can that be Harris? I thought we had him under surveillance." I ask.

"We had him under _watch, _Sir. That's different."

"How is that different?" I demand.

"_Watch_ is where you loosely watch his comings and goings, and you watch his financials to get an idea of what he's doing. According to our records, he was about ready to leave town. He's out of money and he can't find a job..." Taylor starts.

"Which means he's desperate! Your intel says that he could be going out of town. He could have very well taken Ana with him!" I spit.

"Not without funding, Sir."

"Excuse me?" I gasp. Taylor sighs.

"You can't just throw someone in the back of a car and take them with you. Kidnapping takes planning and planning takes money. He's broke."

"Well where did he get the money?" Just then, Allen breaks into our conversation by exclaiming, "That's the double dicker!" What the fuck?

"Huh?" Now I'm really lost. Allen in pointing to the screen.

"That's the dou..." He shakes his head. "That's Edward!" I turn and look at the screen again.

"That's not David!" I exclaim.

"I'm telling you that _is_ David. Take off that phony ass beard and dye that hair brown...that's David." Allen said definitely.

"How you can you be so sure?" I ask. Allen put his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one leg.

"I'm a gay man—and _that_ is Edward David." He responded. Crab spun around and looked at Allen.

"Seriously?" He said, surprised.

"Seriously." Allen answered. "He's an asshole, but he's a hot asshole."

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! That's more than I needed to know!" I say. I walk to the door with my hands in my hair trying to process this new information. "Can somebody please tell me how two people that we were supposed to be watching managed to kidnap my girlfriend?" I'm standing there with my hands out like _somebody give me something because I don't get this. _I think Taylor was trying to think of something. He's going on about how the "missions" can't all be run concurrently that way. One guard needs to be able to accurately do his job and reporting while another guard does his and...I'm just not understanding how the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing.

"They had to be meeting somewhere. No one thought this was strange?" I ask.

"Well, Sir, they're in disguise." Taylor defends.

"You told me he's been holed up in his apartment for the last several days!" I bark! "He can't be in his apartment and at the aquarium kidnapping Ana at the same time!"

"They've been looking for a brown-haired, brown-eyed clean shaven guy driving a BMW. They haven't seen any brown-eyed, brown-haired, clean shaven guys and his BMW is still at his apartment." Taylor responds. He's borderline insubordinate.

"Taylor...don't forget that you work for me." I spit. He glares at me and his posture changes with that statement.

"Now, now, boys, we're all on the same team and fighting is not going to help us." Allen tries to salvage the situation. I sigh.

"Tell me why we are tracking Harris if it's _not _to prevent something like this. How is it possible for two men that we are tracking—one under close surveillance—to kidnap my girlfriend in broad daylight and nobody saw this coming? Can someone tell me what is so difficult about protecting this tiny little woman? Please tell me what—if anything—you can say that can make me feel better about this? I'd really like to hear it." The room is silent. I think Taylor has fallen into _name, rank, serial number._ I almost expect him to take "the stance." Great, now I've pissed him off and he's in the _speak when spoken to _mode. This is not going to get us anywhere. I sigh and put my hands in my hair again. "Do we have any information on this mystery car?" I look directly at Taylor.

"No Sir. Barney couldn't enhance the picture enough to get a plate." He says flatly.

"So we know who has her, but we don't know where. Are we sure David didn't sneak out and sneak an unconscious Ana back in?" I ask. Allen starts dialing his phone.

"There's one way to find out." After a pause. "Yes, my name is Marty and I think some harm may have come to my friend...Edward David. We were supposed to have dinner and I haven't heard from him. He's not answering his phone and one of his neighbors said that he hasn't left his apartment all week...He runs his own company. He would _have_ to leave his apartment. Is there any way that the police could go and check on him...just to make sure that he's not lying dead in his apartment?...Thank you, Ma'am." Allen hangs up his phone. "Done and done. So just tell your guy that's watching the apartment to wait for the cops, let them get in, then run in acting like he's Marty. If the double dicker is there in his brown coif, and Jewel is not with him, then we got the wrong guy."

"Do I even _want _ to know why you call him that?" I ask. Allen frowns a bit.

"I don't think you do." He responds. I shake my head and turn to Taylor.

"See if you can find anything in Harris' intel, records, or personnel file that might help us."

"Yes sir." He says curtly and leaves. Yeah, I pissed him off. I call Barney.

"Mr. Grey?" Barney answers.

"Barney, can you run facial recognition on the two guys in the video with pictures in the personnel files?" I ask.

"Yes sir." He responds.

"And do you have access to the DMV records and pictures?" I ask hopeful.

"No Sir, I don't. But I think Alex does."

"Good, then correspond with him and see if you can get a hit on these guys. We are following a hunch."

"Yes sir." I end the call. It's nearly 6:00pm. I have been chasing hunches all day and I am running out of things to do to keep me from believing that Butterfly may be gone forever. Allen must see the hopeless look on my face because he comes over to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Why don't we try to get the word out that she's missing?" Allen says.

"That might not be the best idea." Crab interjects. "Without being sure who has her, going public might push their hand and they may do something drastic."

"You mean like kill her." I say dismally.

"Yes sir," he answers sympathetically, "like kill her." I run my hands through my hair again.

"Then we wait." I resolve.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I don't know when or how I got back to the horrid brass bed. When I wake, my feet are no longer bound. I have wristbands under the handcuffs. The bedding has been changed. I'm wearing a long cotton nightgown straight out of the 1942 Sears catalog. I guess that's better than nothing. My hair is sticky and stringy and it smells bad. Damn, you couldn't wash my hair!?

I am truly a prisoner now.

My spirit falls a bit. I don't know what time it is. I know today is sometime Sunday because two nights have passed. Does that qualify this as the second day since he kidnapped me on the evening of the first day, or is this the third day since two nights have passed? He will probably have to drug me to move me again because I would scream bloody fucking murder the entire way, no matter how weak I am...another reason why I refuse to eat anything he brings me. Granted he could just give me a shot of whatever it was he gave me if he wants. I need my inner strength back...I'm fading fast. Where are you?

_I'm right here. _  
Where did you go?  
_I never left._  
I can't do it. I'm sick and weak. I think he's going to move me soon.  
_Yes you can. Stay strong, Steele. Hold on. This is all we have now._  
Can I go back to sleep?  
_Yeah, there's nothing else you can do..._

So, it's back to sleep I go.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"Mr. Grey, I've just gotten a call from the station. We've secured the subpoena. I'm going to get it now and notify CSI. It will be up to them how quickly we can get the videos into evidence and get them processed." Crab informs me.

"Don't worry about CSI. I'm sure they will make this a priority. Thank you, Detective Crab. I will call you as soon as we hear anything." I respond.

"Call me Gerald, Sir. I hate _Crab." _He says. I kind of figured he would.

"Gerald. Call me Christian." I say as I shake his hand before he leaves.

My blackberry rings at about 7:00. It's Welch.

"Welch, what do you have?"

"Sir, I've rendezvoused with Barney and we have positive identification of the suspects. This is Robert Harris and Edward David." I am happy and pissed at the same time. Happy because I know who the hell has Butterfly. Pissed because I don't know what kind of incompetent idiots I have working for me that two people that we are supposed to be watching were able to kidnap my baby.

"Thank you, Welch. I need the pictures that you used to identify them. Upload them to the network."

"Already done. And Sir, I think you should know..." He began.

"Know what?" I ask.

"I think we have a mole, Sir." He confesses. Oh, shit, this is not good news.

"Corporate or security?" I ask

"I'm not 100% sure, but the footprints indicate security."

"What makes you think so?" I ask.

"There's just some inconsistencies in some of the programs and protocol, Sir. I'm not comfortable with it. It seems like some confidential information may have been compromised. So far, it doesn't look like anything serious yet, but I think that's only because I noticed it when I was corresponding with Barney and I may have nipped it in the bud." I sigh heavily and run my hands through my hair again.

"Welch, I think our entire security may need a serious overhaul. This situation is not the work of one person. Harris was the weak link and I got rid of him. That should have taken care of David ever being able to get to Anastasia, and now he's got her. Something is seriously wrong with this picture."

"Well the good news is that if Harris is helping him, he only had level one protocol clearance so he doesn't have a lot of information. The bad news is that we don't know if someone may have been helping Harris from the inside." This is really terrible news.

"I want all security and corporate clearances locked down effective immediately except for you, me and Taylor. Corporate clearance to upper management only. I know this will mean a lot more work for the two of you for this moment, but if there is a threat, we have to identify it quickly and I'm sure that limiting security clearances will facilitate that, correct?" I ask.

"Yes, Sir. I was going to suggest that but I didn't know how you felt about stripping GEH security of their clearances. This means that they have to get all information from Jason or me before they can do anything. That gives me time to trace these footprints and see where they lead." He confirms.

"Good man. Let's get started with that and I'll talk to Taylor."

"Yes Sir." I turn to Allen after I end the call. "You two were right. My team has identified Harris and David." Allen sighs heavily.

"That's good news." He says. How the hell is that good news? Before I get angry, I ask,

"Can you please tell me why that's good news?"

"Because Edward is sick and obsessed, but he doesn't want to hurt Jewel. He's not going to willingly let anything happen to her. So we know that she's alive—we just have to get her back." Well, he's right, that is good news.

"So how soon can we get some media attention to this? Now that we know who it is and that wherever she is, she's relatively safe..." I trail off. Relatively safe, unless something causes him to snap like he did with those two girls that he brutalized.

"Well, Chris, news channels are not going to televise this based on your word. You may be a very powerful man, but even you can't stop a slander lawsuit on the very slim chance that you _might_ be wrong...and the media won't take that chance." I sigh.

"So, second only to knocking on doors, what the hell can I do?"

"Do you own any media outlets?" Allen asks.

"Not outright. Not something I could control like that."

"Well, your only other option until the boys in blue get the ball rolling on their end is the internet." He says. The internet? What the fuck?

"The internet? You mean like Facebook and Twitter?" I ask aghast.

"Yeah, well, those too, but I was thinking more like a live stream." I look at him skeptically. "Don't knock the internet, Chris. Many a life has been made and broken from the world wide web. All we need is a few hours of rumor mill—if that long—that Christian Grey is doing a live stream with an announcement at a given time and you will have a nationwide audience...worldwide if you have any international fans."

"Maybe I should get some of my PR people on this." I say, skeptically.

"Okay...but who can you get from your PR department at 8:00 on and Sunday evening?" Oh, Little Al, come work for me and see how things operate in the big wide world.

"My PR department is available 24 hours a day. You never know what's going to happen...or when...like _now._ So if I'm going to do this streaming thing, I need to have the professionals here." I say.

"That's actually a good idea, Chris. I'm impressed!" Allen says.

"Yeah, I'm just full of 'em..." I say sarcastically, pissed that I was not more careful about taking care of Butterfly. I make a call to Elva McIntyre my PR department head. Once I briefed her on the situation, I went in search of Taylor. I found him in his office taking his turn staring diligently at the security video of Butterfly's car. He is leaned back in his chair, his fingers touching his lips, looking more introspective than focused. He did not stir when I came into the office and my voice startled him.

"You know the whole idea behind taking shifts to watch that video is so that none of you suffer from MEGO." I say. He sits up straight.

"Yes Sir." He says curtly.

"Anything new?" I say, taking one of the seats nearby.

"No Sir, not since the cop ticketed the car, nothing." I run my hands through my hair.

"This is not an apology. You _are_ my employee, but I do understand that this situation is very stressful. We've had some developments and I need us to be on the same team, here." A look of dismay came over his face. He turns his chair to face me.

"Permission to speak freely, Sir." Taylor says, curtly.

"Go ahead."

"I mean, _really _freely, Sir." He adds. Oh hell...

"Please, temper yourself. We don't need to get into a fight, but go ahead."

"Do you think that you're the only one that wants her back? Do you think that you're the only one that feels like they have failed here? You introduced her into our lives and now she has touched _all_ of us. You've got a cop out there that hasn't worked on another case all day, and he hasn't even met her. You had a security guard that put her job on the line and let you access video that you should not have seen without a subpoena. She touches people that don't even know her. So imagine what's happening right now with those of us who do. Gail is a twitching, fidgeting, crying wreck. I've seen Forsythe almost break down several times. The next time I see Harris—and I _will_ see him again—I'm going to kill the fucker with my bare hands. She's too old to be my daughter, but that's the best analogy that I can give you to explain what I feel for her. My people were supposed to protect her, and they _didn't._ This wasn't a GEH thing. This was a personal security thing, and _my people_ dropped the ball big time. So I'm battling with some shit here too. You're not the only one who is grieving the current situation...Sir." He looks me squarely in the eye as he finishes that statement.

"Logically, I understand what you are saying. Emotionally, my heart and soul has been taken—by a man that I know brutalized two women to the degree that they had to be hospitalized. Nobody feels what I feel right now...and I need _you_ to understand that." I try to keep my voice from cracking and I think I'm successful. Taylor's stance changed again—as quickly as it did when I reprimanded him earlier. His shoulders dropped and his face relaxed.

"I understand, Boss." He said. I sighed heavily and filled him in on all of the occurrences since he left the room. He immediately called Welch after our conversation to formulate a plan of action with the restrictions on clearances. I took this moment to step away from the crowd for a bit.

I go into our bedroom to splash some water on my face. I could feel myself falling apart and I couldn't stop it. I almost made it to the sink when I spot her U-Dub shirt on the floor near the hamper. She must have tossed it there and it didn't quite make it to the hamper. I pick it up and pull it to my face. It smells of lemongrass, some unknown perfume...and Butterfly. I inhale deeply, hoping her scent would calm and comfort me, but it had the opposite effect. I'm instantly flooded with hopelessness of the possibility of never seeing my love again. I don't know what they plan to do with her. All I know is that they have her and I don't.

I sink to my knees grasping her shirt, wailing with heart-wrenching sobs. The burning in my chest makes it feel like it is going to explode. I cling to the shirt as if it were my Butterfly—as if it could hug me back, but it can't. I can't find her. I can't save her. I can't hold her. Somebody, please make this pain go away. I feel a hand on my back and I jerk away violently. It's Grace.

Mom? Who called Mom?

I look up at her teary-eyed, begging her to make this pain go away...to rescue me like she did all those years ago at Children's Hospital. Please, Angel Lady—make it stop hurting.

"I know, Son." She says, kneeling down on the floor next to me.

"Mom!" I wail like a lost five-year-old. I hear my voice but I can't recognize it. "God, Mom, I love her so much! I can't take this! Make it stop...please, make it stop!" I cry. Grace takes me in her arms and holds me to her—the way that she never could when I was a boy.

"I wish I could, Christian, but this is how it feels when someone you love is hurt or missing. We have to find her. That's all we can do to make it stop." She answers honestly. I cry into her chest for a little while longer. Then I realize that I have to keep going, I have to keep trying if I'm going to find Ana.

"We had another fight, Mom." I say, weakly. She sighed.

"What were you fighting about now?" She asked, trying to hide the exasperation in her voice.

"I don't know if I can tell you without breaking her confidence." I reply. Mom just holds me.

"Why you just tell me what _you_ did." She says. My mom knows me so well.

"I dug into her past. I was trying to get her justice for something that was done to her even though she asked me to leave it alone." I confess.

"Oh, Christian," she sighs, "even when your intentions are golden, you can really do some stupid things." We both chuckle a bit.

"She left angry on Friday and that's the last time I saw her. I don't want that to be the last thing I remember of her, or the last thing she remembers of me." I whine.

"Then I guess you had better get up from here and join the flurry of people our there that are putting in all of this effort to find her." She encourages. She's right. I'm sure as hell not going to find her sitting here on the floor like a blubbering idiot. I nod at my mother and rise from the bathroom floor. I take her in my arms and kiss her gently on the cheek.

"Thank you, Mom." I say softly. She looks at me with tears in her eyes.

"We are going to have to find this girl and soon. I have always loved you, Son, and I always will—but I really like this _new Christian._" She laughs a bit through her impending tears.

"Can you go find Gail for me, Mom? I think she's having a pretty rough time with this and I've had Taylor tied up all day..." she nodded.

"I'll do that. You get yourself together. There are people waiting for you out there." She says before she smiles and leaves. I splash some water on my face which does nothing for my bloodshot eyes. I inhale her shirt and, this time, it has the desired effect. I will find my Butterfly, and I don't care if I have to tear the state of Washington apart bit by bit to do it.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I am awakened with a hard slap. I whimper from the pain. I can barely focus my eyes now. The sun has gone down and this is day three without food or water for me. I look up to identify my assailant. It's Harris again. He is hell bent on causing me misery during this ordeal.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you Bitch?" He spit. "Or should I say _Your Highness_?" How the fuck does he know about "Your Highness?" Taylor is faithful to Christian almost to his own detriment. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He sneers. Somehow, I find a small amount of strength fueled by anger.

"You know what? I'm going to see you get yours. You do what you want to do to me, but rest assured, I'm going to see you get yours." I say, glaring at this vermin.

"Well, tonight, I'm going to be getting mine out of your bank account." He taunts, waving my wallet at me.

"How the hell do you intend to do that?" I smirk.

"You're going to give me the pin numbers to all of your ATM and credit cards." He answers cockily.

"The hell I am!" I respond.

"Oh, you are. Because if you don't, I'm going to sit here and knock you silly until you do." He holds up my Discover card and I say nothing. He hits me so hard that I see fucking stars. I've barely got my senses about me before he hits me again. He holds up the card again. _Give him the damn code. I'm certain that your stalker boyfriend is watching your accounts and that will only help him close in on these fuckers._ I wish I had thought of that before I was tasting my own blood.

"3147." I say softly.

I'm smart enough to only carry three cards with me...one of them my ATM card, but it only has a daily limit of $1000. The others are even less. He rifles through my purse and wallet and takes what cash I have left in there. That is so sad...all of this to be reduced to being a lousy pick-pocket. I wipe my mouth on my arm. I can feel my lip swelling.

"I see you don't have your little toy with you. Pity—I would have loved a souvenir of our time together." He says with a sinister laugh. I won't answer. That's what he wants. He wants a fight and I've already said what I have to say to him. He knows I've crossed some point since he hit me, and I don't want to look at him anymore. I bury my face in my forearms. I whimper a bit as I inadvertently hit my lip and the tender spot on my face.

"I would feel sorry for you if you hadn't cost me my job, your self-righteous twat!" Yeah, whatever. Feel sorry for _yourself_. Don't feel sorry for me. I ignore him completely until he finally leaves the room with whatever bounty he pulled from my purse.

I don't believe in knights in shining armor. I had that fairy tale beat out of me in Green Valley. But right now, I want to believe that Christian is looking for me; that he has forgiven me for being an unreasonable, ungrateful bitch and he is combing the city trying to find some clue as to where I am. I'm weak, and I'm tired, but I'm not broken. They would have to kill me first. But right now, I close my eyes and think of Christian—touching me, gently caressing my face, kissing my lips, and pulling me to him to cradle me in his arms as we fall asleep.

* * *

_**GREY**_

I have some pretty remarkable people at my disposal. I make it my business to hire those who are the very best at what they do—which is why it is so important to me to secure Allen as part of my team. It's roughly 10pm and not only does McIntyre have a plan of action in place, but she has already created quite the buzz on the internet. We have decided to record a statement and put it on a loop on an internet stream. I never knew how easy it was to do that. We have quickly set up a temporary URL for the stream. Allen was right. It has gotten international attention in a matter of just under two hours. Granted, Barbara Walters is not broadcasting it, but internet users all over the world have taken an interest in what is going on that Christian Grey has commandeered a live stream! We have also decided to put the statement on YouTube. Because YouTube is basically public domain, news outlets can pick up the story and broadcast the video without fear of legal action. All responsibility falls on me.

I can live with that.

"Mr. Grey, I must remind you that anything you say in this video makes you susceptible to a slander lawsuit if it turns out to be false." McIntyre reminds me.

"I'll deal with slander and anything else that those fuckers want to pin on me if they didn't kidnap my girl, but if they did, I'm going to have their fucking asses on a platter!" I snap. McIntyre examines me carefully.

"No offense, Sir, but that attitude is why we don't want you on the mic. We can handle an emotional plea...but not an angry outburst." She says. "Someone else needs to make the statement."

"Well, that's hardly newsworthy." I say. "People are tuning in to see what _I_ have to say. Nobody is going to pay any attention if I'm not the one speaking—plus the risk of slander will fall on whomever makes the statement." The room fell silent.

"I'll make the statement." Allen spoke up. We all look at him.

"Allen, I couldn't ask you to do that." I say.

"I do this kind of thing all the time, Chris. I'm an attorney. And no offense to you, but this is my family! If he has anything to do with Jewel's disappearance, you can have his ass on a platter but I'm going to have his dick and balls." Allen says flatly.

"Sir, we have to be sure about who we are putting in front of the camera." McIntyre warns.

"I am sure about Allen," I say. "He will very soon be an integral part of my legal team. He can make the statement. The only problem is that everyone in this room knows that the press and the public wants to see Christian Grey."

"So let them see Christian Grey." Allen says. "You get suited and booted. We'll sit in your study. I'll do all the talking and you sit there looking forlorn...like you do right now. We'll put out a plea and since we don't have police verification yet, we'll just tell people to contact their local police department. We'll also say that witnesses say that she was last _seen_ with Harris and David as opposed to saying that they kidnapped her. That will further protect us from slander and they are most likely moving around more freely than Jewel, so if someone has seen them..." McIntyre debates for a moment then nods.

"Actually, that's a good idea." She confirms.

With that confirmation, I change into a clean linen shirt and some black jeans and get ready for showtime.

"Taylor," I say as I am coming out of the bedroom, "we're going to need extra security on hand. With the breach in our ranks, I have no idea how to handle this, but we are going to be swamped by the paparazzi. I guess just call in reinforcements and don't tell them what's happening until the last minute."

"I'm already on it, Sir. Lawrence and Williams are napping in the guest rooms. They wouldn't even consider being dismissed. Though we don't know who our mole is, I would trust either of these men with my life." He says.

"Then I'll have to defer to your expertise on that. I'm tempted to fire the lot of them and start over, just to be on the safe side." Taylor shrugs.

"Ultimately, it's your decision, Sir, but if you do that you will have 149 disgruntled employees and one disgruntled mole." Good point. Not the best idea for now. We look up and Grace and Gail enter from the guest quarters. Gail looks like she's been crying all day. Taylor takes her protectively under his arm and comforts her. I know, Taylor. I know.

"Mom, who called you?" I ask as she comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Jason did." She replies. I look at Taylor.

"Mr. Forsythe recommended that I call her, Sir." He defends immediately. Hearing our conversation, Allen comes over to us.

"Chris, I called Ray and Jason called your mom. Once this hits the wire, it's live and there's no stopping it. You couldn't let her family or yours find out that way."

Ray. Ana's father. Shit!

"What did Ray say?" I ask, unable to hide my nervousness. Allen's face falls and he frowns.

"Ray is upset and worried. He doesn't want to drive tonight because it's late, but he'll be here first thing in the morning. I think you better prepare to be invaded because it doesn't look like _anybody _is going to be getting any sleep tonight...and if we're lucky, it's only going to get busier tomorrow." He says.

"And that give me something to do." Gail says, actually perking up a bit. "I have people to feed and refresh and possibly create some makeshift sleeping quarters." Gail heads off to the kitchen. Grace looks at me.

"Here, Gail. Let me help you." She says while looking at me, making it clear that she has no intention of leaving. I nod and she heads off behind Gail.

"Sir, police have just confirmed to our guy on David that he is not at his apartment and neighbors indicate that he hasn't been there all week. His BMW is still in the parking garage." Allen and I exchange glances.

"So...are you ready, Chris?" Allen asks.

"Absolutely. Let's do this." I say as we walk to my study.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

There are loud voices somewhere in this place. Day has broken again. It's Monday—day three _or_ day four. I open my eyes and try to focus. It's getting much harder now. My throat is sore, my arms are in excruciating pain, and there's a leprechaun dancing on my skull. I just close my eyes and listen.

"Look, she's sick and she's only getting sicker. Now this fucker is all over the television telling people that she was _last seen_ with us. You know what that means...we're the suspects. We're on a fucking island man. How the hell do you think we're going to get off of here with most of America looking for us?" Harris is livid. America is looking for them. Is it Christian?

"Will you stop screaming at me and let me think?" Edward sounds very nervous.

"Well, you do whatever the hell you want to do. I'm getting the hell out of here and I want the rest of my money." Money. Edward paid him. Of course.

"You know the deal. When my car gets here tomorrow and we're gone, you get your money. Until then, quit your bitching and help me figure a way out of this mess in case we need a backup plan!"

"Dude, you can't fucking transport her anywhere. If you try to drug her again, it just might kill her! She looks damn near dead already. The only way that we can get out of this is if she says we didn't kidnap her, and that's not going to happen. Things seem to be going _so well _between you two," he says sarcastically, "that maybe you can sweet talk her into calling her boyfriend and telling him that we didn't kidnap her—although that's highly doubtful." Boy, they didn't really think about _this_, did they? The talking is muted now and then footsteps. I never thought I would pray for the approaching steps to be Edward, but at least I _think_ he wont hit me. When the door opens, Edward meets my gaze and he is horrified.

"Rosie, what happened to you?" Boy, I really must look like shit. It can't be that bad. "Have you been banging your head against the wall or something?" Oh—he's talking about the fat lip and bruising courtesy of one _Bob_ Harris. I don't answer him and unsuccessfully try to stretch my neck. He comes over to me and touches my face. I wince and whimper. Fuck, that hurts! He sighs heavily and pulls out my iPhone. Oh God, it looks like the Holy Grail! _Siri_ can fix anything!

"Here." He says, turning on my iPhone. "Call him. Tell him that you're not coming back and that we are going to be together now." I look at him like he has _five_ heads. He _is_ insane. Does he really think I'm going to tell Christian that I want to be with _him—_this monster? There's no fucking way...but I need to get my hands on that phone.

"I can't tell him that." I squeak, my throat dry and scratchy. "He would never believe me. He knows that I love him. And he knows that I _hate_ you!"

"Call him and tell him that I didn't kidnap you and maybe I'll let you go." My eye brighten with false hope. Does he really think I'm going to fall for that shit? I have to pretend to play along, though. This may be my only opportunity to get my hands on the phone. "Tell him that you came with me willingly." Oh my God, he is so delusional. I give him the big defeated blue eyes and he hands me the phone. I slide to unlock it, but instead I touch the button for an emergency call. I have to mask the sound of the emergency operator's voice on my phone.

"What do I say?" I ask, indicating compliance. "He knows that I wouldn't go with you willingly."

"Well I know you well enough to know that _somebody_ pissed you off and that's why you were at the aquarium. Was it him?" Edward asks. The call is connected.

"Yes Edward, it was him." I respond, deliberately using his name. Now I have to use as many names as I can and hope that the person on the other end is not a complete idiot. "But even though I was angry with Christian, he knows that I wouldn't go with you willingly. I don't know how he figured out that it was you that kidnapped me but he knows it now. And when Christian Grey gets a bug in his butt, you can't get it out with any old lie." I'm trying to give them as much information as I can to tell them who I am and what's going on.

"Why were you fighting?" Edward asks.

"It doesn't matter. We had a disagreement and that was all. It's nothing that would have made me leave him and he knows that. Please let me go Edward. I don't know what lies Robert Harris has been feeding you and how he convinced you to get in cahoots with him, but this can only end badly for both of you. Please, you haven't hurt me—Harris did. I'll make sure that they know you haven't hurt me. But if you don't end this soon, your life will never be the same."

"My life will be fine as long as I have you." Good God, Man, wake up! Can't you see I would rather _die_ than be with you? That's not a clue that this just may not work out!?

"But I could never love you, don't you see that Edward David? I tried to love you, and you wouldn't let me. And when I tried to walk away, you harassed me until I got a restraining order. And when I finally get on with my life, you kidnap me and try to _force_ me to love you. None of that is going to work. You left me here alone with Harris when you _knew_ he didn't like me. He took my credit cards and has probably emptied out my bank account now, and when I didn't give him the access codes fast enough, he _beat_ me. That's what happened to my face...he beat me—and _you_ let him do it. You let him do this to me."

"_He _did that to you!?" No, a little fucking birdie came in here and pecked me all night! "I did _not_ let him do that to you! I would never just let him hurt you. He waited until my back was turned."

"I'm tied up and defenseless! You left me here naked for three days! He could have raped me or anything. I can't even piss on my own! And you left me here! You left me here with that asshole who thinks I cost him his job! And you have the nerve to say that you didn't let him do this to me? I most certainly will _not_ call Christian Grey and tell him that you didn't kidnap me. I most certainly will _not_ tell him that I went with you willingly because you had Harris attack me and then you drugged me and now you are keeping me here against my will.

"I'm hungry, I'm cold and I'm weak and I'm using the last bit of strength that I have to tell you that I hate yoooooooouuuuuu! I hate you with everything that I have in me. And if I die in this room, I will still hate you. I will hate you until my last breath and I'll hate you after that. I hate you! I hate you! I hate yoooooooouuuuu!"

And comes forth the adrenaline tears—or maybe they're just tears-tears, I don't know. All I know is that I hate this man, and it is consuming me. I weep mournfully hoping he will just leave me alone...and of course the fool does. I think my words were too much for him, and he had to leave.

Idiot! I still have my phone!

I can't put the phone to my ear but I swear by Apple technology. "I have to talk fast, I don't know when he's coming back and I can't hear you," I say through my tears. "I'm in a house somewhere in a wooded area. I know that we're on a island somewhere. I've heard planes fly by a few times but I have no idea where I am. Please tell Christian Grey that Anastasia Steele is alive and I am being held captive by Edward David and Robert Harris. I don't know what they want or why I am being held. Harris has taken my bank and credit cards and beat me until I gave him the pin numbers. I will keep you on the phone as long as I can but please trace this call or something and get me out of here!"

I cover my face again and cry a little more—partially for the need for more tears once Edward got back, but mostly because I hated him and wanted to be out of here and back with my Christian. Being angry with him for wanting to get justice for me now seems like the stupidest of stupidest things I could possible have done. I swear, if I ever get back to my man, I am going to jump in his arms and never leave him again.

I drop the cell phone down the sleeve of the 1942 nightgown. Unfortunately, I'm not producing as many tears as I would like to rally the sympathy that I need. Fuck it. The small amount of crying that I did—along with that conversation—has exhausted me, and even if I didn't want to go to sleep I can't keep my eyes open.

"Please help me...Butterfly needs you..."

* * *

_**GREY**_

Gerald has informed me that the videos from the parking structure on Alaskan Way have been gathered and are now in the police labs of the CSI unit. Since my team has managed to get the word out about Harris and David, the main purpose that the tapes will serve is evidence against them in court. I've been awake all night. The major networks did manage to pick up our YouTube video and continuous stream thanks to "anonymous tips." The problem is that every police station in the contiguous United States—and some in Alaska—has been getting tips on every blonde man in America. Hide you face, Elliot!

I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I hear Butterfly calling for me, begging me to help her and telling me that she will always be with me. Did they hurt her? Is she trying to comfort me from beyond? I know it sounds ridiculous but I'm going fucking crazy here and I just want my Butterfly back. It's about 8:00am when Gerald comes stumbling sleepily out of my study while I am sitting at the breakfast bar _not_ enjoying a cup of coffee.

"Christian, we need to go to the station." He says, barely awake.

"What's up?" I say, jumping out of my seat.

"We have a 911 call. It came from a cell phone so they are trying to track it now, but I need you to identify the voice. She claims to be Anastasia Steele."

My knees go weak underneath me and I almost fall to the floor were it not for the breakfast bar right next to me. Before I can gather my thoughts correctly, Taylor is dashing out of his office screaming, "SIR, WE GOT A PING!'

"Huh?" I'm sure that I don't know what he's saying and my head is swimming like crazy.

"We got a ping...on Ana's phone, Sir. We got a ping!" He's saying hysterically.

"Where is it?" I ask frantically.

"Vashon Island." Taylor responds.

"Vashon Island?" I repeat, confused.

"It's the big island south of here in the Sound." Gerald says.

"You got a 911 call when?" I ask Gerald.

"This morning."

"You got a ping the morning?" I ask Taylor.

"Yes Sir." He responds.

"That's Anastasia! Can we get the Vashon Police over to her location?" I'm walking and talking.

"Vashon doesn't have any police." Gerald says. I spin around and look at him.

"What!?" I snap.

"The Vashon police station is a P.O. Box. They are served by Seattle PD and the King County Sheriff...and the sheriff is not there all the time." Gerald warily informs me.

"Fuck! Are you kidding me? What if there's an emergency on the island...like _now?" _I ask.

"If it's a real emergency, they send in the chopper, but they wouldn't do that for this. This is a hunch." Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

"Okay. Options, please!" I bark. I'm twitching like crazy.

"What's going on?" Allen says, rolling sleepily off of the sofa.

"We found Ana!" I announce.

"We _think _ we found Ana." Gerald says. I look over at Taylor, who nods.

"We found Ana." I repeat. "I have to go to the police station to identify the voice on the 911 call..."

"911 call?" Allen is wide awake now.

"Can you at least authorize a couple of black and whites to go to the location to check it out?" I ask.

"If you give me a location, I can." Gerald replies. I look at Taylor and he goes back to his study.

"How long does it take to get to Vashon Island from here?" I ask.

"Vashon Island!? She's on Vashon?" Allen exclaims.

"Yes, she's on Vashon Island!" I'm getting a little perturbed with him interrupting me. He sighs exasperated and shakes his head. "What's wrong with Vashon Island?" I ask.

"Besides the fact that it takes about an hour to get there by ferry, there's like a house every five miles. If she's on Vashon Island, _nobody _has seen her." He says.

"Well, that's the good thing about a house every five miles," Taylor says coming out of the study. "You can pinpoint exactly where that phone is. Here are your satellite pictures and your street view." Taylor hands me pictures of a farm house in the middle of nowhere with a bungalow nearby. I hand it to Gerald who immediately puts a call into the station.

"Allen, you come with me to the station. Taylor, anywhere to land Charlie Tango on that island?" I ask.

"Vashon has a municipal airport." Taylor responds. What the...?

"They have an airport, but no police station? How backwards is that? Do they have a hospital?" I ask.

"I can check, but I doubt it." Taylor responds.

"Oh I'm definitely taking Charlie Tango." I respond. "Send Lawrence and Williams ahead now by ferry. I need you to get Charlie Tango ready for departure and meet me at the police station once you're done. Allen, we'll ride with Gerald." Everyone has their instructions and Allen and I head to the station.

I listen to this waify, scratchy voice berate "Edward" and "Robert" for kidnapping her, but I can't say for sure that it is Anastasia and neither can Al.

"What's wrong with her voice?" I ask.

"We don't know." The 911 tech responds. "We've never heard her voice. We don't know how it's supposed to sound."

Allen and I continue to listen. If this is not Butterfly, she's saying everything to convince me that she is. She's proclaiming her love for me and her hatred for David. Their conversation only lasts a couple of minutes and then she is giving as much detailed information as she can. When she mentions that Harris has beaten her and taken her credit cards, I am immediately pissed, not only because he put his hands on her, but also because we checked her credit cards yesterday and we didn't get a hit—which means if this is Anastasia, he took them right after we checked her cards last night. While the poor waif is crying on the phone, I put a call in to Welch to check her credit cards again. Just as I hang up from Welch, I hear something that erases all doubt...

"_Please help me...Butterfly needs you." _

Allen gulps and I nearly jump out of my skin. "Play that again!" We both shout simultaneously. The tech rewinds the recording and we have to listen for a moment while she cries and then, there it is again:

"_Please help me...Butterfly needs you." _

"That's Anastasia!" I cry out.

"How do you know? You weren't sure a minute ago." The tech asks.

"I call her _Butterfly_. That's not public knowledge." I turn to Allen. I don't care if they are listening anymore. "Are you afraid of heights?" I ask just as Taylor enters the station.

"No. Why?" Allen says. I look at Gerald.

"I'm going to be in Vashon in no more than half an hour. Are you coming with me?" I ask him.

"Uh...I...guess so." He says, no doubt noting that I asked Allen if he was afraid of heights.

Fifteen minutes later, Allen and Gerald are sitting mouth agape strapped into Charlie Tango. Charlie Tango is my luxury Eurocopter EC155 which seats seven comfortably or four and a medivac if necessary. Not many people are surprised that I own a $10 million helicopter. I think that most people, including the two gentlemen currently in the leather cream swivel seats in the back, are more surprised that I can _fly_ a $10 million helicopter. I have been flying for eight years. I can fly this thing in the dark...literally.

As I am completing my pre-flight checks and just about to lift Charlie Tango into the air, Allen proclaims, "I so want to fuck him right now."

"Allen!" I scold. "We can all hear you!" I'm glaring at this man and he does not have the modestly to blush.

"I'm sorry!" He exclaims. "But this is hot!" He adds unashamedly. Taylor and I look at each other as Taylor tries to hide his smirk. You have to admire the man for his ability to relieve the levity of the situation.

"Sit back and be quiet. We're going to get my girl." I say as I once again clear for takeoff and gently lift Charlie Tango into the air and over Puget Sound. "No chance I could land it in their front yard, is it?"

"Sure," Taylor says, "That is, if you want them to flee before you get out of the chopper. Don't worry, Sir. The location is less than five minutes away from the airport and our guys should be at the airport by now."

"Well, there is that. What about the black and whites?" I ask Gerald through the headphones.

"Still on the ferry, I'm afraid." I shake my head. "Okay, gentlemen, we're going down.

Ten minutes after we took off from SeaTac, we are landing at Vashon Municipal Airport...it's more like Vashon Municipal _Landing Strip._ What aircraft flies out of here!? Doesn't really matter. Charlie Tango is on the ground and I am that much closer to Butterfly. As I shut her down and inform the "airport" that she will definitely be taking off at a moment's notice, Lawrence runs over and whispers something in Taylor's ear. I can clearly see Taylor mouth the word "shit" and I want to know what's going on.

"What is it, Taylor?" I ask once I know that Charlie Tango is secure. Taylor looks at me sorrowfully.

"The ping...it stopped, Sir."

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**MEGO—My Eyes Glaze Over. When you've been reading or looking at something for so long that you drift off into your own mind and you are now staring at the book/screen/etc, looking but not seeing.**_

_**In laymen's terms, a ping is a signal that one electronic device sends to another electronic device to verify that it is online.**_

_**FYI—E. L. James' Eurocopter was an EC135. I saw the pictures of it, but I didn't like it. I thought the 155 was sexier. Even though it is normally a medivac copter, I still liked it better. Pictures of it are on my Pinterest page at Pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Oh, my...what happened to the ping? Read the next chapter to find out! ;-)**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs,  
**__**Lynn x**__**  
**_


	44. Ch 44: If It Aint One Thing It's Another

**_And since Fanfiction pissed me the fuck off last night, you all get two chapters today. Love and handcuffs!_**

**_I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too._**

**_Will Christian get to Ana before Edward moves her to another location? Let's find out..._**

_Chapter 44—If It Aint One Thing It's Another_

_**STEELE**_

Ow, fuck! Why can't you leave me the fuck alone?

"Hello, Sunshine." Harris jeers at me after slapping me violently across the face. "Just wanted to let you know that I'm hitting your credit cards once more before we say goodbye." Goodbye? What does he mean? I thought we had five days...did I lose count? My eyes must have let him know that I was questioning what was going on. "Your lover boy has decided that we need to move sooner rather than later since your boyfriend somehow knows who has you. You see, I set up a new identity before I took this job, so I can just disappear. I don't know what Ed's plans are for you, but hey—maybe you'll get lucky and he'll slip up. Then the mighty Mr. Grey can find you guys." He taunts.

"You are such a fucking coward." I croak. A mask of anger covers his face.

"What the fuck did you just say to me, Bitch?" He snaps.

"I said you're a fucking coward! So I'm tied to a bed and I can't fight back. You can beat me within an inch of my life. Does that make you feel better? Make you feel like a big man because you can beat a woman tied to a bed? Swing away! I had you pegged right all along. You are a useless piece of flesh, and if it makes you feel better about yourself, you go right ahead. Like I said, I'm going to see you get yours. My man just went after someone who did something to me 11 years ago...he's going to chase your ass to the ends of the fucking earth!" In his anger, he snatches me off the bed as far as my binds will let me go. I yelp in pain and my phone falls out of my gown. He looks at me then at the phone. He drops me on the bed and picks up my phone. He holds the button down but Siri doesn't respond. The phone must be dead. I can only hope that the 911 call was tracked and someone knows where I am by now.

"Did you make a call?" I didn't respond. He slaps me again. "Bitch, did you make a fucking call?"

"Fuck you!" I said...lights out.

When I regain consciousness, I hear rumbling and wrestling in the room. It looks like a tidal wave hit it! What the hell?

"Keep your fucking hands off my woman!" Crack! Okay, Edward and Harris are fighting. What a joke!

"The bitch had it coming!" Bam! Did I now? I'd like to know why.

"You're a fucking asshole—beating a woman while she tied up!" Slap! Are you serious!?

"You should talk! _You_ tied her up!" Wham! Good point, Asshole.

"I'm not giving you another fucking dime!" Smack! Oh, this is getting boring.

"You don't and I'll have the police here before you can unlock those cuffs!" And before he gets another swing, I croak, "The police are probably already on the way." Both men freeze.

"See? I told you the Bitch made a call, you stupid fuck!" Harris accuses.

"No! You took my credit cards!" Edward's eyes widen as he turns to his accomplice. "Ten will give you 20 that they traced them here." I turn to Edward. "He wanted the pin numbers. That's why he beat me the first time...or was it the second time? I'm losing count." I say as I drop my head. Edward now turns to Harris.

"Is she right?" He asks, a little _too_ calmly for my taste.

"About what?" Harris spits, nursing a sore jaw.

"Everything, Fucker! Did you take her cards, did you beat her to get the numbers, and can they trace them!" Ed shouts.

"Yes! She's right about all of it." Harris replies.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Edward says. "Besides the whole beating a tied-up woman thing we just discussed, why would you fucking use her cards?"

"Keep your shirt on, Man. I went back to the mainland and used them there. They can't trace them to the island." Harris replies casually. Suddenly, both men stop.

"What is that?" Harris asks. Edwards starts looking around.

"What is what?" Ed responds, but Harris holds up a finger. I listen and I hear it too. It's a helicopter.

"That's a fucking chopper." Harris says.

"So?" Ed responds.

"Choppers don't land here, you idiot! How many choppers have _you_ heard since we've been here?" Harris is livid now. Ed just smirks at him.

"I guess you weren't so clever with those credit cards after all." He says to Harris.

"I guess you were dumb as fuck handing her the phone!" Harris spits back before leaving the room. Edward looks at me then leaves behind Harris. Could he be right? I haven't heard any choppers before now either. A plane here and there, yes, but no choppers. Is Christian coming for me? Oh God, please let Christian be coming for me. Please don't let Edward take me away.

A few minutes later, Harris comes back to the room. Oh hell, he's going to hit me again. One for the road, eh? Instead, he does something much worse. He pulls out a gun—a revolver. My eyes get as big as saucers. Oh Lord, is he going to kill me!? I close my eyes. There's nothing else I can do now. _Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name..._

"I should shoot you right in the face!" _Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done..._ "I should just blow you away right now. But I won't." _On earth, as it is..._wha..? "I'm getting the hell out of here, and if you here gunfire, that will be because I'm putting one right in your boyfriend's miserable skull! And I don't mean lover boy downstairs, I mean Grey! I'm going to take his ass down the moment I see those creepy eyes!" I look at him in horror.

"No!" I gasp. "Please...don't..." I whimper. I feel the last of my strength starting to leave me. No food, no water, the beatings, and the stress are finally taking a toll on me. I lie down because I am really feeling the exhaustion now. "Please...don't hurt him."

Harris laughs. "You think you have the right to ask for anything from me? You cost me everything! I have to start all over because of you. The only reason why I am not killing you now is because I want you to hear when your boyfriend drops!" I fell the need to cry, but the tears won't come. The wailing and weeping comes, but the tears won't. Harris just sneers at me and leaves the room. Now, I'm praying again, not for me this time, but for Christian.

_Our father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done..._

I don't know how many times I repeat the prayer before I hear the sound that nearly rips my soul from my body...gunshots.

* * *

_**GREY**_

"What does that mean?" Have we lost her again? Did they turn off the phone?

"It means that the phone is off again. They could have turned it off or disabled it, or the battery could have died." Taylor responds.

"How long?" I ask.

"Not ten minutes, Sir."

"So ten minutes ago, the phone was still live at that location?" I ask.

"Yes Sir."

"Let's go." We hurriedly get into the waiting SUV and Lawrence drives like a bat out of hell. I swear, we were _floating_ down the road. We arrived at this bungalow in the blink of an eye. The black and whites have already arrived and just as we get out of the car, I hear gunshots in or near the house.

Ana!

I take off in a mad sprint before anyone can stop me. I can hear Taylor calling behind me, but I have to get to her...I know she's here...somewhere...I can feel her. I'm coming, Baby! I burst through the door of the house and it's like I've stepped into a time warp. Everything here has to be from at least 40 or 50 years ago. I don't see my Butterfly.

Ana!

We spread out and furiously start searching the house. After an eternity, I hear rumbling upstairs. I don't remember touching one stair as I rise from the first floor to the second. There in the hallway, Williams has David in an unrelenting choke hold. I bend down and get right in his face.

"Where is she?" I growl at him. Before he could speak, Taylor calls from the room at the end of the hall.

"She's here!" I look at Williams.

"Bring him!" I say before sprinting down the hallway towards Taylor's voice.

And there she is. My life. My love. She looks so tiny curled up on this antiquated bed, her knees in her chest, mumbling to herself. I have to touch her. I have to touch her now.

"Butterfly!" I gently touch her hands and she is still mumbling, her voice hoarse. She is cuffed to the bed with wristbands under the cuffs. "Get these off of her!" I bark. Taylor snatches David from Williams' grasp and lifts him off the floor, his feet dangling in the air.

"Give me the fucking key right now or I'll beat it out of you!" Taylor growls at a petrified David who quickly reaches into his jeans pocket and retrieves the key. Taylor drops him on the floor like dirty laundry and quickly unlocks the cuffs from one of Ana's wrists. I gather her into my arms before he has the chance to unlock the second one.

"Baby? Baby? Are you alright?" I push her dirty, stringy hair from her face and she looks up at me like she has seen a ghost. Her face is badly bruised, her lip is swollen and there is blood on the wretched cotton gown that she is wearing. After a look of realization comes over her face, she clamps her arms around my neck and squeezes like her life depended on it.

Oh, my Butterfly. My beautiful, beautiful Butterfly.

"Harris said he was going to kill you..." She croaked. "I heard gunshots..."

"It wasn't me, Baby. I'm here." She pushed back from me. What's wrong?

"Edward, where's Edward?" She asked. Why does she want to know about _him_?

"Williams has him, over there." I point to David. She looks frantically for him, like she's looking for a loved one.

"Edward?" She calls out to him. Her voice is almost clear! A moment ago, she could barely speak!

"Rosie?" he wails. What the fuck am I seeing? She _wants_ him!? She dashes out of my arms and over to a waiting David who smiles at her while he gently holds her waist, her hands on his biceps.

I am _not_ seeing this. I am fucking _not _seeing this.

With lightening speed, Butterfly's knee comes up and meets him square in the balls! As he doubles over in pain, every other man in the room had the same reaction.

"WHOA!"

As he lay curled on the floor protecting his family jewels, Butterfly unleashes a fury of blows and kicks to every exposed part of this man. He had already looked like he had been is a fight, but by the time she's done, he will surely look like he lost.

"You guys see anything?" I ask my security team.

"No Sir."

"Uh-uh."

"Not a thing, Boss."

Even Gerald responds, "Nope, nothing."

We all stand, lean, whatever, while Butterfly beats the hell out of this man.

"You fucking, sick, psychotic bastard!" She screams as she mercilessly punishes this guy. "I should have killed you when I had the chance. What would ever make you think I would want a demented fuck like you in my life ever again? I swear to God, I'm going to kill you! I'm going to kill yooooou!" She rolls him over on his stomach and positions herself on his back. Now I have to jump into action.

"Grab her!" I yell. If she gets him into position, he's a dead man. I can't have that on Butterfly's conscience. Taylor quickly grabs her arms. I pick her up from behind while Williams has his firearm trained on a groaning David. I let her flail a bit until she realizes that it's me. "Calm down, Baby." I say gently as she continues to fight. "Calm down, Baby." Her arms drop and she's trying to look over her shoulder. I place her gently on the floor and she starts to pat me down, like she's checking for injuries. When she assures that I am whole and healthy (imagine _that_), she plants a firm, hard kiss on me with her swollen lips.

Oh! I'm in heaven...

"Are you real?" She breathes as she looks me in the eyes. "Are you real? I'm not dreaming this time...you're here?" She says, longingly and my heart breaks.

"Yes, Butterfly, I'm real." I say, gazing into her eyes. They go instantly from a hopelessly, empty, glassy blue to a deep, beautiful sapphire, and she smiles a crooked smile because of her swollen lips.

"Oh, okay, that's good." She breathes before she goes limp in my arms. I feel a shooting pain in my chest as my heart clenches.

"Butterfly!" I yell as I pick her frail motionless body up in my arms. "Ana!" I cry. Nothing. Again, I don't remember touching a stair. I am in the SUV before anyone can catch me. I'm sure that they know I will leave them behind if they don't move their asses. The crew stumble into the SUV. "Get me to my helicopter _now!"_

"Sir. You can't fly in this condition..." Taylor starts to protest. I glare at him.

"WATCH. ME!" I don't think there is any doubt that I am going to fly in this condition. We are back at the helicopter in no time flat.

"Call my mother. She's at Seattle Gen. Tell her that I'm landing on the roof. Then get a pilot there to get her back to SeaTac." I say as I carry Butterfly to the helicopter.

"Jewel!" Allen gasps as we approach. "What happened?"

"I don't know." I answer. "We found her bound to a bed. David was there but we don't know where Harris is."

"Oh my God." Allen breathes. I need to stay calm.

"Allen, I need you, Buddy." He looks from Ana up to me. "I have to fly us back to Seattle. I'm doing everything that I can to hold it together. Please don't fall apart on me." He looks at me with sad eyes then straightens his back.

"Okay, Chris." He says.

"I need you to look under those seats. There's a backboard under there..."

Allen removes the backboard from underneath the row of seats in the helicopter. I lay her on the backboard and secure her to the back roll of seats while Allen fishes out the icepack from the first aid kit.

"You're a regular boy scout, huh, Chris?" Allen asks nervously. I smiled thinking of when I said the same thing to Butterfly.

"No, I'm just a stickler for safety." I said, still trying to calm my frayed nerves. Gerald decided to stay to deal with the arrest and the crime scene saying that he would meet us at Seattle Gen later. I hear my Butterfly whimper before I take the pilot's seat. I squeeze her hand.

"We're on our way to the hospital, Butterfly. I'll get you there as fast as I can." I promise. She nods without opening her eyes. I take a deep breath to settle myself. It's time to get down to business. "Everybody buckle up. Allen, I need you to stay harnessed or I can't take off. Seattle Gen is 20 minutes away. Is everybody ready?" With affirmative answers from everyone, I run through the pre-flight checks and lift Charlie Tango into the air, headed for Seattle.

Things are moving at the speed of light when I land on the roof of Seattle General Hospital. My mother is running to the helicopter with four other people—doctors and nurses I presume—before I can get the engines turned off.

"Don't shut it down!" My mother yells. What the hell does she mean don't shut it down? What does she think, I'm going to leave it running like a double-parked car!? As they scramble to get Ana out of the helicopter and onto a stretcher, Mom comes to me in the pilot seat.

"I'm sorry, Son," she says over the sound of the blades, "but you can't leave it here. This helipad has to stay clear for other emergencies."

"We have a pilot coming." I yell back to her.

"It can't stay here, Christian. Not even for a little while." She presses. I look at Taylor.

"Is the pilot here? We need him now!" I ask. Taylor gets out of the helicopter and gets on the phone. If the pilot is not here, it's going to take at least two hours to get Charlie Tango back to SeaTac, get it docked and logged properly, and get back to Seattle Gen.

"Christian..." My mother begins to protest.

"Mom," I interrupt her, my eyes begging, "I can't leave her again. Taylor is checking on the pilot. Please just give me a minute." She looks at me and nods. Moments later, Taylor comes over to us.

"He should be here any minute!" He shouts over the copter blades. Mom nods.

"If he's not here in ten minutes, Christian, you have to take it out." Mom warns. I nod.

"Ten minutes, Mom. Please...go to Ana." I implore her. She looks at me for a moment then turns to go into the hospital.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

He's here. He came for me. I knew that he would. I must be in an ambulance because I feel one of those hard boards on my back. I try to call Christian's name but it only comes out as a weak whimper.

"We're on our way to the hospital, Butterfly. I'll get you there as fast as I can." It's him. His honey sweet mellow voice soothes me and I nod. Okay, Baby. I know you will. "Everybody buckle up. Allen, I need you to stay harnessed or I can't take off. Seattle Gen is 20 minutes away? Is everybody ready?" Take off? Are we flying? That pilot sounds a lot like Christian! Allen is here? I try to stay awake but consciousness keeps coming and fading. I know we are in a helicopter—I can hear the blades. Christian rented a helicopter to come for me! I must still be groggy because the pilot is talking to someone about landing and he still sounds like Christian. Hell, maybe I'm delirious. I'm so glad to be away from Edward and Harris. I gave that psychotic fucker an ass-whipping he'll never forget...but what about Harris? He's still out there and he threatened to kill Christian. Well, not if I see you first, you sorry ass bastard! I have to sleep again...I close my eyes.

Now I see those horrible florescent lights going pass before my eyes—you know, like you see in the movies when they are rushing someone to the O.R. I know they are not rushing me to the O.R. I know that I'm going to be fine, but they don't know it yet. I reach for the first arm I see. The young uniformed woman looks down at me. I move the oxygen mask from my mouth. "Stop!" I hear her yell.

"I'm dehydrated." I squeak, my voice almost completely gone. "No food or water. Nothing else." I tell her. She smiles and nods.

"Thank you." She says, squeezing my hand. "Go to sleep." I nod and close my eyes.

I don't know how much time has passed when I open my eyes again. I am lying comfortably in a hospital bed wearing one of those not-so-comfortable hospital gowns and an even less comfortable IV. Christian is on my left side rubbing circles into my hand and Allen is on my right typing into his phone.

"My two favorite guys," I whisper and they look up simultaneously.

"Baby!" Christian darts from his seat and leans over me, holding my face and putting his forehead to mine. "I thought I lost you." I put my hands in his hair.

"I thought I lost you, too." I whisper. I try to kiss him but a pain shoots through my lip and I wince.

"Careful, careful. You have a badly swollen lip. What happened to you?" He says, his voice tortured.

"Not now. Please, not now." I beg, pulling him closer to me squeezing him in my arms, inhaling his scent deeply to replace the smell of that room and the mildew in the pillows. "Hold me, Christian, please..." I squeak. He gathers me in his arms and presses me to him. I bury my face in his neck. This is home. I am home.

"I'm so glad that you're okay." He breathes. "I couldn't bear it if I lost you." He kissed me gently on my cheek as he pulled back from me to look at me. I have missed him. And I have missed his eyes. Al takes this time to step closer to the bed. I reach out and grab his hand, pressing it to my cheek.

"Jewel." He says, his voice strained. I smile up at him.

"Contingency?" I squeak.

"Contingency." He confirms. I nod and squeeze his hand.

"I told you it would save my life one day." He nods then holds his head down, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Christian rose from the bed.

"I'll go tell the others that you're awake." Others? What others? I just nod. When he clears the door, I pull Al down onto the bed and into my arms while he weeps. Allen is one of those big, beautiful men—not as big or as beautiful as Christian, but still big and beautiful. Brownish-blonde hair cut short and very neat; beautiful hazel eyes; 5' 11" tall; stocky—solid square-shouldered and well-built; very metro-sexual—prefers cargo pants and slacks over jeans but looks good in all of them; he will go with you to the spa for a mani/pedi/facial in a second and not care who's looking. A full eight inches taller than me, this man is curled up on my hospital bed sobbing his heart out. I would do the same if the tables were turned.

I don't know who's here but I don't want anyone to see Al this way. I cradle him in my arms and hope that he pulls himself together soon. I start to sing a little of our song to him to try to bring him back:

_Keep smiling, keep shining__  
__Knowing you can always count on me, for sure__  
__That's what friends are for__  
__For good times and bad times__  
__I'll be on your side forever more__  
__That's what friends are for_

He starts to pull it together a bit as I sing to him.

"You're voice sounds awful, Jewel." He says through his tears. I laugh.

"Christian's was worse, remember?" I croak.

"Of course I remember. It was just last weekend. Geez, you two are going to be the death of me!"

"I know. I'm sorry." He sits up on the bed. Taking my face in his hands, he kisses me squarely but gently on the lips.

"Thanks for not dying." His eyes are full of pain. I touch his cheek.

"Anytime." I whisper.

"Hey! I saw that! Get your lips off my woman, Man!" Christian jests coming into the room. Allen is drying his eyes and face now. I laugh again.

"I think you'd have a better chance with him than I would," I croak. I take Al's hand and look into his eyes and add, "But just marginally, because I love him with all my heart." Al smiles a big toothy smile at me and kisses me on the cheek.

"Excuse me while I go do something about _this_," he says gesturing to his face before he goes into the bathroom. Christian takes his seat next to me on the bed and takes my hand.

"How do you feel?" He asks gently.

"Weak. Still a little tired." I begin.

"That's not what I mean...how do you _feel_?" Oh, you mean, how do I _feel... _I sigh.

"Angry. Relieved. Scared. Happy. Everything." I hold my head down, examining the bandages on my wrists. "How bad are they, do you know?" I ask, holding up my wrists. Christian runs his hand through his hair.

"I didn't see them. They were wrapped by the time I came in." He replied. I have long since noticed that it's dark outside.

"What time is it, Christian?" I ask.

"It's about a quarter past midnight." He answers. I gasp.

"It's a what?" I croak. Now the dryness of my throat is starting to bother me. I hold my throat as I say, "Didn't you say there were people out there?"

"I couldn't get them to leave!" He says as he pushes the button and calls for the nurse. "It's a little depressing. If it weren't for you, I would have only had my mother and my security here when I got sick. There's a whole gaggle of people here waiting for you!" Allen finally came out of the bathroom looking much better than when he went in.

"I'm going to see if I can have the troops go home and rally back here tomorrow." He says with a smile.

"Thank you, Al." I say. As he leaves the room, he almost knocks over the nurse coming in.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He says as he goes past her and as he clears the doorway for her to enter, who walks into the room but none other than Nurse Emily Oh-My-God-He's-So-Yummy Johnson. I make the realization the moment her eyes clap on Christian.

"Oh, hell, no!" I say in the loudest voice I can muster. "She's not coming anywhere_ near_ me!" Christian turns around to see about whom I am speaking. When he sees her, he immediately starts waving his hand in a "shooing" motion.

"Go. Go. Now. Go. Get the doctor. Now." Christian says monotoned. She is momentarily stunned by his actions and then hurt as she leaves the room. I would feel sorry for the bitch if she hadn't been so disrespectful to me when we were last here with Christian. "She must have just come on shift. I haven't seen her." I say.

"As long as she doesn't come near me, we're fine." I croak, my throat still feeling like sandpaper. Christian looks at me with longing.

"I missed you so much. I didn't know what was going on. I thought you were angry at me and cutting me off again...Oh...by the way...you may get...a few perturbed messages. Please ignore them." He drops his head. I run my fingers through his hair.

"It's okay." I whisper as it is becoming harder and harder for me to talk. I realize that I am suffering from the same ailment as Christian and I need to save my voice. I pick up the pen and pad on the nightstand next to my desk and write, "I think I need to stop talking now." He reaches behind the lamp on the other nightstand and unplugs my iPhone from the charger.

"I had a feeling that you might need this." He says as he hands it to me. Now I'm the one texting.

_****Thanks. I want to kiss you so badly but the lips won't let me.****_

"But I can kiss you." He says as he cups my face with one of his hands, his fingertips in my hair. He gently kisses the corner of my mouth and I close my eyes. His lips move to my cheek, my temple, both eyes, and back down my cheek again. I am lost in his touch and his kiss. I have missed him so much. It has only been four days but it seemed like so much more—maybe because he was out of town before all of this happened and I didn't get a chance to heal that longing, I don't know. I have to kiss him. I turn my face to meet his and gently brush my lips against his—the only way I can stand to kiss him thanks to the repeated facial blows Harris inflicted on me. He returns my gesture and I relish in the feeling of his lips on mine.

"Butterfly, I have to stop." He says leaning his forehead against mine. The feeling was so deep, so intimate. Why did he want to stop? When he opened his eyes, my eyes must have been asking that question.

"I have been without you for too long. Then, I thought I would never see you again. Now, I just want to bury myself in you and never come out, and it's taking every bit of my self-control not to do that right here and now." He breathes. Oh good Lord, that was hot. I can only nod as his words make my breaths come in short pants. "Breathe, Baby." He coaxes as he puts his hands on my waist and scoots me closer to him. I put my fingers in his hair, once again melting into his touch. How am I supposed to breathe while he's making me hot? Oh, Christian...

Our moment was interrupted by Al clearing his throat in the doorway. Christian and I look at each other, both attempting to control our breath and our hormones.

"I love you." He whispers to me, and I mouth, "I love you, too." Allen comes into the room and announces that he convinced everyone to leave but there were two that refused to go without seeing me. When he escorted my visitors into the room, I exclaimed,

"Daddy!"

Ray paused for a moment, examining me. I don't know why—maybe it's the lip—but he quickly recovered and walked to the other side of my bed.

"How's my Annie?" He said, sitting on the bed.

"I'm fine, Daddy." I croaked, throwing my arms around him. He hugged me gently.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I was so worried." He said, his voice cracking.

"I'm okay now that I'm back home...well, you know what I mean." I croak. Daddy gets my voice, not a text.

"Christian here really pulled out all the stops to find you. I've never seen anything like it! He even took his helicopter to that island when they found out where you were." Ray said. I did a double take.

"_Took his helicopter?"_ I asked in disbelief, looking at Christian—who actually _blushed!_

"Yes, Honey," Allen pipes in. "Your boyfriend here owns a luxury helicopter—and he can _fly_ it!" I _wasn't _delirious! The pilot's voice _was _Christian's.

"Get outta here! Seriously?" I say, giggling.

"Girl, yes. It was the hottest thing I've ever seen." Ray and Christian both look over their shoulder at Al. "I'm a gay man! If this was a girl standing here saying this, you wouldn't be looking at me funny. Gimme a break!"

"He's right. Let up off my gay boyfriend." I croak. Ray and Christian both turn to me now, and I give them the same glare they are giving me. Yes, I said it. What—do you expect me to take it back?

"Well, um, I...just wish I was able to meet Christian under better circumstances." Ray chastised.

"I know, Daddy. I'm sorry. But remember—I didn't meet Mandy until you guys had been dating for six months." Almost on cue, a throat clears behind Al and out comes Amanda. Figures.

_Keep you shirt on. She's here for Ray and probably for you, too. _

I growl at the Bitch. I really hate when she's the voice of reason.

"Yeah, um, Mandy, you've met Allen and this is Christian Grey." Ray says.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Grey," Amanda says, shaking Christian's hand for a respectful amount time. Yes, I was paying attention I'm ashamed to admit.

"Please call me Christian." Mandy nods and walks over to Ray's side.

"And guys, this is Amanda Herring...my girlfriend." There was a momentary silence in the room and I felt the need to fill it.

"Thank you for coming, Mandy. It's so late and I know you probably have to work in the morning. I appreciate you being her for my dad." I croak.

"Don't mention it." She says sincerely, her eyes full of sympathy. She takes my hand. "Ana, how are you?" She says softly.

"I could be better," I say honestly, squeezing her hand, "but I'm away from those monsters so I guess I'm no worse for wear."

"I'm out of my realm with this kind of thing, I'm sorry," she admits, "but I can say that I am so glad that you're safe and I really hope you feel better really soon." She adds with a sad smile. I put my other hand over hers.

"Thank you, Mandy. That really means a lot to me." I reply.

"Well, we promised the doctor that we wouldn't stay long, so we're going to go and we'll be back tomorrow...if you're still here." Ray says with a smile.

"Thanks, Dad. I'll see you tomorrow. And thanks again for being here, Mandy." I add. She smiles as they leave.

"Oookay." Christian says. Yeah, I feel the same.

"Wait a minute. That's Mandy!" Al says like he has just discovered Plutonium. Yeah, I nod, and your point? "No, that's Mandy. The one that had you cursing in French a few week's back." Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I nod.

"Cursing in French?" Christian asks. "I thought you only did that during..." My hand flies up to his mouth. Yeah, no, don't tell my best friend that I speak French when I'm coming, thank you! Al ignores the implication and continues.

"She's hot! What the hell...?" He says. Yes, I know. I love my Daddy, but what does this tart want with my cantankerous father? I send Christian a text.

**_**I want you to do a background check on her._****

"You do?" He says after he reads the text.

_****He's my daddy, Christian. Please?****_

He reads the text and nods. "I'll get Welch on it first thing in the morning."

_****Thank you. Now why did Daddy pause and flinch when he came into the room?****_

Christian looks at his phone and his jaw stiffens. Even Al noticed it and looked at me. So I sent him the same text. He looked at Christian and they are both debating something without words. Just then Dr. Fischer comes into the room followed by Grace, still in her hospital scrubs. Grace pauses, too, but longer than Ray did. What the hell is going on?

"Ms...Ms. Steele. I thought I recognized you." Dr. Fischer says as he looks at my chart. "Mr. Grey, how have you been?" He says to Christian.

"Medically, I've been fine." He says. "I'm better now that I've got my girl back."

"We've got to stop meeting like this." He says with a half smile as he comes over to take my pulse. "Is she texting or talking?"

"A little bit of both, but mostly texting." Christian answered for me.

"Less talking, more texting. Just for the next few hours or so...which shouldn't be hard since you'll be going to sleep very soon." He breathes warm air on his stethescope then puts it to my chest. "Deep breath for me."

I take a few deep breaths, then he looks in my eyes. "Any ice chips yet?"

"We were going to and then we saw who her nurse was. I don't want her anywhere near Anastasia, Dr. Fischer. And Anastasia has made it clear that she doesn't want her in here either." I'm shaking my head feverishly.

"Who are we talking about?" Grace asks.

"I don't know her name, but she was staring at me like a steak sandwich the last time I was here and Ana was standing right in front of me."

_****Emily Johnson****_

"Thanks, Butterfly. Emily Johnson."

"Was she behaving inappropriately?" Grace asks.

"Ask Dr. Fischer. You remember, she was staring at me and Ana tried to tell her to stop..."

"Oooooh, yes! I do remember." Dr. Fischer says after realization dawns. "Yes, she's been reprimanded. She shouldn't even _want_ to be in _this_ room!"

"Well, I'll get you some ice, Butterfly. I'll be right back." He squeezes my hand and leaves.

"Look up at me, Ana." Dr. Fischer says and he shines a light in my eyes. He touches my face and eyes and everything is very tender. "Well, you should be able to go home first thing in the morning. I don't want to discharge you in the middle of the night and I think you'll only need one more bag of solution, so I do want you to eat some of those ice chips because you're wheezing a bit and I'm thinking it's because your throat is irritated. We'll check again in the morning when we check you saturations. It's probably too late tonight, but you can eat in the morning—soup, water-based then we'll see from there. The bruising should go down in a few days and you'll be right as rain, okay?" I nod. He smiles at Grace then leaves.

"Well, Ana. A fine mess, huh?" Grace says, sitting on the edge of my bed. I can only nod and hold my head down. Allen gave her his phone so that we can chat.

_****Psycho ex-boyfriend.****_

She looks at me. "He's the one who kidnapped you?"

_****He wanted to get me alone. Thought he could convince me to come back to him. He had help from a guard Christian fired.****_

"So he's the one that did this to you?" She said, pointing at my face. I didn't react to her pointing at my face, but Al did. They aren't telling my something but I'll wait until Grace is gone.

_****Harris did this. Christian's ex-guard. He thinks I got him fired.****_

"What a brute!" She exclaims as she touches my face and I finch. Okay...now I _know_ there's something they're not telling me. "You'll be good as new in a few days, Dear." She says smiling at me. I force a smile back at her as Christian returns with the ice. "I'm going to leave you with these two now. Don't keep her up too late. She needs her rest." She squeezes my hand and rises from the bed. Christian hugs his mother and she leaves the room. I immediately begin typing before Christian sits on the bed.

_****Daddy paused and flinched. Grace paused and stared. The doctor says the bruising will go down, but Grace called Harris a brute as she looked at my face. How bad is it?****_

Again, Christian's jaw tightens and he is not forthcoming with information.

"Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on." I croak. Christian runs his hand through his hair and Al just wants to run.

"I...heard the 911 tapes, Baby." Christian began. "How many times did Harris hit you?" I shake my head. I don't even remember how many times he hit me. Why is he asking me about this? Then it hit me.

_****Give me a mirror.****_

"Baby..." Christian began. I threw the covers off of me and swung my legs over the bed. Both Allen and Christian dashed to stop me.

"Okay, Baby, I'll get you a mirror. Please, just stay in bed okay?" Christian coaxes. I climb back in a bed and Al takes my phone. After pushing a few buttons, I realized that he set it so that the lens is reversed on the camera and the phone is reflecting my face.

I don't even recognize the person looking back at me.

I thought he was showing me a picture of someone else until I moved the phone and the picture moved with me. My face ranged in color from red to black—a huge black and blue scar on my right cheek, a dark circle around my right eye. My left eye was almost swollen shut and I could make out at least two purple hand prints on my left cheek. My lips were both horribly swollen, the top worse than the bottom.

I touch my lips and watch the reflection. I look like a damn monster. Seriously, you couldn't do movie effects that look this bad! I can't stop the gasping tears that burst from me as I drop my phone on my lap and my hands on the bed. In a moment, Christian has me in his arms, rocking me gently and trying comfort me.

"Don't cry, Baby. It will all heal up, you'll see."

"I look horrible!" I wail. "I look deformed! Why did he do this to me?" I cry, clinging to Christian. I am full of hatred right now, more hatred than I have ever felt in my life. Even with the beating in Green Valley, I was only 15—I really couldn't figure out what was going on there. Now, I know the full meaning of hate, and my cup runneth over.

"I want them dead. I've never wanted anyone dead in my life...not even Cody fucking Whitmore." I weep. Christian tenses. I don't know if he's reacting to me wanting Edward and Harris dead or to my mentioning Cody's name. Right now, I couldn't even comprehend how Christian could look at me.

"He was an asshole and a monster, and he got what he deserved." Huh? Who? I was just talking about three different people and he's talking about somebody in the past tense. I pulled myself back to look at him then quickly turned my head away.

"What do you mean? Who got what they deserved?" I croak.

* * *

_**GREY**_

She's turning her face away, like she can't look at me. Does she think I did something to those bastards? I now realize that she was asleep when Gerald came back with the news.

"David was taken into custody. He's being held right now without bond because of the severity of the crime, that fact that he broke a standing protection order and with his resources he's a flight risk. Harris...got into a gunfight with the police behind the house just as we were arriving. He was hit several times. He didn't have the benefit of helicopter transport...he died before they could get him to the hospital."

She didn't even flinch. She didn't turn to look at me either. "Well, I won't even lie and tell you that I'm sorry." She croaked, disdainfully.

"Jewel, are you okay?" Allen asks cautiously. She just nods. "I'm going to go now, okay? It's like two in the morning and you know what I look like without my beauty sleep." He says, his voice full of mirth. She just nods again, never raising her head. Allen kneels on the floor and forces her to make eye contact. "I love you, Jewel, and I'm so glad you're okay." She embraces him around his neck tightly and I can tell that she's crying again as he rubs her back. He pulls away and gently kisses her cheek. He squeezes her hand and rises to his feet.

"Goodnight, Chris. I'll be back in the morning."

"Okay. Goodnight, Allen. I see you in the morning." I turn back to Butterfly. Her head is still bowed. Her face horribly bruised and her hair is stringy and dirty...and she's the most beautiful sight that I've seen in days.

"Butterfly," I whisper, hoping that she will look at me. She doesn't. "Butterfly, please look at me." She still won't raise her head. I scoot closer to her on the bed. I put my finger under her chin and raise her face to look at me, I gently take her hands in mine and look into her eyes, loving gray to broken blue. Without closing my eyes, I kiss her badly bruised face, her swollen eye, her other bruised eye, and her black and blue cheek until I get back to her tender swollen lips...brushing them gently like I did earlier and looking in her eyes.

"My Butterfly." I whisper against her lips as I ache to kiss her, to show her what she means to me, how beautiful she will always be to me no matter what bruises she wears. My lips travel down her jaw to her neck peppering soft gentle kisses. "My beautiful Butterfly...I thought I lost you...I don't know what I'd do without you..."

"Christian, I look like hell..." She whispered.

"To me, you look like heaven." I respond, gently rubbing my cheek against hers. "If you looked like this for the rest of your life, I'd still love you forever." Our moment is interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. Dr. Fischer enters with yet another nurse.

"But she won't." He says, gently, smiling at Butterfly. "Ana, these bruises will go down and you will be back to normal in a few days. Don't you worry, okay? I promise you that this is nothing permanent." Butterfly gives him a small strained smile. Thank God. My poor baby has been through enough! "I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Grey. I just wanted to check on Ana one last time before I take a nap...I'm on call tonight. I also wanted to introduce you to your new nurse. This is Nurse Christa." A beautiful caramel-colored young woman stepped up to Ana and took her hand.

"How are you feeling, Sweety?" She says to her.

"As well as can be expected, I guess." Butterfly whispers.

"Well that's good. I'm gone take real good care of you, now." Nurse Christa has a bit of a southern sound to her as well as a warm southern mannerism. Dr. Fischer stands back and lets her tend to Butterfly, checking her vitals and changing her IV bag. "Are you feelin' any discomfort, Sugar?" Butterfly shakes her head to tell her _no_. "Do you think you can sleep okay?" Butterfly shakes her head again. "Now we need you to sleep, Darlin'. You want me to give you somethin' to help you rest?" Butterfly smiles and nods.

"You're staying, aren't you?" She looks at me with frightened, hopeful eyes.

"Baby, wild horses couldn't drag me from this room." I say, gently stroking her hand and she smiles again.

"Well alright then. I'll be back with a little sleepy-time to put in your IV, okay?" Nurse Christa smiles and leaves the room.

"I like her." Butterfly whispers. "She's pretty, too."

"I'm sorry, Baby. I only have eyes for you." I say with a smile.

"Alright, alright, doctor in the room." Dr. Fischer says playfully while updating the chart that Nurse Christa just handed to him. "Now, Ana my dear, I'll check on you in the morning. I think with your resting your throat overnight, you should be okay tomorrow but we'll see for sure. Unlike when this happened with Mr. Grey, you got a lot of rest during the ordeal; that means you came out of the situation _marginally_ better than he did with the exception of the bruising. The rest did you well. For your swelling, ice packs as often as you can stand them. The bruising will go in it's own time, but don't worry it _will_ go down. Do you trust me?" Butterfly nods. "Good. Take some of that ice on your throat...do it now." I give her a little ice for her throat, then a little more.

"Oh, that's good." She moans.

"See, I know what I'm talking about. It's the whole doctor thing." Fischer jokes. Okay, Doc, you're getting a little friendly. I didn't get this kind of bedside manner when I was laid up in here! Then Taylor's words come back to me...

_She touches people that don't even know her._

I guess I can't fault the good doctor. He's making her smile and she affects everybody..._but don't get too cozy, Doc!_ Nurse Christa comes back into the room with Ana's cocktail. "Okay now, this should hit you in just a couple of minutes and it's nighty night for you, okay?" Butterfly nods.

"Thank you, Nurse Christa." Butterfly whispers.

"Call me, Crissy, Sugar. Everybody does." She says.

"Thank you, Crissy." Butterfly whispers with a yawn.

"Okay, she'll be asleep shortly, so we're going to leave you guys. Goodnight Ana, Christian." Fischer says with a nod before leaving, Nurse Christa right behind him. I look at my Nodding Beauty.

"Can I sleep with you?" I ask.

"Please." She whispers, quickly losing the fight against the meds. I remove my shoes and socks and crawl in bed behind her. I kiss her on the shell of her ear.

"Sleep, Beautiful."

In no time flat, she was asleep, safe and warm in my arms. I followed her into slumber a few minutes later.

* * *

My turn to take care of Butterfly. I wake well before she does. It's about 7am. I step out into the hallway and Lawrence and Davenport are there.

"When is Taylor coming in?" I ask them.

"He should be here in about an hour, Sir." Davenport answered.

"Good. That's perfect." I nod as I take out my blackberry and step away from the two guards.

"Sir," Taylor answers on the second ring.

"Taylor, can you bring some things for Ana..." I begin.

"Gail has already taken care of it, Sir. I have a fresh change of clothes and a couple of changes of underwear, nightwear if she's required to stay another night, grooming supplies, and Gail's chicken soup for her first meal. Did I forget anything, Sir?" He says.

"Grooming supplies—did you get her lemongrass citrus body wash and shampoo?" I hear him ask Gail. "I'm not sure, Sir, but I'll make sure that we have it."

"Can you bring a change of clothes for me? Anything will be fine." I ask.

"Are you going into the office today, Sir?"

"Not likely." I answer. I turn around and see a woman and a young boy trying to get into Butterfly's room. "That's all for now, Taylor. I'll call you if we need anything else."

"Yes Sir," he says. I end the call and walk over to the woman and young, but tall, child.

"Can I help you with something?" I ask the woman who shies behind the boy a bit at the sound of my voice. He turns to confront me, then his face softens with realization.

"You're Christian Grey." He says. Yes...and...?

"Is there something I can help you with?" I repeat.

"I saw you on TV...looking for Ana. Dr. Grace told us Ana was here..." he starts to explain. Dr. Grace...my mother.

"How do you know Ana?" I ask cautiously.

"Well, I just met her. I just wanted to make sure she was okay. My name is Marlow."

Marlow...Marlow...oh, Marlow! Ana told me about him, the kid from Helping Hands. Who is the woman cowering behind him?

"Nice to meet you, Marlow." I proffer my hand and he takes it. "Ana has told be about you. And who is this?" The woman looks small compared to the boy, but not in stature. I can see some faded bruising on her face.

"I'm Marcia, Mr. Grey." She says, slowly coming from behind the boy. "I'm Marlow's mother." I don't know why I didn't see it before...well, I _do _know why I didn't see it before...but they have the same eyes.

"Marcia," I said extending my hand to her as if I am approaching a scared stray dog. "It's nice to meet you as well." She timidly takes my hand and shakes it gently before releasing it. "Why don't we go wake Ana, because she is going to need some ice chips before her breakfast gets here." I say as I lead the way into Ana's room.

She looks like an angel sleeping soundly in her bed...a battered angel, but an angel nonetheless. Marcia gasps at her appearance. Marlow's jaw stiffens. No doubt he has seen this kind of thing with his mother countless times.

"Who would do such a thing?" Marcia says quietly. Marlow looks at me accusingly.

"She was kidnapped." I tell them. "An ex-boyfriend of hers and an ex-employee of mine. The only explanation that I've been able to get so far is that the ex-employee wanted the pin numbers to her credit cards and..." I open my hand towards Ana to demonstrate what happened next. Marlow's fists are clenching and his jaw is becoming still tighter. "It's okay, Marlow." I say, and his head snaps over to me. "He won't ever touch her again." He glares at me for a moment then looks back at Butterfly. "Why don't you go wake her for me...but don't touch her face. It's very sore as you can imagine." Marlow looks back at me and nods. Then he swallows hard and walks over to Butterfly.

Marlow stoops on the floor next to Butterfly's bed. "Ana?" He says softly while gently shaking her arm. "Ana?"

Butterfly's eyes open slowly and she takes a few seconds to focus.

"Marlow." She says sleepily. "Well, you're not the face I expected to see when I opened my eyes." She says with mirth.

"Gee, thanks." He responds.

"Hey, you're a cute kid, but you're no Christian Grey." She says, still groggy. That's my Butterfly. "I wasn't supposed to see you until Thursday," she says forcing herself to sit up. "You comin' to give me a hard time?"

"It looks like somebody already did that." He said, sitting on the edge of her bed. Butterfly drops her head. Nice going, Kid. He leans in and says, "Do you need me to take care of somebody, Ana?" He was very serious, but Butterfly burst out laughing. Whew! Nice recovery.

"No." She's says. "I'm cool. I got backup." And she smiles at him. Okay, who is this and what have you done with my Butterfly? "Why aren't you in school?"

"Well, um...I...um..." Young Marlow fights for his words until Marcia stepped in.

"He refused to go until he saw you...to make sure you were okay." Marcia said.

"Mooooooooooooom," Marlow said, singing the word. "You gone ruin my rep."

"You're only 16, you don't have a _rep_ yet." Butterfly says. She puts her hand on Marlow's cheek. He flinches as first, then settles into her touch. I know that flinch only too well. He's been abused and his face was often one of the targets. "Anyway, it's kinda cool to have people want to look out for me that way. Thanks for having my back." _Having her back?_ Yikes! This is a new language for me.

"It's all good." Marlow says, and I can see his entire body relax.

"Now listen, I probably won't be at the center for a little while because..." She gestures to her face. "I'll most likely take some time off until some of this bruising goes down, and as you can hear my voice sounds like crap." She sounds better than yesterday, but she's still quite raspy. "But if you need me, Dr. Grace knows how to get in touch with me, okay?" Marlow nods.

"I think I'll do okay now...since...I know you're okay, but I'll talk to Dr. Grace if I need you."

"Good. Now get your ass to school." She says, punching him in the arm.

"Ow! Why you always hittin' me?" He whined.

"'Cause you're hardheaded...but I wouldn't have you any other way." She smiles. "Now, go...and thank you." He walks to the door with his mother. He turns around and looks back at her.

"I'm glad you're okay, Ana." He says before walking out. Marcia mouths "thank you" to Butterfly before following her son. I turn to look at the remarkable woman looking so small in the big hospital bed.

"Hello, Beautiful." I say and I stride slowly to her bed. She looks at me with hunger in her eyes. "Oh, Baby, please don't look at me like that."

"Why not?" She says softly.

"Because I want you," I say, rubbing her leg over the cover, "and I need to make sure you are fit and that you have everything that you need before I ravish your body." My hands move up to her thigh. So as not to torture her, I skip past her stomach and kiss her neck. "Okay?" I breathe into her neck." Her breath catches as her fingers entwine in my hair. No fair.

"Okay." She breathes. We both jump a bit as Taylor enters the room.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I thought Her Highness might want her soup while it's still hot." Taylor says, looking at Butterfly.

"I missed that." She says, smiling at Taylor.

"Me, too." He said, smiling back and setting up her tray table.

"Not too hot, I hope," I say.

"No Sir, I don't think so." Taylor says pulling out the carrier with the soup and fresh French bread.

"Oh God, please feed me, please feed me, please!" Butterfly begs and I can't help but laugh. Taylor hands her the spoon and she tastes the soup. She moans in ecstasy at the flavor.

"Sir, a word." Taylor says. I nod.

"Make sure you get some of those ice chips, too, Butterfly." She nods as she continues to devour the large bowl of soup. Taylor and I step outside of the room.

"Sir, I have bad news and worse news." He says. I sigh.

"Give it to me." I brace myself. Just don't tell me that David fucker made bail.

"Paparazzi are outside. They are _deep_. We won't get out of here without them seeing us." Shit! They can't get pictures of Butterfly like this and those vultures are relentless. I knew this would happen once I went public about our relationship. We just have to find a way to get pass them. Butterfly has never been subject to the press that I know of. This may be a bit much for her. We'll get through it.

"Was that the bad news or the worse news?" I ask.

"That was the bad, Sir."

"What's the worse?" I bark.

"As I came into the hospital, I saw someone at the front desk. I wouldn't have known who it was, but they are trying to get in the see Ms. Steele." I frown.

"Who are they?" I ask.

"Stephen and Carla Morton."

* * *

_**A/N: **_

_**Dionne Warwick, Stevie Wonder, Gladys Knight, & Elton John—That's What Friends Are For**_

_**"You're only 16, you don't have a **__rep_ yet." - DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince - Parents Just Don't Understand


	45. Chapter 45: Family Reunion

**_Okay, Bronze-Goddess-villers, we are winding down Book 1 now. (Le gasp, say it aint so!) Alas, it is. The first leg of our journey shall soon come to an end, but don't fret. Our second leg will hopefully be just as interesting as our favorite couple continues to develop their relationship. Not sure how many chapters are left in Book 1 yet, but I just wanted to tell you that we are coming to a close._**

**_I have only just gotten a chance to finish reading all of my reviews what with all of those bonus chapters that I was posting. A lot of people asked why Christian, Taylor, or Allen didn't suspect David from the beginning. Remember, when they left for Vegas on Wednesday, Taylor told Christian that Edward has been holed up in his apartment since the weekend. They still have a guy watching him (or so they think), his car is still there, and they don't know that Harris has disguised him and smuggled him out of the apartment in the back seat of a borrowed car. If he didn't have a tail sitting outside of his apartment, of course they would think of him immediately. But all the way until Allen identifies him on the video, they think he's still in the apartment. They don't have the benefit of Edward's point of view like we do. ;-)_**

**_To Kittybat/Katherine - Thank you for reviewing, Darling. Not an intrusion of my privacy at all and a very valid question. No, I am not a psychologist. I just have a lot of life experience that I can drawn upon to gauge people and how they might react in certain situations. Everything that I don't know, I do extensive research to ATTEMPT to get it right. I don't always succeed, but I think I do okay for the most part. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy! :-)_**

**_To the guest that mentioned Ana using her "shrink" brain to get away - Thank you for your review! Yes, she could have, but realistically that may or may not have worked with David and it DEFINITELY wouldn't have worked with Harris (remember, there were two of them). No doubt, had I have let the story drag on further and she had gotten Edward alone, it may have come to that. But since it was only four days (technically, only about 2 & 3/4 days if you count hours) and there were always two of them, that plan would not have worked. Harris wasn't leaving until he got his money and she couldn't risk Edward taking her to parts unknown. Good observation, though. ;-)_**

**_To Amanda, Beachycolor, Beth, Carol, Celestialstar 12, CG Girl, Cheyanne (Thank you for reading! So glad to have you!), Diva, Ellie (thank you, El. I'm fine, ff just when batshit crazy and wouldn't let me post), Jdwen2, JN, Laney, Leah, LiLi, MICHELLE B (great minds think alike—oh, Val and Mia are not sisters, but they do look alike...it's just coincidence - and you know I hate to disappoint my readers so somthing HAD to be wrong!), Rachel/bostonstrong (yep, ff pissed us ALL the fuck off on Saturday!), Review Ninja (thank you for choosing my little story...it makes me happy!), sassygurl (I sawwy! I didn't mean to maky you cwy!) Sonnie, Tempress (we've cracked 3000, Baby!), Teresaromance, Tj (shower bitch Edward...love it! Yes, expect some "Bonnie and Clyde" hell if you know what I mean), and all of my guest reviewers, thank you as always. I appreciate your input._**

**_Yeah, yeah, yeah, I own nothing, I'm just misusing the characters, you know the drill. Now, on with the story..._**

_Chapter 45-Family Reunion_

_**GREY**_

"Morton!? Are you fucking kidding me!?" I bark. Taylor looks into Butterfly's room through the window.

"Sir, do you want her to hear you?" He warns. I run my hand through my hair.

"I want those people physically removed from this hospital, but I don't have grounds." I say.

"Well, at the very least, we can make sure that they don't get into this room." Taylor says. Upon hearing that, Davenport and Lawrence step behind him.

"Good man." I say as I look over his shoulder and see Morton stepping off of the elevator. In front of him is a small brunette woman marching toward us. The closer she gets, the _shorter_ she gets. She's even shorter than Butterfly. She's kind of round and her hair is cut short and permed...it's not a good look on her at all. She marches right up to me and bends her neck to look into my eyes.

"I want to see my daughter!" She demands. I look at Taylor, then at Morton who appears to have regrown a set of balls. I lean down to her like I'm talking to a child.

"Over. My. Dead. Body." I growl.

"Get out of my wife's face." Morton threatens.

"Or what?" I say, my eyes shifting to him. "I've heard all I need to hear from you." I spit.

"Ana doesn't want to see you," I say, turning my attention back to Mini-Morton. "When she needed you, you weren't there for her. When she got the chance to get away from you, she left and never came back. Why are you here now? She certainly doesn't need you."

"A girl always needs her mother." She responds.

"She needed you at 15 when she was brutalized by that mob! She needed you at 17 when she was here living in a homeless shelter. Are you here to pay her student loans? Why are you here now? You know she has a rich boyfriend now, so you're trying to use her kidnapping to get back into her good graces?" Their silence and guilty glances let me know that's _exactly_ what they were trying to do. The things people do for money. I was almost relieved to see Ray walking up the hall behind the Mortons.

"Whoa! Is it cocktail hour already?" He said, waving his hand in front of his nose. He walked around the crowd, saw the Mortons and stopped cold.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ray exclaimed.

"My sentiments exactly." I said.

"Why the hell are you here, Carla? Haven't you ruined her life enough?" Ray shot.

"Well hello, Ray. How have you been?" Carla says sarcastically.

"Don't give me that shit!" Ray spit. "This girl has been struggling since she was 15 years old and you've had your fucking head too far up your ass to care. She doesn't need you now. You're looking at maybe one third of her support system here. She's got a _real_ family now—people who love her. She doesn't need a country club chasing, status hungry, attention whore like you." Carla snarls.

"Still bitter about my divorcing you, are you?" She sneers. This woman is clearly delusional. I couldn't help but laugh at this statement. In answer to the strange looks that came my way, I respond,

"I'm sorry, Ray. Apparently, she hasn't seen that gorgeous 35-year-old bombshell that has _clearly_ fallen in love with you." Ray smirks.

"No, Christian, I guess not, but it's not like we keep in touch. Hell, we have nothing to discuss, so how _would_ she know?" He turns back to Mini-Morton. "Divorcing me was the best thing you could have ever done for me. Now, my daughter doesn't want anything else to do with you. So why don't you take Moonshine here and go back to Nevada?"

Morton finally awakes from his alcohol-induced stupor. "What the hell are you talking about?" He barks.

"Man, I _smelled_ you before I saw you, so don't even try to deny it." Ray barks at him. "In addition to the smell, your skin is yellow, your stomach is bigger than your body, and you've got spider veins on your skin. You might want to get to a doctor because you are a walking billboard for cirrhosis!"

To all of our dismay, a small form appears in the doorway rolling an IV stand.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" She says, her voice sounding almost clear. "I can hear you yelling in..." A look of pure horror comes across her face when she spots her mother. She gasps loudly, and Mini-Morton steps forward, mistaking her gasp for longing surprise. Butterfly clings to Ray's denim jacket like a drowning woman struggling for life.

"Why is she here!?" She shrieked. The strength behind the cry surprised everybody standing there. Mini-Morton reaches out for her and she shrieks again.

"Don't touch me, you witch!" Okay, I have to stop this.

"Butterfly," I say taking her arms in my hands, "please, don't scream. Your throat. Don't let them do that to you." She looks at me like I hit her, but I know she is only trying to process everything that is going on. "Breathe, Baby. Come on. Breathe with me." She reaches up and clutches my arms, mimicking my breathing to calm down. Once her breathing is regulated, I ask, "What do you want me to do?"

"I'll handle it." She says calmly, and I nod. She clutches the IV stand with one hand and Ray's hand with the other before addressing Mini-Morton.

"What. The fuck. Are you doing here?" Butterfly spit venomously. "I haven't spoken to you in over ten years. That wasn't long enough for you to know that I want nothing to do with you? And you brought _him?" _She looks at Morton with disdain. "Why are you here _Steve?_ Following the next bottle of Jack?"

"That's not necessary, Ann." Steve tries to chastise her.

"No! What's not necessary _Steve_ is your being here. You're _nothing_ to me! Nothing but a bad memory that one day I hope to forget!"

"Still got that smart mouth, I see." he spit. Oh, now I have to check this mother fucker.

"Yeah, keep up those snide little comments to her and you're going to have a _broken _mouth. I see your lip still hasn't healed from our last meeting...but you probably split it again on another bottle. Tell me, did you spend the _whole_ five grand on alcohol?" I ask, matter-of-factly. Oh, this has piqued Mini-Morton's interest—Butterfly's too, for that matter.

"Five grand!?" Mini-Morton gasps in horror.

"Aaahh, looks like hubby only told you part of the story." Ray jibes. I turn to Butterfly.

"I'm sorry, Butterfly. Circumstances have obviously prevented us from talking since I returned, but I paid him $5,000 for information on the incident. It was $10,000 but I took half of it back and split his lip when he insulted you." Butterfly did that grunting throat laugh that doesn't make it to your face.

"I'm supporting you and you got $5,000 and didn't tell me!?" Mini-Morton barks.

"Oh, please, save that whole appalled act for another day!" I spit. "You were front and center when he sold you daughter's silence to Whitmore for $750,000 which is why you were so gung-ho to bring her back to that hell!"

"Wait a minute...what?" Ray is livid now. "What the hell are you talking about?" I turn to Ray now.

"When Ana was living comfortably with you in Montesano and putting her life back together, Morton struck a deal with Whitmore to bring Ana back to Green Valley and to make sure that she stayed quiet about what happened." I turned to a now completely horrified Butterfly. "They were afraid that you would have some sort of total recall of the incident and blab about it, so they had to keep you close. Carla was more concerned about her diminishing social life, but I'm sure that three quarters of a mil made that pill a little easier to swallow—part of which was supposed to be your college fund, by the way." Butterfly's already technicolor face is turning a shade of bright red.

"Seven fifty!?" Mini-Morton now gasps. "You told me it was five hundred!" Oh good hell, does this woman _ever _know when to stop digging holes?

"You knew!?" Butterfly shrieked.

"Baby, I thought I was doing the right thing..." Mini-Morton defends.

"For whom? It certainly wasn't for me!" Butterfly spit.

"Watch your tone with your mother, Ann!" Morton cautioned. What the hell...? Release the tiger...

"Oh, no," Butterfly began calmly, "_you_ don't get to tell me what to do anymore, _Steve. _In fact, _you_ don't have the privilege of speaking to me ever again, you sick, sorry, child seller. I hope you got your fucking money's worth, you worthless fucking drunk. Jason!" The way she called Taylor made _me_ jump. Jason was front and center in nanoseconds.

"Yes Ma'am?"

"Please keep an eye on this _thing."_ She says, never taking her gaze from Morton. "Make sure he keeps his mouth shut. The stench is starting to give me a hangover, not that that will be of any assistance since it's seeping from his fucking pores!" Whoa...step back, People, the claws are out. "If he even tries to breathe that foul breath in my direction, please remove him, and if he gives you trouble, call the police."

"Yes, Your Highness." Taylor says, positioning himself squarely in front of Morton, his face mere centimeters from Morton's.

"If you touch me, I'll sue you for every dime you have." Morton tried to threaten Taylor.

"It'll be kind of hard to spend it in traction." Taylor says, emphasizing his sarcasm by tilting his head to the side.

"As for you," Butterfly looks to her mother with pure disdain, "I don't have any time to waste on you. I don't have a mother. You are nothing to me. I have a father, and he's right here. So you people can leave, and don't ever darken my door again."

"How can you say that to me?" Mini-Morton says. If she's _pretending _to be hurt, she's doing a good job. Butterfly is unmoved. In fact, she laughs.

"Are you going to cry now, Carla? Have I moved you to tears?" She says sarcastically. "Well, _good!_ At least I know that you can feel _something. _Where were those tears when I was beaten damn near to death? When I woke up _alone_ in that hospital room—not seeing you for days at a time? Where were the tears when I finally found peace and _you_ came and ripped me away from it? I lived in hell for two years. Two. Fucking. Years! That's an eternity for a teenager, did you know that? He treated me like pure shit and you were too busy licking the asses of the parents of the people that _beat_ me to notice! I was afraid every. Damn. Day. Of my. Life for two whole years. I was afraid one of those fuckers would jump out at me every time I walked down the street; every time I got on a bus; every time I left the damn house! Even in my own home I didn't feel safe, and now I know why. You and this walking distillery sold my peace of mind for $750,000, and you have the audacity to stand here and ask me how I can speak to you this way? You better be glad that's all I'm doing! I am done with you. I am done with you forever—do you hear me?" She pauses for a moment and after no confirmation from her mother, she barks, "Chuck!" and causes me to jump again.

"Yes, Ma'am?" Now Davenport is front and center.

"This is my personal security, Charles Davenport. Chuck, this is Carla and Stephen Morton. Please memorize their faces because if they ever get within 500 feet of me, I'm taking you to the mat!" Whoa! She just threatened Chuck—she's quite serious. "If you see them coming anywhere near me, you have my permission to get them the hell away from me...by any means necessary—starting now!"

"Yes Ma'am," Davenport said definitely, stepping in front of Butterfly. Not to be outdone, Lawrence steps just behind me and we now effectively form a barrier between the Mortons and Butterfly and her father that is over six feet tall.

"Christian." She calls to me. I look over my shoulder at her and she nods gently, transferring control of the situation back to me. I nod back and turn to face our intruders.

"Daddy." She says summoning her father to follow her. I could see her out of the corner of my eye take her father by the hand again as he opens the door to her hospital room and allows her to escort him inside.

"You heard the lady." I growl.

"You would really keep a woman away from her daughter?" Mini-Morton says. Bitch, please!

"I don't know if you know this or not, but Ana can take care of herself. She really doesn't need me."

"Yeah, she did a real bang-up job of that this weekend, didn't she?" Morton sneers. You fucking asshole.

"The only reason why Ana was taken is because she was attacked from behind and drugged, beaten black and blue while she was tied up—by _cowards_. The same type of cowards, in fact, that paid you two off to antagonize her when you should have been protecting her! How does it feel to sell your dignity and self-worth for a dollar? How did that money feel? How is it doing you now? I know it doesn't mean shit to you, Morton, but what about you, Carla?" I spit her name with utter disdain. "Either you are totally stupid or completely fucking clueless. Because of what you put her through, she now holds a CCW and owns three firearms—and I'm told she is very proficient with them. She trains with a 6th dan black belt in Krav Maga and in a _fair_ fight, she can subdue any one of these men standing here, including _you._ As a matter of fact, when they kidnapped her, she single-handedly took out a 6' 3" ex-bodyguard while a second man came up behind her and injected her with drugs to render her unconscious. So like I said, she can take care of herself!" By now, I have unknowingly moved Taylor out of the way and I am nose to nose with this spineless fucker. I take a step back and compose myself.

"You know, you really don't get it and I don't have time to explain it to you." I continue. "I will tell you this though. She doesn't want to see you. The last person that she didn't want to see is in jail now and his accomplice is dead. You should really _get it_ soon!" My security team and I continue to form an unmovable wall in front of Mini-Morton and—as Butterfly calls him—the Walking Distillery.

"I'm not going away, Grey. And I'm not afraid of you." She sneers. I just laugh and shake my head at her.

"I have to admire your gall." I say to her. I look over at Morton. "Considering the fact the alcoholism reduces the size of testicles," I turn back to Mini-Morton, "I now see why yours are so big." I turn my back on the Gruesome Twosome and give the final instruction to my security team to "Get them the hell out of here" before I enter the room with my Butterfly.

I enter to see Butterfly weeping in Ray's arms. I don't want to approach and disturb them, but Ray motions to me to come closer. I take a few steps closer to them as I see Ray whisper something in her ear. She nods and lies down on the bed, nearly burying her face in her pillow. He rises from the bed and joins me near the door.

"Hurt or angry?" I ask looking from Butterfly to Ray. He examines me for a moment.

"You _do_ know her." He says curtly. I nod. "A little bit of both. The revelation about the money has her torn. She knew that her mother was cold and heartless, but she didn't know that her mother was a cold and heartless bitch."

Huh?

That sentence made absolutely no sense, but I think I got the idea of what he was trying to say. I shook my head as if to free it from a stray thought.

"I was going to run her a bath. Maybe after a soak, she'll be more relaxed...a little more herself. I can do it later, though if you want to stay for a while..." I say.

"No, I think a bath is a good idea. She's had a rough morning and it's not even 10:00 yet." Ray states.

"Are you sure? I'm sure she'd like to have you stick around."

"Oh, I'll be back a little later. Where they kept her, you saw it...was it...sanitary?" He asked.

"Well..." I didn't quite know how to answer that question. "I mean, I wouldn't want to spend a night there but for a prison, it was okay for what it was I guess." Ray nods.

"She's got the smell of mildew in her hair. It needs to be washed. It's a constant reminder to her of where she's been. It may be subconscious to her...she probably doesn't even notice it. " Oh shit! How did _I _not notice this? I nod.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I should have paid closer attention." I apologize.

"Oh, you were paying _very_ close attention, Son. It just didn't matter." He says with a laugh, squeezing my shoulder. "Well, I'm going to go make sure that the hospital is rid of the Mortons...if your security hasn't already done it...then I'll make sure you're not disturbed so that you can take care of Annie." He gives my shoulder another squeeze and leaves the room.

Butterfly has fallen into a troubled sleep. Her swollen lips are formed into a frown and her pillow is wet from crying. It's strange how Mini-Morton claims to want to be in her daughter's life so much but never once voiced horror or even anger for what happened to her and the current state of her face. She's stutter-breathing in her sleep from crying and I don't want to wake her yet. I take her dress and underwear from the garment bag Taylor brought and hang them in the bathroom. Then I fill the bath with her lemongrass citrus bubble bath. I'm sure it will may her feel better. Hell, it's doing wonders for me.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

_My dreams are plagued with little women claiming to be my _mother_ and drunken stepfathers, crazy kidnappers, muddy wedding dresses and...helicopter rides and beautiful copper hair and strong arms and gray eyes and...soft lips brushing against mine. I want him to kiss me, but he won't. Please kiss me..._

"_Butterfly..." He whispers against my lips. Christian, oh please kiss me, Christian. _

"_Butterfly..." He continues to torture me...so close but he won't kiss me. _

"_Wake up, Butterfly..." He says softly. _

I open my eyes and this beautiful man is right in front of me, brushing my lips with his.

"Hello, Beautiful." He says as he closes his mouth and gives me the gentlest kiss on my swollen lips. My heart almost stops.

"I fell asleep." I say, softly. I'm so tired.

"Yes, you did. Ray left a little while ago. I told him that I would take care of you." I smile as much as my face will let me.

"I smell lemongrass." I say, recognizing my bubble bath.

"That you do. I ran a bath for you." He says, smiling back at me. We hear a gentle knock at the door and Christian has to go over and unlock it.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Dr Fischer says, coming into the room and picking up my chart.

"No, not yet. I was just about to put Ana in the bath." Christian says. Another nurse comes in behind Dr. Fischer. Nurse Christa must be gone for the night.

"Hello, I'm Nurse Debbie. And you are An..." and she got a glimpse of my man. Oh, God, here we go again, I think to myself. To my delight, she immediately snapped out of her stupor. "I'm sorry...Anastasia, right?" She turns to face me and smiles.

"Yes, I am." I respond.

"I'm going to remove your IV for you." She walks over to me and gently starts to remove the tape from my hand. "How are you feeling? Any discomfort? Headache? Pain anywhere? Sore Throat?"

"Just really ready to go home." I say, looking over at Christian. I didn't even notice her removing the IV.

"Well, we are working on that right now," Dr. Fischer says, still checking things off in my chart. Nurse Debbie put a cotton ball on my arm and covered it with a band-aid.

"You are all set. Is there anything I can do for you before I go? Anything you need?" She says sweetly. I take her arm and pull her closer to me.

"It's okay." I whisper. "I know. He's gorgeous, isn't he?" Debbie blushes a dark red and laughs nervously.

"Um, I'm going to go now." She squeaks like a little mouse. I chuckle a bit.

"Thank you, Debbie." I say to her.

"You're welcome, Ana." She says with a knowing smile before she scurries out of the room...without looking at Christian again.

"Well, I have a few more things to review and I can get you released." Dr. Fischer says. "You know the drill...rest, fluids, ice for the swelling an bruises, pain killers as needed, come back if you have any complications." He smiles at me and shakes Christian's hand before leaving. Christian locks the door behind him and comes back over to me in the bed.

"May I?" He says holding his arms out to me. I'm perfectly capable of walking, but I have a feeling that he needs to do this, so I nod. I put my arms around his neck as he lifts me effortlessly from the bed and carries me to the en suite.

"You're light, Butterfly. _Too_ light. I will feed you properly when we get home." Home. What a wonderful word...home. I nod without saying anything. He places me on my feet in the bathroom. After removing my robe, and that lovely hospital gown, he holds my hand while I step into the small bathtub. It's nothing like the tub at Escala, but I'm glad to be in it nonetheless—and with my own soap! I sink into the water and close my eyes, still a little tired from crying myself to sleep.

"Relax, Baby." His honey smooth voice says as he gently rubs my body with the same microfiber glove I had cleaned him with the week before. His hands feel heavenly as he caresses my skin with the towel and the bubbles. I really missed him when I was taken captive. I thought I would never see him again.

"Thinking of you is the only thing that kept me sane." I said softly. His hands stopped for a moment and I opened my eyes to see that he had removed his shirt and was only wearing his jeans.

"Really?" He said, awestruck.

"Really. I know for sure that I would have given up if I didn't have you to keep me company. So I mostly slept and thought of you." I could see him working hard to keep a hold on his feelings as he started cleaning me again.

"I think Allen and I have a new bond." He says. I knew that he was changing the subject to preserve his manhood. Part of me understood but another part of me wanted to tell him—wanted him to know that he saved me from the jaws of hell even though he wasn't there. I tried to hide my disappointment and went with option one.

"Oh?" I say, feigning interest. "How so?"

"Well, besides the fact that he told me I nearly screwed up the contingency plan, I asked him to come and work for me. I think he'll do it, too." He says. This man must have some of the finest, smartest lawyers in the country working for him! Now all of a sudden, he wants Al?

"Why did you do that?" I ask.

"Are you kidding? I'd be crazy _not _to. He's astute, brilliant, observant, discerning...I can_not_ take the chance of him _ever _sitting across from me in litigation. So he has to be next to me...those were my words to him. I'm just waiting for him to name his terms." He says. I can't argue with him. Allen is all of those things...that's why he's _my _attorney.

"Does it look like he'll take you up on your offer?" I ask closing my eyes again and trying to relax in the moment.

"I hope so...what's wrong, Butterfly?" I raise my head and look at him.

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"Your breathing is a little labored and even though it's still a little scratchy, your voice has that tone to it like there's something that you're not telling me." He says. I drop my head.

"I just want to forget this happened. I want to get out of here and I want to forget this happened. I have these horrible bruises on my face that make me look like..." Before I could get any more words out, I'm weeping into my hands. Christian didn't try to stop me. He just continued to gently wash my body. As I continued to sob, he delicately washed my hair...twice...and massaged conditioner into it. My weeping started to wain as his fingers worked my scalp tenderly and deliciously. It was like he was massaging all of my worries away. By the time he was rinsing my hair again, I was all cried out and exhausted. I pretty much let him do what he needed to do to me as my brain just didn't want to think anymore. He gently squeezed the excess water from my hair before helping me from the tub. My head is still down when he wraps my hair in the towel to soak up the excess water as he gently towel dries my body from head to toe. He doesn't miss an inch of me as he makes sure the water is all gone from my skin, and I am so lost in my own self-pity that I don't realize that in the process he had backed me up against the bathroom door...that is, until he drops to his knees and throws one of my legs over his shoulder.

"Whoa! Christian..." Before I have a chance to protest, he has separated my folds and his mouth devours my core, his tongue varying between slipping in and out of my center and deliciously tormenting my clitoris. Good God! It's been too long. I throw my head back and gasp loudly and he persists in his masterful ministrations, his large hands holding my hips in place.

"Aaaaahhaaa!" I whimper loudly and he rewards me with a deep, gutteral groan as he inserts his long, graceful fingers into my pussy and massages my sweet spot. Oh God...my head is going to pop off. "Ah! Christian! Oh God!" It certainly won't be long now.

"Give it to me, Baby." He says against my clitoris. "We both need this." With that, he stroked that special spot a little deeper and suckled unforgiving on my clitoris until I released a cry that I am sure they heard at the nurse's station down the hall. The one leg that was holding me up went out from under me and Christian quickly threw it over his other shoulder as he was holding me against the door by my ass. "Oh Gooood, Baby!" I cried as waves of pleasure crashed through me causing near-violent tremors in my body. When the tremors finally began to cease, Christian relented his vaginal massage and put my feet back on the floor, holding me close to him while I regain my bearings.

"I have missed you so much." He says, pressing me against him and gently kissing my neck. "But I am going to wait until you're a little better before I bury myself in you...as much as I want to." He breathes.

"Why not now?" I say, a little disappointed.

"Not here," he says. "I don't want to rush...but we'll see how you're feeling later. Deal?" He says, looking lovingly into my eyes. I smile.

"Deal." I respond and he returns my smile as he rubs his nose against mine.

"Good. Now let's get you dressed, Beautiful Girl." He says. He so makes me feel like a princess. He slips me into a matching nude lace bra and panty set, taking careful pains not to destroy the delicate lace as he adjusts it on my body. My hair is still slightly damp as he removes the towel and helps me into my blue blouse tunic long-sleeve mini dress—something comfy and cozy to leave the hospital. He puts his shirt back on and takes my hand, leading me from the bathroom.

Thank God the room is still empty-but of course it would be since he locked the door. I did _not_ want to have to explain the cries from the bathroom to _anyone..._not that they couldn't look at my bruised, glowing face and tell immediately. He unlocks the door as I sit on my bed. He moves in behind me and begins to brush my hair to dry it. I hold my head back to give him a better angle. It feels marvelous. I sit there and relax into it, relishing in the glorious massage of my scalp.

* * *

I wake cuddled in Christian's lap, my feet dangling carelessly off the bed. He is on his blackberry and I can hear other people in the room. When did I fall asleep? I don't even remember closing my eyes.

"We have movement!" I hear Phil's voice as I wiggle my toes and begin to wake up. In moments, the bed is surrounded by Phil, Maxie, Gary, Val, Al, James, Elliot, Mia, Ray, Grace and Carrick...my _real _family. The only people missing are Jason and Chuck—who are no doubt outside—and Gail and Marilyn...and Mandy, I guess. My heart is happy now.

"How did they let all of these people in here?" I croak. My throat has gone dry and I motion for some water.

"Because you're technically discharged, but we have to get you past the Papz." I frown at Val's statement. Papz...ew! That sounds like an uncomfortable vaginal exam!

"What the hell is a Papz?" I ask, my voice clearer after swallowing some ice water.

"Paparazzi, Baby! You're famous now!" Al chimes in. I will have to ask Christian about this. In the meantime...

"Okay, so what's the plan because I _so _want to get the hell out of here...no offense, Grace." I apologize.

"None taken, Dear." She responds.

"So, while you were napping, we were able to formulate a plan." Christian began, sitting up a little with me on his lap. "Lawrence and Williams are bringing the SUVs around. I'm going to carry you out with a jacket wrapped around your head. Lawrence, Williams, Davenport and Taylor will lead the way to the SUVs and handle any overzealous paparazzi with while Allen, James, Garrett, Phil, Ray, Elliot and my father," he's pointing to everyone to make sure that he doesn't leave anyone out, "all shield us from the sides and behind. Gerald and some black and whites have agree to help us too. Once you and I and Allen are safely in the SUV, Garrett, James, and Elliot will ride in the second SUV in case, for any reason, we need help along the way. Allen will ride with us."

"Okay, starting from the top." I have so many questions. "Why do I have a jacket wrapped around my head?"

"Because even though I think you're beautiful, you are having a very hard time with your bruising. I'm certain you don't want that immortalized on the face of some sleazy gossip rag." Christian responds.

"This is true. Good point. Second—why are you carrying me?" I continue.

"Because someone has brought you a delicious pair of Michael Cors nude platform sandals to go with this dress," he shoots a look at Taylor who looks anywhere else but back at Christian, "and the only thing more newsworthy than billionaire CEO Christian Grey's girlfriend released from the hospital with bruising is if she takes a face plant." I involuntarily giggle, knowing that if it were anyone else but me that I would be laughing. "And there's that sound," he says smiling lovingly at me. I smile back, momentarily losing my train of thought.

"Okay, okay, back on track," I shake my head to regain myself. "How are all of these people in the SUVs going to get back to their cars?"

"Their cars are at Escala, except for Phil and Maxine is driving that one." He answered. Damn, how long was I asleep?

"Last but not least—who the hell is Gerald and what are black and whites?"

"Gerald is Detective Crab. He's the lead detective on your case. Black and whites are uniformed cops in police cars. We're not getting an escort or anything. They are just making sure that we get off the premises as safely as possible." Wow, he has covered everything.

"You are highly efficient—you and the crew, that is." I laugh and they all laugh with me.

"So, since my Butterfly here has slept through lunch, Gail has prepared us a delicious early dinner and I don't want to keep you kiddies out too late since it is a school night." School night. Shit! My patients!

"I need to talk to Marilyn." I say, looking for my iPhone.

"Who's Marilyn?" Maxie asks.

"My assistant." I reply. "Where's my phone?"

"Butterfly...no work!" Christian says, sternly. What the...?  
_Settle down, Killer, he's only looking out for you.  
_I hate to say that I've kind of missed her since the last time we talked...I take a deep breath to compose myself.

"Christian, I know that I need to rest. If you want me to do that effectively, I have to square some things away with Marilyn." He eyes me speculatively for a moment, then reaches into his jeans pocket and hands me my phone.

"You bastard." I say softly.

"What? I wanted to make sure we didn't leave it behind!" He says, badly feigning innocence.

"Sure you did."

Once I arranged for Marilyn to meet me at Escala, Christian slides those lovely nude slingback sandals on my feet—where did these come from anyway? Well, I'm wearing them today, and they are beautiful.

"Whenever you're ready, Baby." He says, gently stroking my bruised cheek and looking lovingly into my eyes. I sigh and draw a little strength from him.

"I'm ready."

Everything goes off exactly as Christian said it would. I would have loved to see the Wall of Man walking Christian to the SUV as he effortlessly carried me out of the hospital. He handed me off to Al inside the Audi who instructed me not to remove the jacket while he strapped me in. Once we were all inside and the Audis were on their way, I uncovered my head and took a deep breath, while Christian smoothed my hair down.

"Sir, I've checked with Marc and there are more reporters waiting at Escala." Taylor informs us.

"Shit!" Christian hisses. "Maybe we should just go to the Fairmont for a few days..." He says.

"Noooo!" I nearly wail, getting the attention of every man in the vehicle. "Please, no hotel. Just take me home." Taylor looks at Christian who looks back at him then at me. After a moment, I realize that home could very well mean my condo. I lean on Christian's chest and say, "Take me back to Escala...please." I hear him sigh heavily and feel his body jerk. I know he has nodded at Taylor and we are on our way back to Escala.

"Where's my car?" I ask.

"It's at the police station. You can pick it up anytime you like." Christian responds.

"And my guns?"

"They are there, too. You can have them when you show them your driver's license and your CCW." he says.

"They _issue_ the CCW, they know I'm licensed." I protest. Christian shrugs.

"You still have to show it." Taylor says from the front seat. "They want to make sure that you have it _on you_ when they release the firearms." Oh, okay. That makes sense.

It's a damn circus when we get back to Escala. I don't know if it was this bad at the hospital, but there are a horde of paparazi here. They can't block the gates, but their flashes are relentless. Even with my head and face covered, I can see the lights. We stop for a moment and I feel Allen leap from the SUV. A few moments later, Christian is guiding me into the elevator. He instructs me to keep my face covered until we get to the penthouse—just in case. Once we clear the doors of the penthouse and I am standing in the great room, I drop the jacket and take in my surroundings.

Gail comes dashing from the kitchen on our arrival but stops short a few feet in front of me. Her horror is written all over her face. That's it. I am not leaving this apartment. She stretched out her arms and I just walked into them, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. I am _so_ tired of crying. I'm home now, away from the psycho ex-boyfriend and the asshole who likes to brutalize restrained women. I'm going to relax and enjoy the freedom.

"I have a secret tea recipe that you you're going to put in your pillow at night. Make sure you lie on it while you're sleeping and it'll clear up that bruising twice as fast." She says sweetly. I nod quickly without making eye contact. She gives me a squeeze and passes me off to Christian who is standing behind me. He lifts me effortlessly and sits me in the breakfast bar so that I am nearly face-to-face with him and takes my face in his hands.

"I know that you are not going to believe me when I tell you that you are still beautiful, especially when people cringe when they see the bruising. But I can tell you that those of us who love you don't care about it—that we are just happy to have you home. I can tell you that the swelling will go down, and that the bruising will go away...and that no matter how grotesque you seem to think you look, I am aching to kiss you."

Isn't he perfect?

I throw my arms around him and pull him close to me. He embraces me tightly, burying his face in my hair. "Oh, Ana. I love you." He says, his voice muffled in my neck.

"I love you, too, Christian." I say, my eye still closed and holding him close to me.

* * *

**GREY**

I don't know what to do to convince Butterfly that she is still as beautiful as the day that I met her, and that I'm not just saying that. I know the bruising is very bad but for some reason, I don't see it. I just see Butterfly. This is probably a good thing, because if I paid any attention to the bruising, I'd go down to the morgue, open a drawer and beat Harris' dead body! Alas, I can't kill him twice, so I'll have to just take what comfort I can out of the fact that the fucker is already dead.

My impromptu breakfast bar cuddle session is interrupted by the first wave of guests that rode with us in the SUVs.

"Are you okay?" I ask, looking in her face. She nods, tears threatening her eyes but refusing to fall. "Good. Now let's greet our guests." I take her down from the breakfast bar and we go into my huge great room and sit on the couch. As Butterfly makes herself comfortable, her iPhone rings.

"Hello...oh hey...all of the spaces on the far wall next to the elevator are Christian's, just pick one...Okay, I'll send Al down for you." She ends the call.

"Marilyn?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'll take her to the library and get things squared away. I won't be long." She stands up and goes over to the breakfast bar talking briefly with Gail.

"How do you think she's doing?" Garrett asks once she leaves.

"Honestly, I don't know." I admit. "She taking the bruising on her face pretty badly. Her spirit is of course a little broken. I would expect that. She goes in and out of being herself. I think she'll be much better once the swelling goes down...oh, shit! I'll be right back!" I jump up and head for the door.

"Christian, where are you going?" Ana says before I make it out.

"I think I left my blackberry in the car." I lie. Please don't ring. Please don't ring.

"Do you want me to go look for it, Sir?" Taylor asks.

"Yes, please. Come here." And I leave without any more explanation. Taylor follows me out the door and I give him my blackberry. "When Marilyn gets up here, please tell her _not _to react to Ana's bruising. Every time someone sees her for the first time, they grimace and it's starting to get to her. I don't care what you have to tell her, but prepare her for Ana's bruises. Okay?" I instruct Taylor.

"You got it, Boss." Taylor nods.

"Good man." I say, patting him on the arm before I go back into the penthouse. Ana turns around with two of her delicious cranberry spritzers in her hand. "Mmmm, is one of those for me?" I tease.

"No," she scolds. "It's for Marilyn. I thought you were her." I put my hands on her hips.

"Not too much work, Baby. Promise?" I cautions.

"I promise. I'm only going to give her some instructions." She says. I nod and kiss her nose.

"I love you, Butterfly." I say softly.

"I know, Christian." She says with a huge crooked smile and I give her the gentle peck I have adopted for until the swelling in her lips goes down.

"I can't wait until I can kiss you again." I put my forehead on hers.

"Me, too." She responds and we just stand there in silence for a moment.

"All right, all right. Break it up. You have company." Maxine says walking into the great room. When did they get here? Marilyn comes in with the group and now the moment of truth. She marches over to Butterfly and looks at her from head to toe and back to head again.

"So who do we need to fuck up, 'cause you know I will get my people." She says to Butterfly who bursts out laughing. Thank God for that!

"Don't worry, Girl. They are thoroughly fucked." Butterfly responds. Looking at the rolling bag behind Marilyn, she asks, "What did you do, bring the whole damn office?" She adds.

"I didn't know what you needed besides the files for your appointments." Marilyn shrugged.

"These are _all _appointments for the next two weeks?" Butterfly asked her.

"Yep." Marilyn answered her and Butterfly shook her head.

"No can do. Unless people have been living under a rock, most of the country knows what happened to me. Well, my office is on the second floor so..." _Her _office. I love the sound of that.

"Here, let me help you with that..." I didn't get the words out of my mouth good when Garrett leaps over me like Spiderman and retrieves the bag from Marilyn.

"I'll take that for you." He says to Marilyn. She does a double take at Garrett then seems to remember that other people are in the room.

"Um...yes...thank you." She stutters, watching Garrett as he effortlessly takes the bag up to Butterfly's office.

"Oh my God, who is that?" Marilyn says a little dreamily.

"That's my friend, Garrett. Well talk upstairs." She says, handing Marilyn on of those spritzers and throwing a look at me before she ascends the stairs to her office. I shake my head and go back to the great room. What, does she have googly juice in her veins? First, Elliot and Valerie—who are trying to play it cool but clearly can't keep their hands off each other—and now Marilyn and Garrett. God, Marilyn will be such a welcome change from that nightmare, Bethany!

"Where's your mind, Chris?" Allen asks as I sit down. I run my hand through my hair.

"I'm really worried about her. I hope this bruising goes down really quickly because it's all that she sees. I keep trying to tell her that her friends and family love her and that we don't care about the bruises, but she can't hear me. And it doesn't help that every time someone sees them for the first time, they jump or they grimace..." I can hear the defeat in my own voice. "I love her so much, Allen. I just don't know what to do to help her." I rest my elbows on my knees and fold my hands together.

"You're doing it now." James interjected. "You're by her side, showing her love, affection, and attention. She can't see it right now but when the bruising is gone and she can see her face again, she's going to remember how you treated her."

I sigh heavily. "I hope you're right. There's nothing in this world that I wouldn't do to make her happy. And that asshole David better be glad that he's in police custody, because if he weren't, I swear I'd kill him."

"Hey, you can't say that in front of me! I'm technically an officer of the court!" Allen jests.

"Yeah, but you work for me, so it's privileged information." I protest.

"I don't work for you _yet_, Mr. Grey. I haven't made my decision." He says shaking a finger at me.

"Just a formality." I wave my hand in the air. "You'll love working for me."

"I don't know, I've seen your temper." He scolds.

"Oh, please. You're the only other person in my _life_ beside my mother and my woman who has been able to check me on anything." James looks at me quizzically. "This man heard a silence—a _silence—_over the phone and chewed me out because of the pause." Realization came to James' face.

"Ooooh, he caught you on the infamous pregnant pause." James said. I nodded.

"Oh that's not all. When we discovered that something wasn't right with Butterfly, I was about to put plans into action to find her. I told him that I would call him back. I think his exact words were 'The fuck you will.' He subsequently came to _my_ home, read me like a book, told me that I was fucking up the contingency and that I had to fall in line." James laughed.

"Yes, I've learned a long time ago that nothing will ever come between Al and his Jewel." James said. Some unpleasant thought flashed through Allen and he dropped his head and cleared his throat. James quickly tangled his fingers into Allen's and flashed him a full-on perfect smile. Allen returned a strained smile as he visibly squeezed James' hand. I know how you feel, Al.

"You okay?" I asked. Allen nodded that same nod Butterfly did on the breakfast bar. "Can I get you gentlemen something to drink? Wine? Beer?"

"Beer is fine for me." James says and Allen agrees. I go into the kitchen where I am greeted by a feisty—for lack of a better word—Gail Jones.

"Um, what are you doing in my kitchen?" She says, scolding with a hint of mirth. Geez, Butterfly has made everybody just relax like hell lately. What the fuck?

"Excuse me?" I say to her. Technically, this is my kitchen...you just _work_ here.

"Forgive me. What are you doing in my kitchen, _Sir?" _She corrects herself if you want to call it that.

"I thought this was _my_ kitchen." I say.

"Just a formality." She says, throwing my words back at me before tossing a dishtowel onto the counter. "Mr. Grey, when is the last time you've been in this kitchen?" She says seriously. I know I have been, I just can't think of it right now. I guess I was right. Butterfly has made _everyone_ relax, including me. Before now, I wouldn't have even made my _way_ to the kitchen. I would have simply called Gail to serve drinks. Now I find myself comfortably and _unknowingly_ wandering in here to do things and get things even though I can't even fry a damn egg! Not only that, I have taken to calling her _Gail_ instead of Mrs. Jones—one of the rules I try _very hard_ not to break with staff. It's just that...

Spit it out, Grey.

Gail and Taylor don't feel so much like staff these days. They feel more like friends. There, I said it...happy now?

It's the Butterfly Effect.

"Well, _Mrs. Jones_," I say with mirth, "I am going to uncork a red and a white. Would you please bring them into the great room with some glasses and a few bottles of beer...and I will get out of _your_ kitchen." She smiles at me as I remove a Cabernet and a Chardonnay from the wine cooler. I put the wines on the breakfast bar and I catch a glimpse of James and Allen. I've never known or watched a gay couple in any kind of intimate exchange. I have seen Ros and her wife hug one another, and I have seen same-sex D/s interactions, but nothing more than that...nothing really intimate like this. Watching these two is very revealing in terms of their dynamic. Allen is clearly the caregiver. He's the more emotional of the two, while James is the protector. I can clearly see the way that he holds and gently kisses Allen's hand and rubs his back that he would be the one to pull out his Man of Steel cape if danger came to them.

He would be _me_.

I catch myself and stop staring before anyone sees me and proceeds to uncork the bottles. "I can take some of these things for you..."

"I have the portable bar, I can take care of it. Now go on and let me do what you pay me for," she says, shooing me out of the kitchen...which I thought was kind of cute. She reminded me of Grace for a moment, even though she is much younger. I come back to the great room.

"Did you forget the beer?" Allen says.

"No, I was shooed out of my own kitchen." I scratch my head. "There was a time when she would never have done that to me."

"Done what?" James asked.

"Made me leave my kitchen. I swear Butterfly had changed the whole dynamic of this place." I answer.

"She never did tell me why you call her Butterfly." Allen asks, expectant. I explain the story behind the nickname and he immediately exclaims, "That's it, James, I want a nickname."

James smiles and says, "I'll think of something."

Just as Gail is rolling the serving cart out, Butterfly and Marilyn appear at the top of the stairs. Before I have a chance to turn my head, Garrett has dashed from his seat and up the stairs to collect her roller bag.

"It's getting a little late, Marilyn, would you please stay for dinner?" Butterfly asks.

"I would love that...if I'm not intruding." Marilyn says graciously.

"Absolutely not! You're my right arm! _Please_ stay." Butterfly implores her. I can see Marilyn getting a little misty in the eyes when she relents.

"Thank you, Ana. It would be my pleasure." Garrett's face lights up like the first day of new snow.

"Gail, would you mind setting one more place, please?" I say discreetly.

"No problem, Mr. Grey." She smiles.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I am standing at the vanity in the bathroom, brushing my hair and daydreaming about the dinner that I just had with my family and friends. Ray seemed to get on well with everyone even though he was to oldest in the group as Carrick and Grace didn't join us this evening. That may have something to do with Mandy being here, I admit. He and Christian snuck away a few times, which made me a little nervous, but it all seemed to work out by the end of the night. Dad was headed back to Montesano now that he knew I was safe and sound. Mandy looked a little melancholy at the thought. Val and Elliot are off and running. I'm still concerned about the "reboundness" of the whole situation, but they are both adults and I won't beat a dead horse. Maxine and Phil officially announced their engagement to everyone. I guess nobody got together this weekend waiting for me which is probably what prompted Al to call Christian in the first place. Marilyn and Gary...now _that_ was a pleasant surprise. Marilyn's a little more outgoing than Gary, but I really think that she might be good for him. Whoda thunk it?

I raise my eyes to the mirror to see the awfully bruised woman that looks back at me.

_We made it. We didn't die. We're not chained to some stove somewhere like you thought we would be. We made it out._  
I know. I can't help it. I don't know why I keep crying. I really want to stop. I don't like it.  
_Yeah, I don't either, but I'll let it slide for right now. Have at it, Kid.  
_Don't call me "kid."

The dam bursts and I just weep. I don't know why—the scars, the experience of the last few days, crazy ass Edward...I don't know. I didn't know that he was there until he put his arms around my waist and lifted me off the floor, holding me close to him as I cried.

"I want...to stop...crying." I say, trying to catch my breath.

"I know." He said, holding me firmly against him. "You've been through a traumatic experience. It's okay to cry, as long as you don't cry forever." He kisses my hair, then puts me back on the floor. He takes a cool wet washcloth and gently wipes my eyes and my face.

"Close your eyes." I close my eyes and he gently blows the skin around my eyes several times. When he's satisfied, he takes my hand and leads me out of the bathroom.

"Why did you do that?" I ask softly.

"To dry the skin around your eye. Gail made a modified eye mask for you to sleep in. It has her secret tea inside of it that's supposed to be a miracle with bruising and swelling. Mom says that she'll come over tomorrow and change the bandages on your...wrists because..." He clears his throat and I can see it's hard for him to talk about as well.

"They were raw under the wristbands." I say. He nods.

"I thought the wristbands were there to _prevent_ that. It turns out that they were there to cover it up...how did it get so bad in such a short period of time?" He asks in disbelief.

"I panicked when I regained consciousness," I say. "He was trying to..." I swallowed hard. He led me to the bed and we sat down. "He was trying to have sex with me...while I was handcuffed to the bed and barely conscious. I woke up and he..." I won't cry again...I won't! "I freaked out...kicking and screaming and pulling at the cuffs until, well..." I hold my wrists up as demonstration. "So I guess it was supposed to be an act of kindness on his part. 'Here, let me protect your wrists while I restrain you and hold you prisoner.'" I laughed nervously.

"I'll never use cuffs on you," he says, his head down. I hadn't even thought about how this would affect our kinky playtime. I would never equate what Christian and I do to what Edward did to me.

"Let's talk about it later, please? I want to sleep in the bed I've been dreaming about for the last four nights." He smiled at me and reached for a bag on the nightstand.

"No more crying now, or this is going to seep into your eyes and we don't want that." He says, removing the mask from the bag.

"Okay." I say as he gently put the mask on my eyes. I smell a mixture of things wafting from the mask...cloves or allspice, I think...ginger for sure...is that basil?

"This is making me hungry." I joke. Christian laughs nervously and lays me down on the bed. After a few moments while are both lying down and he is spooning me...in _our_ bed. I have dreamed of being here and didn't know if it would happen again. I sink into his chest and he kisses my neck. A jolt shoots right from that spot to my groin. Shit! Maybe he missed it.

Nope, he didn't.

His penis jumps to life immediately and pokes me in the back. Oh, boy! He plants open mouthed kisses in the same spot and rubs my stomach where his hand holds me to him.

Breathe, Ana...damn, he feels good against me.

I don't know what to do. The minute he rolls me over and sees the bruising...is the light out?

His hand moves up to my breast and pinches it hard.

"Uh!" I whimper as shivers go through me and my nipple hardens immediately. He turns me on my back...showtime...and licks, teases and bites my nipples through the satin. "Ah!" I moan as pleasure jolts through me right to my core. His fingers dig into my hips as he teases my nipples mercilessly until I squirm. "Ah!" He reaches down and pulls my satin nightgown up to my breast. He kisses my stomach and my navel, and then sticks his nose right at my center and sniffs hard through my panties. "Aaaah! Christian!" I exclaim as I tangle my hands in his hair.

"Oh, Ana. You smell divine." He says, pressing his nose against me and inhaling my scent once more. He decides to tease me by licking his tongue against the crotch of my panties.

"Oh! Oh God." My breath is coming in short.

"Oh, Baby. I need to make love to you...please." He beseeches me. The bruises!

"Christian, I..." He reacts immediately.

"What's wrong, Baby?" He says.

"I'm...I'm afraid..." I admit, just above a whisper.

"Of what?" He asked softly.

"Of...of..." As if he knew, he covered me with his body.

"Don't be scared, Baby. I got you." He whispered. He raised the gown the rest of the way until I had to sit up for him to pull it over my head. With my sleep mask still in place, he shuffles on the bed a bit then removes my panties. When he removes my mask, he is gloriously naked above me...and the bed lamp is on!

"Christian..." I protest, my hands moving to cover my face. He gently grabs my hands before they get to my face.

"No..." he whispers. "I want to look at you." I look up at him and his eyes are full of desire and lust. "Are you ready?" He asks.

"Yes." I say in the same whisper.

"You have to keep your hands on me," he instructs as he parts my legs and puts my hands on his shoulders. "You can touch me anywhere you want, but they have to stay on me, okay?"

"Okay," I say breathily as he positions himself at my opening.

"Here we go, Baby." And he slowly starts to push himself inside me. I gasp as he begins to fill me...a push then a wiggle, then he pulls himself out again and repeats the motion...filling me a little each time until he is filling me completely. Once he has worked his way all the way to the hilt, he pulls out and slides in again slowly, releasing a strained breath as he does. Oh...it feels phenomenal.

"Oh, Christian," I mewl as I tangle my fingers in his hair and throw my head back.

"Oh, God, you are so beautiful," he breathes as he hooks his hands underneath my arms and around my shoulders, pulling my body closer to his. He kisses my neck and then down my jawline, all the time moving and grinding slowly and deliciously in and out, in and out... I feel him stiffen and start to tremble, his breath in short gasps. I know he is fighting his orgasm.

"You can come, Baby." I say, knowing why he is holding out.

"No...not yet." He says, breathing roughly. "We've waited too long for this. I want to savor it. I want you to feel me..." He says as he thrusts gently into me again. And feel him, I do!

"Ah! Oh, yes!" I gasp as he starts his slow rhythm again. I can feel my quiver begin. "Ah! Baby!" I squeak.

"Look at me, Beautiful." He says and I open my eyes and gaze into his, dilated fully and almost black, his copper curls shaking with his trembles as he tries to reign in his desires and fend off his impending orgasm. My body calls to his, to his desires and I nearly screech as the burning in my hips and pelvis close in on my center and his intense, deep slow thrusts. My arms wraps around his neck as I pull him close to me and ride the waves of this immense orgasm, his member throbbing and pulsating inside me and causing my body to jerk even more.

"My God, Christian!" I wail as the aftershocks rip through me...like I haven't been touched in _weeks_. He is breathing heavily, his face buried in my neck. Did he come? He answered my question by starting the movement again in his hips, planting open mouthed kisses along my collarbone, loving me so deeply, so completely.

"Oh, Christian, what are you doing to me?" I whisper as I feel the desire and passion building in me again.

"I'm loving you, Baby." He whispered, his breath strained. "Oh, God, you feel so good." He leans down and takes a nipple in his mouth, sucking it just hard enough to cause that spark. I wrap my legs around him. "Oh, God, Ana!" He growls, and I swear he was going to lose the fight right there, but he stops his stroke...still feasting on my breast and throbbing inside of me. Oh good Lord, this is fantastic! Moments later he starts his stroke again. Talk about orgasm denial...he's denying _himself_! He's giving me the most exquisite sensations—intense stroking which can only lead to intense release, and he's denying _himself_. His hand releases my shoulder and comes around to the lonely nipple, showing it tantalizing attention...and the fire starts to burn again.

"Aaaaah! Christian! God!" I moan.

"Ummm-hmmm. Are you coming again, Beautiful? Come on...give it to me, Baby." And I cry out again...this one more intense than the last. I felt it in my toes this time.

"Christian...please...I can't..." I fall limp in his arms.

"Yes, you can." He coaches. "I was going for four, but I know that you can give me just one more." I'm exhausted...so spent and so drained. I don't know where he thinks I'm going to find this third orgasm...

But no one says _no_ to Christian Grey.

He has found his sexual resistance and his second wind and he is stroking with purpose...still slow, still smooth, still delicious—but deep—deep and grinding into my pelvis with each movement,

"Ah, Christian, please..." I beg as I feel myself building again.

"You can do it, Baby. You are so hot, so hot for me. I feel it on your skin. And you smell so good..." he says as he quickly shifts us so that he is on his knees and I am sitting on him. His hands as splayed across my back as he holds me tight against him, rocking his hips deeply into me. Oh. My. Hell!

"Haah! Oh Ana!" He growls. "You are so wet, Baby. So sexy...'' he says as he presses his head against my chest and plunges slowly into me again. Oh sweet Jesus.

"Oh God, Chris...tian," I protest, running out of breath and strength.

"Give me one more, Baby. You can do it." He says, his voice honey smooth as he runs the nails of one of his hands down my back.

"Fuck!" I yelp as the sensation travels down my spine and straight to my center. He's never done that before...and _I like it!_

"Look at me." He commands and I look him in the eyes. "Open you mouth." Huh? Swollen lips here! I open my mouth slightly. "Wider." He commands as he thrusts into me again.

"Aaahaaa!" My mouth flies open and he gently sticks his tongue inside...massaging mine without aggravating my lips. I lick his with mine and oh my God. This is the hottest thing in the world! Our mouths are open and we are sensuously licking and massaging each others' tongue and breathing each others' breath. It is highly erotic and intensely passionate and intimate. We do not close our eyes while we do this. We gaze at one another while our bodies move as one. And the tremors are starting again. I whimper as I lose the strength in my legs.

"Mmmm, yes," he says, gently licking my swollen lips. Oh God, what the hell? I don't know where I find the strength, but I begin to slowly match his strokes. He brings his hand up and down hard—slapping my ass and clutching my ass cheek as I stroke. I yelp and dig my nails into his arms. I remember the scratches on his thigh and try not to repeat the whole "battle scars" thing. I'm bruised enough for both of us right now, but holy cow, Batman—he is loving every bruise, every single inch of me. My breath is coming in very heavy as it feels like his dick is expanding in me and I ride him even harder. That hand comes down on my ass again and I know I'm close.

"Christian!" I yelp, as I continue to match his slow stroke.

"Yes, Baby, that's it. That's it. Ssssss, ooo, I like that." He hisses in my ear. "I'm close, Baby. I'm really close. Come on, Baby..." he says as he grabs my ass with his left hand and with his right...

SMACK!

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Ooooohhh fuuuuuucccckk!" I splutter as the third and final orgasm rips through me mercilessly. With him thrusting into me so deep, I feel this one in my stomach and my thighs and I forgot about his poor arms. I am holding on for dear life as I am wailing with pleasure, tearless cries and whimpers springing from my lips. And finally, he releases—hard, hot, and long!

"Uuuuuuuuughh! Uuugh! Uugh! Ugh! Ugh!" He grunts loudly and deep from his stomach. "Oh, fuck, Baby! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He cries as he thrusts into me—short, hard strokes that eek out every bit of his juice. He is breathing very hard now. "Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod." He repeats between breaths as I feel him still thrusting small thrusts and throbbing inside me, causing me to shiver on top of him. "Fuck, Ana, fuck!" He exclaimed at my slight movement. "Please, oh God, please keep still." He begs as he again holds me tightly to him.

"Okay," I whisper, still fighting for my own breath. "But I can't be held responsible for tremors." I squeak in one breath.

"Okay. Okay." He says, still throbbing, but not as much. We sit there for a few more minutes, catching our breath and trying to get our nether regions to relax. He finally lifts me off of him and we both wince a little. He lays me back on the bed and lays in my chest for a moment.

"You are incredible." He whispers to me.

"You are remarkable." I whisper back. He leans up and gives me our special "swollen lip" peck and then replaces my mask. He positions me just so on the pillow and I am assuming that Gail's tea remedy is somewhere inside the pillowcase. He scoots against me in the bed.

"Naked spooning?" I ask.

"Oh, yes please." He says as he cuddles in behind me and kisses that same spot that started all of this.

"Goodnight, my beautiful Butterfly."

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Check out the pictures on pinterest at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**You can also see who I envision as MY characters in PAGING DR. STEELE (not FSOG-PAGING DR STEELE) on pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-characters/ Please please read the descriptions. I have made some people taller, shorter, older, younger, and brought back the dead. So don't think of the previous roles you have seen the actors playing. Think of the picture you are looking at and how I have described them. **_

_**We're winding down!**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!**_  
_**Lynn x**_


	46. Chapter 46: True Love and First Blood

_**If I didn't say thank you before, I want to thank all of the people who sent me PM's asking if I was okay when I didn't post on Saturday because Fanfiction was down. It's good to know that you guys understand that I would never purposely let you down and I do appreciate that. Thank you again.**_

_**FYI—**_**IF**_**I take off any time between Book 1 and Book 2, it will only be a couple of weeks...**_**IF**_**I do, and I will let you guys know when the time comes. There is a LOT more to tell in the story that is Ana and Christian... :-)**_

_**I realized from some of my reviews that I mentioned that Ana changes her birth control every few years but I don't know if I mentioned the type of birth control that she was on. I had been planning the kidnapping since Chapter One and in the first version that I wrote, Edward **_**did**_** rape her and beat her. But I couldn't bring myself to put Ana through the rape again. I think I changed the story about five chapters before I posted Green Valley. Nonetheless, for inquiring minds, Ana is on an IUD. I wanted to make SURE that she has no unplanned pregnancies before her relationship with Christian is solidified.**_

_**I must say that I do appreciate my readers who, when Fanfiction starts acting stupid, can't log in but will review as a guest and tell me who they are. Thank you, guys.**_

_**To Dot—I have truly been trying to figure out what the Mortons could be charged with too...besides excessive asshole-ism. I do have an idea of what they could be charged with, but there are so many other things that have to fall into place for them to be charged with this particular thing that if I can't get these other things to fall into place realistically, they won't be charged. Also, Ana has completely lost faith in restraining orders. Bear in mind that if she **_**ever**_** gets another restraining order against anyone (and she most likely will in the future), it will only be so that she can have permission to shoot them...seriously.**_

_****__**To Leah—I am so jealous of your "Roman Holiday" and you have hit the nail with the primary theme of Book 2—stay tuned!**_

_**To Tempress - Yeah, Ana really let that egg-donor have it, didn't she? As far as the money is concerned, they received the $750,000 back when Ana was 15. Morton told her he only got $500,000 (that's what she meant when she said, "You told me it was five!"). I have changed that so that it's more clear. I can see how that would be confusing. The second $5000 came from Christian at Dylan's. He didn't tell Carla about **_**that**_** money at all.**_

_**To Beth, Carol, Chocolate, Greentree16, Jn, Laney, Michelle B (we feel pretty much the same about Kate; and Carla-five cans short of a six pack—that's a lot of damn cans, lol), Review Ninja, Sonnie, Teresaromance, Toefrumpy (spinoffs...hmmmm), and to all of my other guests that left reviews, thank you for your very valuable input.**_

_**Nope, I don't own the characters. Yep, I abuse them badly for my own entertainment. Moving on...**_

_Chapter 46 - True Love and First Blood_

_**GREY**_

For the first time in a week, I wake up with the sun shining in my face in my wonderful bed at Escala, with my Butterfly wrapped in my arms. I rub my eyes and look at her. Even with her lying on her side as still as a statue and the sleep mask over her eyes, I know she's not asleep. Her breathing is giving her away.

"How long have you been awake?" I ask her.

"How did you know?" She asks.

"I know you. I know your body." I reply.

"Hmm. I don't know, but not long. I wanted to stay under the tea for as long as possible."

"Baby, you can stay 'under the tea' for as long as you want..."

"Oh, no I can't!" She interrupts me. "I've been lying in _some_ bed for five days. It's a wonder that I don't have bed sores!"

"Oh, okay, well..." I pull her close to me. "You can at least stay under the tea for a few more minutes, can't you?" I say as I pull her nipple into my mouth and manipulate it intensely until it quickly comes to a point.

"Ah! Christian..."

* * *

I am rinsing the shampoo out of my hair after quick morning sex with my hot girlfriend that brought us both to surprisingly powerful orgasms. I turn off the shower and wrap a towel around me, drying my hair with a second towel. My Butterfly is still stretched out on the bed when I come out of the bedroom, naked and smiling with her eye mask still in place.

"Are you trying to tempt me again, Butterfly?" I ask. She giggles. Oh, how I have missed that sound.

"I wanted to wait and let _you_ take off the mask since you can see and I don't want to irritate anything." She replies.

"You won't irritate anything, Baby. It's just a sleeping mask. But here, I'll remove it for you. Sit up." She sits up and I gently remove the mask. I can't believe my eyes. I'm staring at her, gaped-mouthed and her face falls hard.

"What?" She says, her voice obviously prepared for bad news.

"What the hell is in this tea!?" I say, looking at the mask like it's some foreign object which right now, it is.

"Christian, please, tell me." She implores.

"You have to see, Baby." I take her hand and lead her to the en suite. I place her in front of the mirror and she gasps. Her right eye is almost completely back to normal and the swelling in the left eye has gone down significantly—almost by half. Her left cheek which bears Harris' hand prints has gone from purple to slightly pink. The bruising and swelling on the other side of her face still looks pretty bad. I'm thinking it was too painful for her to lie on that side. She notices it, too.

"What do you say you get cleaned up and we get you situated somewhere comfortable besides the bed and we ask Gail to make a bag for the right side. It must have been murder trying to lay on that side." I kiss that black and blue bruise gently like your Mom would kiss away a boo-boo. She looks up at me through her lashes and blushes, showing me a beautiful smile through her not-so-swollen lips. I guess they are going down on their own.

"How do your lips feel, Baby?" I ask.

"Better than before." She responds. "They still look hideous."

"Do I need to have you open your mouth again?" I ask, scolding. She looks up at me and visibly shivers, no doubt remembering the delicious tongue-play we had last night so as not to aggravate her swollen lips while we were making love. "You were on fire last night, Baby, and this morning was delectable." I say closing the small space between us by slipping my arms around her and cupping her ass in my hands.

"Are you trying to start again, Mr. Grey?" She says, her voice soft and sexy.

"Mmmm, careful." I warn, my head buried in her neck devouring her scent and kissing and nibbling her skin. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

"Mmmm." She moans and throws her head back. "But I've had four deliciously intense orgasms and I'm a little sore. I might need to rest for a while." I pull my head back to look at her.

"Oh, Baby, I'm sorry!" I'm so glad to have her home, to be able to love her, I didn't even consider that she might not be able to take it.

"Oh, goodness, please don't apologize." She purrs. "It is delicious soreness and a scrumptious reminder of our passion. I just may need a moment to recuperate."

"Okay, Butterfly." I say as I stroke her hair and look into her beautiful blue eyes. They change quickly and they she launches herself into my arms, embracing me intimately. "Baby?" Is she okay? What's wrong?

"Thank you." She says. I can her the tears in her voice. "You make me feel so beautiful...so loved and desired. You make me feel like a goddess." I wrap my arms around her and lift her from the floor, embracing her close to me.

"It's easy to do, Anastasia." I say softly as I breathe in her scent. "You are exquisite. I don't have to pretend." She wraps her legs around me—oh good Lord. She pulls her face back from mine to look at me. "When I look in your eyes, I'm lost. You have captured me, Anastasia. You _are_ a goddess. You're _my _goddess!" Suddenly her eyes are hooded and full of lust...but she's sore. _Fuck_.

"Open you mouth." I hear myself growl, my own voice thick with desire. She obediently opens her mouth wide the first time, and my tongue dances a feverish tango with hers—more easily accessible since some of the swelling in her lips has gone down. I really like when we do this. It's different than a regular kiss—more intimate, and we don't close our eyes. We look at each other...giving ourselves to each other. Her hands clutch tightly in my hair as she tightens her legs around me and breathes hotly into my mouth. Fuck, this is torture.

"Oh, Baby, please. I can't take it." I protest. "You are sore..."

"I don't care! Oh, God, I don't care!" She says in a lustful wail. I quickly snatch the towel from around my waist and drop her hard onto my awaiting erection.

"Aaaaaaaahhhh! Oh my God, Christian!" She wails as she tightens her legs around me and begins to rise and fall on my staff.

"Oh, fuck, Ana, fuck!" She feels so fucking tight. I know I just had sex with this woman this morning...not even an hour ago...but the way her muscles are tightening around my shaft—fucking hell!

"You feel so good, Baby." She says steadying herself on my shoulders and increasing the tempo in her hips. "Oh God, you are so hard for me..."

"Ana...fuck...if you keep this up, I'm not going to last long." I breathe.

"I can't help it," she says with a sensuous lick of my lips. Oh, hell... "I miss fucking you. I love fucking you..." she mewls, increasing the stroke even more and throwing her head back. "Oh, God, I love fucking you. I love how you feel inside me." Mother of fuck!

"Oh, Baby, please have mercy." I growl, burying my face in her breast and inhaling the scent of her sweat, that sheen that appears when she is highly aroused.

"Yes, Baby," she whispers. "Bite my nipple." With pleasure! I pull her nipple into my mouth and suck hard then bite just enough to bring her to that pleasure/pain threshold. "Aaaah!" She cries and shit is happening down below.

"God, God oh yes!" She breathes, now grinding her hips feverishly into me. I _love_ it when she's like this—savagely chasing her orgasm and me desperately fending off mine.

"Oh yes, Baby, fuck me!" I growl, smacking her ass hard with my right hand.

"Fuck, Christian!" She gasps. "Oh fuck!" She grabs my hair and pulls hard and it sends shock waves right to my dick.

"Oh God, Ana!" I growl as I start to pump into her, matching her strokes.

"You like that, Baby? Mmmm, your dick is getting harder. I can feel it." She's breathing frantically. "Can you feel my pussy squeezing your dick. Baby?" Oh shit, I'm a goner.

"Yes...Baby...yes...you feel...so good..." I choke, burying my cock deeper and deeper into the soft velvet vice that threatens to juice me for all that I'm worth.

"That's it, Baby. Feel it with me...yes...oh fuck, yes...it feels so good...so...good..." She's losing her control and I know that she will come any minute, which is good because I swear I've only got seconds left. "Aaaaaaaaaahhhhh! Fuck! Me!" She screams as she digs her nails deep into my back and scratches as she comes heavily squeezing the ever living fuck out of my dick.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" I wail loudly as I drop her hard onto my shaft balls deep and hold her there, letting her pussy grip and suck the juice from me. Oh hell, it feels so good that it burns and I am paralyzed by this orgasm, leaning against the sink so that we both don't end up on the floor. "Aaaaaahhh...fuck...Aaaaaaannnaaaaa!" I moan and she whimpers several times as her body trembles violently against against me, squeezing me with every tremor.

This is fucking outstanding! Yes, Baby, yes! Juice that damn dick! Drain it dry, you hot, sexy minx!

"Oh, Baby, yes!" I moan as I am finally able to find some movement in my lower regions and I thrust into her again, eeking out every bit of both of our aftershocks. 'Yes, yes, yes, yes..." I say, holding her close to me and kissing her shoulders.

"Oh, God, Christian...you are _so _hot..." she breathes as she lays her head on my shoulder trying to catch her breath. "I couldn't help it. I had to have you inside of me...soreness be damned."

"Like I could resist you," I respond, still peppering kisses on her shoulders.

"I've bruised your back." She says softly. "No blood this time, but you look like you've taken the bad end of a tiger." She laughs. _Perfect choice of words._

"The _good_ end, you mean." I say, licking her tender lips and kissing the corners of her mouth.

"Careful." She breathed. "That's how this all started in the first place."

"I know." I breathe. "And since I know for sure that you are sore now, I'm going to take your beautiful body over to the shower where I can clean and caress you with body soap, and then I'm going to dress you and carry you to the great room so that I can feed you and we can talk. Okay?" She runs her fingers through my hair.

"Mmmm, Christian that sounds delightful." She purrs.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

After a wonderful shower where my boyfriend lovingly cleaned ever inch of my body, I am escorted back to our bedroom where he opens the top drawer of his chest of drawers.

"This drawer is yours." He opens the drawer and there is my lingerie that had previously been left in the guest room since I couldn't find room for it in here. "If we run out of room, I'll clear another drawer. If that doesn't work, I'll buy another dresser." He's serious.

"Okay." I say giggling again. He looks at me and gives me our special swollen lip peck, which is just a hair deeper than it was before. He's testing to see what I can take since my lips have gone down a bit.

"Is that okay?" He asks softly. I nod, my eyes closed.

"Kiss me again." I whisper. He puts his hand in my hair and kisses me again, wet and soft. Mmmmmm...you never miss a kiss until you can't get one.

"Thank you." I breath. When I open my eyes, he is smiling at me.

"You're welcome." He replies as he turns back to the drawer. When he turns back to me, he helps me step into a pair of beautiful white lace boyshorts with a blue and white waistband with lace hearts on the center of the front and back. They fit like a glove! Out of the same drawer he pulls a beautiful embroidered lace white support bra which I slip into and he latches in the back. The girls sitting up _very _nicely. Are we expecting company? He can't be dressing me to sit around and talk! His next revelation comes from the closet, where he reveals a Gunne Sax vintage hippie Bohemian mini dress. It is cotton with crochet lace angel sleeves and a crochet lace front panel overlay, empire waist and a bell skirt. The panel laces up the front and ties with a drawstring, and the dress zips up the back.

"Over or under?" He says softly as he walks toward me with the beautiful little dress in his large, lovely hands.

"Over." I say just above a whisper. I raise my arms and he slides the dress onto me and zips it in the back. Again, it fits like a glove. He releases the messy bun in my hair and runs his hands though my hair, allowing it to cascade down my back and over my shoulders.

"I have something that I got for you before this whole ordeal started. I wanted to give it to you when I got back from Nevada, but..." He trailed off and I could hear his voice cracking. "I thought about waiting for a special occasion, but after...what happened...I just want you to wear them around the house with me for a while." Around the house...yes, I guess it is bigger than some people's _houses_. He reaches into the nightstand drawer and pulls out two Cartier boxes.

_Yay! Jewelry!  
_I know, right!? Hee hee hee!

He hands me the long box first. Inside is a beautiful platinum and diamond butterfly on a chain. I will not cry. I will not fucking cry!

"Oh, Christian! It's beautiful!" I breathe. He takes it out of the box and I hold my hair while he clasps it onto my neck. I run to the mirror to look at it. It's exquisite. A butterfly...because he calls me _Butterfly_. And Edward tried to let that word come out of his mouth. Silly boy.

While I'm still admiring the necklace, Christian hands me the smaller Cartier box. Oh, I almost forgot they were two. I smile at him and open the second box to reveal a gorgeous pair of earrings that almost match the necklace. These are diamond and platinum half butterflies sitting on a pearl. Very unique and just as exquisite as the necklace. I gasp. He takes them out of the box one by one and puts them in my ears.

"Perfect." He says as he steps back and takes in my entire appearance. "You are so beautiful, Baby." He brings me into an embrace and strokes my hair. I don't often stand next to Christian in my bare feet. He really is a damn tree...

He lifts me in his arms, as promised, and carries me into the great room. He sits me on the sofa and turns on the fireplace along with some music. I hear someone talking about kissing and then a beautiful flute takes the lead. Christian goes to the kitchen and, after a few minutes, returns with a tray of antipasto and another tray of fruit and cheese.

"Don't start without me," He warns as he dashes back to the kitchen. He returns again with a vegetable tray and an assortment of hummus. He disappears once more and comes back with two of my famous cranberry spritzers. Once everything is set out on the coffee table, he sits on the couch next to me and pulls my legs over his lap.

"Who's this...playing?" I ask.

"Nestor Torres. He's a flautist. Latin jazz. You like it?" He says.

"Yes, very much." That's when I realize that it's 10:00 or so on a Wednesday morning. "You don't have to work?" I ask.

"I'll be doing some work from home for the next few days or so. I want to be close to you for a while."

"I'm alright Christian, really. I can just take a few days and relax. You don't have to watch over me. I'll be fine, Baby." I say touching his cheek.

"I know you will, Butterfly," he says putting his hand over mine, "but I won't. I almost lost you." I see pain deep in his eyes and the fear of loss he must have felt when I was missing. It's sometimes hard to consider what someone else is going through when you are in that type of situation.

"Okay." I whisper and smile lovingly at him. I understand now. While he is taking care of me, he is taking care of _himself_ at the same time. He begins to feed me from the antipasto tray. I am utterly ravenous and the prosciutto and olive are just divine. I look over at the coffee table and see a copy of _Eye On Seattle_.

"Is that from today?" I say, pointing at the gossip rag. Christian follows my hand and sees the picture on the cover.

"Do you really want to see that?" He asks. I shrug.

"Yes. I might as well see what the world is saying so far." I reply. He shrugs and gives me the paper. There is a picture on the front page of Christian in his Rayban sunglasses with me cradled safely in his arms. My head is of course covered by Christian's jacket and you can see my hand sticking out, clutching the jacket tightly around myself. I look like a small child next to his massive body, his head tucked protectively over mine. Small pictures of Edward and Harris are inset in the bottom right hand corner. The story reads:

_**Lancelot Carries His Guinevere To Her Chariot**_

**_Hearts broke all along the west coast and parts beyond when well-known Seattle billionaire CEO and entrepreneur Christian Grey simultaneously announced Sunday that not only had he relinquished his bachelor status, but also that the object of his affection was missing. Careful not to subject himself to claims of slander before information could be confirmed, Grey's spokesperson Allen Forsythe indicated that Anastasia Steele—a Seattle psychologist and Grey's new love interest—was "last seen by witnesses" with Edward David and Robert Harris. David (pictured above in inset—left) is an ex-boyfriend of Ms. Steele; there is an outstanding protection order requiring that he remain 1000 feet away from her at all times. Harris (pictured above in inset—right) is a former employee of Grey's. Monday morning, Ms. Steele's cell phone was traced to Vashon Island and sources say that, upon identifying Ms. Steels's voice in a 911 tape, police along with Mr. Grey and members of his security staff proceeded to the location and rescued Ms. Steele who, as it turns out, had been kidnapped by the two men. Ms. Steele, battered and unconscious, was taken to the hospital while David was taken into custody without incident. Harris exchanged gunfire with police officers while attempting to escape and was shot five times. He was pronounced dead at the scene. Today, Grey takes his mending princess back to their castle in the sky to recuperate from her ordeal. Prince Charming has rescued the princess from the tower and it looks like "happily ever after" for the young couple...well, at least for now, anyway. _**

"That's not bad, actually." I say. "I mean, it could have been really horrid." He nods.

"It'll get worse before it gets better, Baby." He warns.

"I've _been_ through worse, Christian." I reply. He smiles at me and nods.

"You are one of the bravest, strongest women I have ever met. You truly amaze me sometimes, Butterfly." He says gazing into my eyes.

"Ditto, Mr. Grey." I say, lovingly stroking his face. He kisses me gently on my cheek then we continue our brunch. Christian patiently feeds us both from all three trays—delicious melon slices and fruit dip, celery and sun-dried tomato hummus, fresh provolone and mozzarella cheese...oh, I am in heaven! I sat back on the sofa once I had gotten my fill.

"This is quite the spread, Mr. Grey." I tease. "It's delicious." He smiles briefly, but then his smile drops. "What's wrong, Christian?"

"I wanted to make sure that you had enough to eat...that you weren't hungry." He says softly, looking at the food. I know what he's talking about, and I knew that we would have to address it. "Anastasia, you punished me for doing this to myself and then you turn around and do the very same thing..." I owed him an explanation, I know. I swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry, Christian, but this was _so_ different. One way or another, I had to force David's hand. I couldn't sit there and wait to be rescued. No one knew where I was..._I _don't even know where I was. I didn't think I would see the people that I love again. I really didn't think I was going to get out of there alive. He's a fucked up bastard, but he didn't want me to die. He would have _had_ to get me to a hospital." I explain.

"So this was all part of the escape plan...in case nobody found you." He said. I nodded.

"Harris hated my guts, but in his own sick way Edward loved me. He wouldn't have let me die." He didn't respond. "I had to do something, Christian. I _had_ to..." He runs his hands through his hair.

"You can never do this again..._never_!" He says. "I don't care what's going on. You have to have faith in me...in Allen...in the people that love you, to always come for you; to always look for you; to never give up on you. Please, swear to me that you will never do this again." I couldn't swear it to him. There was something else that he didn't know.

"Christian, there's another reason why I refused to eat anything Edward brought me." I say. His eyes grew large.

"What is it?" He says. I sigh. I guess now is the time. I tried to take my legs out of his lap but he wouldn't let me move. "Anastasia, tell me!" _Anastasia..._yeah, I better start talking.

"How did you know it was Edward and Harris that took me?" I ask. I need to know what he knows.

"Lojack tracked your car to the aquarium. The guard told us what time you had left. A security guard at the parking structure across the street let us see the video of the camera that faces the aquarium exit. Taylor identified Harris, Allen identified David." Allen...of course!

"So...you saw when he drugged me." I said. Christian nodded.

"My heart broke that I couldn't stop them, Ana. Our entire security staff is being investigated because this never should have happened. The only reason why I didn't force Davenport to follow you that day and risk castration is because someone should have been watching both of those assholes!" He spit. Oh dear. Now may not be the best time to spill the beans about Edward. "You haven't told me the other reason why you wouldn't eat, Anastasia." Oh hell.

"Would you stop doing that please?" I pout.

"Doing what?" He asks bemused.

"Calling me _Anastasia. _You make me feel like I'm being sent to the principal's office!" I fold my arms. He runs his hand through his hair.

"I didn't realize I was doing it." He responds. "I resort to formal names when I'm irritated, and I very rarely call _anyone_ by a nickname anyway...it's a habit you may have to endure. Now, please...tell me why you wouldn't eat." I sigh again.

"Whatever he drugged me with, it was very hard to come out of it. When I did..when I..." I feel my throat closing as I'm trying to tell him this. I see the dingy yellow walls of that room again and the faded greyish-lavender curtains. I smell the mildew of the pillows. I drop my face in my hands and gasp. _Spit it out, Steele._ He's trying to pull my hands from my face and I just sit up and spit it out.

"When I came to, I was handcuffed to the bed. We were both naked and he was on top of me. I felt him kissing me in all of my private places...he was about to...have sex with me..." Christian froze. I didn't dare look up at him. I couldn't stand what may be in his eyes. I know we sat there in silence only for moments, but it felt like hours. I couldn't raise my head. The tears began to fall as I remember waking with this asshole on top of me, hoping it was Christian but knowing that it wasn't, feeling like I was laying down pinned under Cody fucking Whitmore all over again.

All of a sudden, I am in Christian's arms and he is holding me close against him. "I'm sorry, Baby. I'm so sorry." He says, his face buried in my neck. "I said I would never let anybody hurt you again...and I failed. I'm so sorry..." I knew that there was nothing that I could say that would make him feel differently about this, but I tried anyway.

"Christian, Edward is a sick fuck. If it didn't happen now, he would have just waited for his chance later. You have no idea how deep his depravity went. It was unbelievable. He knew when I went to the hospital with you, he knew when we were in Bellevue. He even knew what clothes I was wearing on different days. Someone on your team was feeding information to Harris the entire time. They knew our every move. Edward called me _Butterfly_." Christian stiffened again then looked me in the face.

"He did what?" He says.

"He called me _Butterfly._ There's no way he could have known that. I heard him and Harris argue a lot about Harris getting faulty information and Edward was paying him for it."

"There _is_ a mole." He says under his breath.

"Huh?" I ask. He runs his hands through his hair again.

"We found evidence of a mole while you were missing. We killed everybody's security clearances. Nobody has anything above a level one except for me, Taylor, Welch, and Barney...and even Barney had to be cleared." I frown.

"When did this happen?" I ask.

"Sometime Sunday...afternoon, maybe." I nod. "Why do you ask?"

"Harris took my cards sometime late Sunday night." That reminds me...I haven't reported them yet. Their evidence now, anyway. "He must've known that his information well had dried up, so he took money from me." Christian is getting hotter and hotter while he's sitting there. "There's no use getting angry about _him_, Christian. He's dead now." It was like someone threw ice water on his anger and his face just fell.

"Yeah, that's true." He admitted. I sighed again. Answer this question before he asked it again.

"The plan was that Edward was supposed to win me over in five days. After that time, he was going to take me to another location...most likely Richmond Beach...and Harris was going to leave town after Edward paid him the rest of his money."

"How did you know it was Richmond Beach?" He asked me.

"When we were together, we were looking at a house out there. It was a nice little house, but our plan was to tear it down and build another house on the land. Well, apparently someone bought the house. But in all of his stalkerosity, Edward watched the damn house and discovered that it was back on the market. So he was talking about buying it for us and getting me away from Seattle. If that wasn't where he planned on taking me, then I don't know where, but I was afraid that he would drug my food—to move me, rape me, I don't know. But even if I died from starvation, I was not eating a _thing_ he put in front of me. So even though I would never do that to myself on _purpose_, I can't swear to you that if I'm in a situation like that ever again..."

"You will never again be in a situation like that!" He spits. I nearly glare at him. He takes a deep breath.

"Ana, Baby, listen to me. You are safe from Edward David because he's in jail and most likely won't be getting out. You are safe from Harris, because he's in hell and _definitely _won't be getting out. But you are now in the public eye. You have been stamped 'Christian Grey's Girlfriend' and that K&R insurance that I lied to you about?"

"Yeah." That's something else that we need to discuss, Mr. Grey!

"Well, I didn't lie to you about it. It's real, and I will be adding you to it today." He says flatly.

"What?" I gasp. "Christian, you can't do that! We're not even married!"

"Oh yes I can. There are any number of reasons that someone would want to harm you to get to me, not the least of which is money. And in order to get you back, I had to go public with our relationship. If you think for one second that someone wouldn't try to use you to get to me, you're wrong. And those fuckers in Green Valley did a fan dance when this shit went down, I can guarantee it." Shit. He's right . I can try to deny it, but if two guys come up on me and I don't have my gun, I'm screwed...and if Chuck had been with me on Friday, this never would have happened. "Ana, you might not like this, but you need to have security with you everywhere you go."

"You're right." I say softly and he does a double-take.

"What? You mean...you'll do it?" He asked, surprised.

"Look at my face, Christian. If I needed a building to fall on me, it just did!" I say. "So Chuck will be my Jason?" I ask.

"Um, yeah." he says a little dumbfounded. I stare at him.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I won't lie...I expected you to fight me on this." He admits.

"I week ago, I would have. But now..." I hold my head down, shaking it like I need to get rid of a thought before I burst into tears. "I don't know when I will ever get back to myself, Christian." I say weeping. "I cry all the time, I can't look in the mirror, I'm a fucking wreck!"

"Baby, you just went through one of the worst experiences in anybody's life. You are expected to cry." He is holding me and gently rubbing my back. "I'll take care of you while you're pulling yourself back together if you let me...and you will, Baby...pull yourself together, that is." I look into his eyes and see the man that I love so much. I hold his face in my hands and pull it to mine.

"I love you so much." I say, leaning my forehead on his and closing my eyes.

"Oh, Ana. If you only knew how much I love you..." he says, putting his hand on the side of my head and gently kissing my bruises. I am butter in his hands. I breathe in deeply as he continues to shower kisses on my eyes, my cheeks and he begins to travel to my neck and my ears. I moan quietly as his kisses warm me all over. This is where I dreamed of being the entire time that I was held captive—here with my man, with him touching me, kissing me, loving me...

"Ahem! Ahem!" Oh, wow, Jason, really?

"You're fired." Christian says while his face is still buried in my neck.

"What was that, Sir? I didn't hear you..." Jason says.

"I said you're fired." Christian replies after gently kissing me on the cheek.

"Yes Sir. While you're writing out my pink slip, I should tell you that Detective Crab is on his way up the elevator." Jason says.

"Oh, yeah. Shit, I forgot he was coming today." I look at him questioning. "Gerald. He wanted to talk to you yesterday but I told him that today might be better. I'm sorry, I completely forgot. I was...distracted." He smiles at me and I blush bright red I'm sure. "If it's still too much for you to deal with..."

"Oh no, please. Let's just do this and get it over and done." I say. Jason goes to the door to let Gerald in. I notice Christian calls him by his first name. That seems odd.

"Why do you call him Gerard?" He looks at me strange.

"That's his name, Baby." He says like it's the most obvious thing in the world—which it is, but that's not why I was asking him. I roll my eyes.

"I figured out that much, Christian. I mean why do you call him Gerald instead of Crab?" I shoot. Smartastic ass!

"Oh! Because he was very helpful and very courteous...and here he is." He stands as the gorgeous black cop walks into the great room. Ho-ly cow Bat-man. He is hot! I've got a boyfriend. I've got a hot, rich, sexy boyfriend...but _damn! _I stand up.

"Ana, this is Gerald Crab. Gerald, you finally get to meet my girl officially...and conscious!" Gerald takes my hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss. Steele." He says with a gentle shake.

"The pleasure is mine, and please call me Ana." I respond.

"Ana, call me Gerald. You're looking so much better than when I last saw you." That made me feel better—I probably looked like a troll the last time he saw me. Hopefully, I have at least graduated to garden gnome!

"Thank you, Gerald, I'm working on it. Please, sit. Have something to eat. Would you like a drink? Coffee, water, cranberry spritzer? I know you're still on duty..."

"That cranberry spritzer sounds good." He says.

"I'll get it, Baby." Christian says as he heads off to the kitchen. I sit down.

"He won't let me do anything." I say with a smile.

"That doesn't bother you, does it?" Gerald says with a laugh.

"Oh, no, not at all." I respond. "I mean, I'm usually pretty independent so it feels kind of strange...in a good way, but I know he needs it." I look over at him busily mixing cranberry spritzers. "We had a fight on Friday and I walked out. The next thing I know, I captive to my psycho ex-boyfriend and his even more psycho sidekick. This," I say gesturing to my face, "is all courtesy of the not-so-dearly-departed Robert Harris." I turn towards the kitchen. "Christian, please bring a plate and some flatware for Gerald...and a napkin!"

"Yes, Dear." He says, mocking me. I turn back to Gerald who is looking at me in awe.

"What?" I say bemused. He shakes his head.

"I watched that man throw orders—at men often bigger than he is—for the last three days. No offense, Ana, but I have a niece still in high school bigger than you, and this man at your beck and call and taking orders from _you..._I'm just amazed." Gerald says. I blush a little and giggle.

"We have a strange relationship, Gerald. It would take too long to explain it. The best I can do is tell you that there is a regular exchange of authority between us. I know when to shut up and listen..." I wave my hand at Christian, "...and so does he."

"So tell me, what happened Friday?" He pulls out his little notebook and I realize that we are now on the record. I put my hand on my forehead.

"Well, he _didn't_ listen." I say, still feeling perturbed about the Green Valley incident and making a note to bring it up later. "He did something that I asked him not to do. I became angry and stormed out."

"May I ask what he did?" Gerald asks. Oh, God, I really don't want to talk about this.

"It has nothing to do with the investigation. How would it help?" I ask.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but every detail counts...you never know..." He says.

"I know this time." I reply, putting my hand on my forehead again. "Christian is the king of the background check. He went deeper into a very painful part of my teenage years when I asked him not to."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Mr. David, would it?" He asked.

"No nothing at all." I am rubbing a fire into my forehead."I didn't meet Psycho Boy until college." I put my hands in my lap again.

"So, tell me about Friday. What happened after your stormed out?" I sigh.

"I told Christian that I didn't want anybody to follow me. I usually have a security detail but this time, I just wanted to be alone. _That _turned out to be a bad move." At that moment, Christian comes back into the great room with the spritzers on a tray.

"Here you go, Gerald." He hands the drink to Gerald after sitting the tray on the coffee table. "Are you okay?" he says sitting next to me, concern etched all over his face. I nod. Gerald is quiet and raises his eyebrow at Christian.

"This," he is stroking his forehead, "is her tell. Whenever she's particularly flustered, she rubs her forehead." I gape at him as he turns to face me. "What?"

"I didn't know you noticed." I say, surprised. He smiles.

"Well, I did. I notice a lot. And you've had that hand on that head at least five times in the last two minutes. Are you sure you're okay to talk about this?" He asks.

"Well, no, I'm not, but I have to tell him...just stay with me, okay?" I look into his eyes, beseeching. He takes my hand and kisses me on the forehead.

"Of course, I'll stay, Baby." He says giving me a drink. "But I'm going to tell you what Gerald would say. Don't sugarcoat anything because I'm sitting here. He needs to hear every ugly detail so that we can put this fucker away. Okay, Butterfly?" Hearing him use my name after he knows Edward tried to soil it filled me with a new strength. I nod and straighten my back.

"Okay, Ana. Tell me what happened after you walked out." Gerald says.

Christian sits as still as possible as I recount the nightmare I suffered over the weekend. They were both happy to know that Edward never penetrated me, each for different reasons, but Christian stiffened each time I spoke about Harris hitting me or either of them watching me naked and chained to the bed. They began filling in the blanks for me that once Edward and Harris were identified on tape, Al and Christian did the internet feed that was subsequently picked up by the major networks. So Harris was losing his mind by the time the news hit the airways. First, he loses his inside contact which means that he had no way of being able to keep tabs on Christian. This is probably one of the reasons why he panicked and took my credit cards. Then he sees his picture plastered all over the news as one of the last people seen with me. That's explains the argument that he and Edward were having on Monday morning as well as the "discussion" he had with me that made him knock me out.

"I know this may seem insensitive, but I have to know." I say rubbing my forehead. I look up at Gerald. "Did you see his body?" Gerald's expression changes. I can't quite read it, but I don't care. I need to know that bastard is dead!

"Yes, Ana, I saw his body. He laid there for a long time," he said heavily stressing the word _long_. "The medical examiner takes longer to get to Vashon than the police." I nod.

"How did it happen?" I ask. Christian and Gerald exchange a look. "The paper says he was shot five times, but that's a gossip rag. I deserve to know!" I insist. Gerald nods.

"Harris attempted to escape from a rear exit when a uniformed police officer spotted him. They were driving a borrowed or stolen car with false plates. As the black and white had the fraudulent car blocked in, he tried to escape on foot. The officer called for him to stop and fired a warning shot in the air. Harris stopped running, turned around and pulled a revolver on the officer. The officer took one shot in the leg before she emptied five bullets into Harris—four in the torso, one in the head."

I gasp and sob for an instant, just at the sheer violence of the whole thing. Yes, I can and will shoot my gun, but shooting to kill takes a different mindset. I have no doubt that I could do it in a second if necessary, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't affect me. Christian reaches for me, but I put my hand up to stop him. I don't want to fall apart completely.

"Thank you. I'm fine." I say to him just above a whisper. "She. So it was a lady cop that took him down."

"Yes, it was."

"What is her name? Where is she now?" I ask.

"Officer Carolyn Fennell. She was at Seattle General with you. I think she may still be there." I look over my shoulder at Christian.

"Please send her some flowers." I ask.

"Will do." Christian responds. I turn back to Gerald.

"Where is Edward now?"

"Mr. David is at the King County Jail. He was arraigned yesterday and charged with first degree kidnapping. He was denied bail because he is a flight risk..."

"_Bail? _He plead 'not guilty?'" I ask appalled.

"Yes, he did." Gerald replied. I gasp again.

"Are you fucking kidding me!? How could he possibly plead _not guilty!? _Don't you guys have video?" I squeal.

"We do, but...he's claiming temporary insanity and mental distress."

"Wha...ca...hu..." I can't even form a coherent sentence. Gerald takes a deep breath.

"In his statement, he blamed Harris for the whole thing. Harris is not here to defend himself or stand trial—dead men tell no tales." Gerald answers apologetically. Mother fucker shit damn hoe bag bitches bloody shit-eating wanker fuck hell!

"So he's still at county." I spit, more of a statement than a question.

"For now. Since bail was denied, he's being transferred to Shelton on Friday. He's in solitary confinement right now...supposedly for his own protection."

"So he could get off. If a jury believes him, he could get off." I say.

"In it's simplest form, yes, but it's not that easy..." Gerald begins.

"Maximum sentence for first degree kidnapping." I say.

"Twenty years to life depending on the severity."

"And if they buy his crock of bull?" I ask.

"He could do some time at a high-level mental facility."

"_Some time?_" I ask. "What is _'some time?'"_ He shrugs.

"It all depends on the jury." He says. "They could give him from a few months to several years." I leap from my seat like a piece of popcorn.

"A FEW MONTHS!?" I yell in horror. "He drugged me on a city street in broad daylight, chained me naked to a bed, and allowed an asshole who hated me to beat me until I didn't even recognize myself. He tried to rape me when I was unconscious and only stopped because I screamed another man's name. I don't know how long he really would have let me starve when I refused to eat, and he planned on moving me to somewhere _no one_ would find me and you're telling me that he could get a few months!?"

Gerald is silent now. I'm starting to fidget and pace and shake. Christian tries to calm me and I can tell that he is in full protective Christian mode. He's talking about justice and closure...fuck justice! Justice has done absolutely _shit_ for me! I don't fucking care about justice any fucking more!

"I don't want justice _or_ closure. I want satisfaction." I say coldly, folding my arms. Christian's face becomes grave.

"What do you mean?" He asks me.

"I want him dead, and if I ever see him free, he _will_ be!" I say, making direct eye contact with him. He and Gerald fall completely silent. I turn to Gerald.

"I want him dead. I don't want him to come near me ever again and the only way that he is never going to come near me again is if he's dead. I want him dead. If you want to make sure that man stays alive, you better keep him where he is, because if I get to him, he's going to die." I say coldly.

"Ana, you can't say that around me. That's premeditation. If something happens to Mr. David, you're going to be the prime suspect." Gerald tries to warn me. I pointed to my face.

"Do you see this face? Does it look like it cares?" I respond. Christian is getting nervous. He knows that if I can get to Edward at all, I'm going to kill him. Gerald closes his notebook.

"Ana please...please give me a chance to bring him to justice..." And there's that fucking word again! Before I know it, I pick up the fruit plate and launch it to parts unknown. Both Christian and Gerald are on their feet now.

"I have fucking done everything by the book! _Everything!" _I'm screaming now. "I trusted a fucking cop to get me _justice_ 11 years ago and I never had a chance, because he was too busy protecting his damn brother!" Christian's eyes are wide as saucers. Either this is news to him or he didn't know that I knew. "The woman who birthed me into this world and the bastard who swore to love us sold my freedom and peace of mind for $750,000 ensuring that I would _never_ get _justice! _I got a restraining order against that fucker in jail talking about _mental distress_ and not only was his ass watching me every damn day, but he slipped past private security, paid an accomplice, and was able to kidnap me! And now you're telling me that he may only get a few months! I've been following the fucking rules and doing everything that I'm supposed to do and this shit keeps happening to me. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't have any faith in your fucking _justice_!"

I take off in a run out of the room, leaving a stunned Gerald and an even more stunned Christian behind me. I need to be anywhere but in this space right now.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Fuck! Me! What the hell just happened? Hurricane Steele just whipped through this place and left us both in complete astonishment.

"I take it from your reaction _that's_ never happened before." Gerald said calmly.

"Never!" I say, amazed. "I have never seen her react this way in my life...not even when we were fighting. I'm telling you I have watched this woman pull a glock on one man and subdue another one almost twice her size and I have never seen her this angry in my life!"

"This is not good, Christian. If she goes after David, her whole life is ruined."

"Then I think you better make good on your promise to get her justice." I say to him as I look off in the direction that she ran. "I need to take her away for a while, Gerald. She needs to get away from all this and regroup. If she doesn't, she's going to self-destruct."

"I need her close, Christian. You can't disappear on me." Gerald warns.

"My cell is international. You can find me anywhere. And I'm only talking a few days...look at her, Gerald. She's not going to make it if she doesn't get a chance to decompress." He nods, reluctantly. Taylor emerges from his office and I looked at him questioning.

"Again, Sir, they heard her in Bellevue." He says. Now Gerald is looking at me.

"_Again_?" He questions.

"Oh, she was pretty pissed off when she yelled at me on Friday...but nothing like _this._" I respond running my hands through my hair. "I better go make sure she's okay."

"Well, please, just...don't go where I can't reach you." Gerald says.

"I have a private jet. I can be back here at any time." I respond. He smiles and shakes his head.

"A helicopter _and_ a private jet. Can you fly that, too?" He asks.

"I've never tried, but I can fly a glider." He snickers loudly.

"Must be nice being you." He chuckles as he proffers his hand. I give him a shake.

"Most days." I laugh, and he leaves the apartment. "Taylor, please ask Gail to clean up our brunch. Ana had a temper tantrum." I fire off a quick text to Allen.

"Yes Sir...but can you blame her?" He asks.

"Not at all." I say as I go in search of my Butterfly. Instead of searching the entire apartment, I start with the balcony this time. There she is, facing the high noon sun, the summer wind blowing her hair. It reminds me of the night I watched her standing outside of the New Orleans waiting for Allen's Jag. She looked so beautiful and carefree then. Now, she's Atlas again. Allen texted me back with the answer I was waiting for. I responded with quick instructions and put my blackberry away before going out onto the balcony.

"Butterfly?" I say softly. I hadn't noticed her shoulders shaking gently. Her arms are wrapped around herself and the tears are falling freely down her face. I step behind her and cautiously wrap my arms around her and let her finish having her cry. After several minutes, she wiped her face with her hands and said,

"You lied to me, Christian." Oh shit, it's my turn now.

"Yes, Ana, I did." I admit.

"You didn't _change your mind _because you always intended to pursue the matter even though you told me that you wouldn't." She accuses flatly.

"Yes, Ana."

"I told you that I could not tolerate dishonestly." She says. This is it. Am I losing my Butterfly?

"Yes, you did." I say, dropping my arms from her and preparing for the worst. She turns around to face me, fire and determination in her eyes.

"Don't ever lie to me again." she threatens. There is no mirth or softness in her voice. She means business.

"I won't." I reply, chastised.

"I mean it Christian. If you ever lie to me again. I'll know that I _can't_ trust you. And I absolutely can _not_ be with you if I can't trust you. Are we clear?" She says, glaring at me through ice blue eyes. Don't fuck this up, Grey.

"We are clear, Ana. I will _never_ lie to you again." I promise, and I mean it. I can't take the chance of losing her. So no matter how bad the truth may be, I will have to find a way to tell her. She turns away from me again. I don't even know how to approach her right now.

"Have you done the background check on Mandy yet?" She asks, her voice still icily cold.

"I put Welch on it this morning. We should have something soon." I respond.

"Good." She says before taking a breath. "I want to know David's net worth." You want to know _what?_

"May I ask why?" I ask bemused. She turns back around with an accuracy and a glare that would frighten a gladiator.

"Are you going to give it to me or do I have to find it on my own?" She spit. Of course, she knows that I have it.

"I'll give it to you. I just want to know why you want it." I say, curtly. Her glare freezes. "I know that you're upset, Ana. I know that you are even upset with me and I completely understand that. But I'm _not_ the enemy." She turned away from me.

"Christian, I am very angry and very upset right now. And yes, part of it is because of you. But I do not want to take anger out on you that you do not deserve. For that reason, I need you to please leave me alone for a while and let me collect my thoughts. Whenever you are ready, I'd like thorough financial information on David. When I have composed myself, I will tell you what I plan do with it."

Her voice is sharp, like she's conducting a business meeting. If I didn't know better, I would swear that she is putting on her impassive face...like I do when I don't want someone to know what I'm thinking—but it's different with her. I can tell. I don't know what's going on in her head right now, but it's not good. I want to push—make her tell me what she's thinking. I'm not accustomed to this. If I ask a woman a question, she fucking answers it! However, this woman standing before me will push back—hard...and if I push too hard right now, I might push her away. I swallow the small amount of anger brewing in me right now and answer, "Very well."

I walk back into the apartment and head for my study. When I fire up the computer, I send and email to Welch to get David's most recent financial information. Our information is about a month old. I might piss her off worse if I give her that. I see that he is gathering more information on our Green Valley suspects as well—but I can't even stomach reviewing the information on that just yet. He assures me that we are just a few steps away from gathering enough information on the Pedophile to lower the boom on her ass. He and Barney have also been able to eliminate all of our security staff—personal and GEH in-house—of syphoning information out to Harris or to anyone else. Unfortunately, this means that it is someone on my staff and that is going to be a lot harder to find.

Fuck! This day just keeps getting better and better.

* * *

I spent some time going over projections that Ros sent to me for a manufacturing company that we plant to acquire. It has plants in China which can be very complicated. I'm trying to focus on the reports and spreadsheets but after several hours and a distracted mind, I'm suffering MEGO. It is now mid afternoon and I haven't heard a thing from Butterfly. Is she still standing on the damn balcony?

Taylor announces to me that Allen has arrived and I stand and leave my study to greet him. When I finally leave my 'cell,' Allen is standing at the balcony door most likely about to approach the enemy.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." I warn. He looks over at me.

"What is she doing out there?" He asks.

"She's planning the world's demise." I respond.

"She's _what_?"

"I don't know, Allen. If you set David in front of her right now, she'd push him over the balcony and still get a good night's sleep."

"Oh good hell, she's gone _Rambo_." He says, turning back towards Butterfly.

"I'm sorry...what?" I ask, bemused.

"Edward drew first blood. One way or another, he's going down." I look at Allen strangely.

"You've seen this before." I say. He sighs.

"Only once." He says. I fold my arms waiting for the story. "In her first year at U-Dub, Jewel decided to take self-defense—Krav Maga to be exact. She didn't really need to because Ray had taught her how to take care of herself. I guess she was just curious or she wanted to fill in the blanks with her skills or something, I don't know. With her small frame, speed, and flexibility, it was a perfect choice for her." I'll say. She looks fucking great doing Krav Maga. Although any size frame could do it, smaller frames seem to master it faster and more easily.

"They had this sort of exhibition fight in one of her classes and I came to see it. It was nothing really big, but there was a small audience. It turns out that there was a martial arts master hiding in the _crowd_ and word apparently got out. Well, Jewel had always taken the class simply for self-defense, but apparently there was this blonde who had taken the class for other reasons—to get noticed, maybe, I don't know. She was a good six inches taller than Jewel. She drew Jewel to spar for one of the rounds and decided to make an example of her.

"The first few hits were textbook between the girls, but then Blondie decides to do a palm strike to Jewel's face. The ref called a time-out and Blondie walks away all victorious. They check Jewel's face and do a little first aid and the match continues, but I know my Jewel and that wasn't the same Jewel. Her stance changed, the way she moved on her feet, everything. The match was 10 minutes. When the bell rang, Jewel let loose hell-complete hell! Out of that entire 10 minute match, I don't think Blondie stayed on her feet for 60 seconds total. Jewel beat her _ass_—_thoroughly_! She never hit Blondie in the face once, but Blondie had to be carried off that mat.

"I met up with her after the match and asked her what had happened. All Jewel said was, 'She drew first blood.' Whoever that guy was, he ended up training Jewel for a while. I think he wanted her to go pro, but I knew that she wouldn't. She's too pretty for that." That explains why Klevna was so angry with her when she quit. "So if she's been out there on that balcony in _that_ stance for more than 20 minutes, somebody's life is about to change." He finishes.

Oh, hell. What in the fuck is about to happen now? I guess I should be happy that I am not the object of her ire.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

**_"She drew first blood."—In the 1982 movie "First Blood," John Rambo was a decorated war hero from Vietnam. He came upon a small town with a Whitmore-like sheriff and flunky deputies who arrested him for no reason and proceeded to try to torture him. He went completely special-ops ape-shit on these people and for the rest of the movie, they are trying to draw him out and capture him and he's picking them off one by one (mostly injuries, not killing them). When his commander from the war shows up and tells him that he is fucking up severely, he responds, "They drew first blood, not me," which is a big ass equivalent to "they hit me first." So Al is telling Christian to beware because Ana is about to go "Rambo" on David. By the way, if you didn't know, "First Blood" is the movie that spawned Rambo I, II, and III. Just a little useless trivia. ;-)_**

_**Make sure you check out the outfits, places, vehicles, and characters on the Pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/ and pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-characters/**_

_**Can little Butterfly really go "Rambo" on David even though he's in jail already? What do you think she has in mind for her "justice?" **_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_


	47. Chapter 47: Come Let Us Reason Together

_**I haven't read of my reviews yet because I simply haven't had time - business has been insane! I am implementing changes that require my full attention. I only skimmed through this one because of the time factor so I need all of my PM typo spotters to be on the lookout because I don't doubt that there may be a lot of them since I didn't get a chance to edit thoroughly. I will go back and do it later, but this week has just been TOO busy and when you run your own business you have to make a choice. **_

_**There is a looooooooooooot of talking and hashing things out in this chapter. So if you are looking for action and adventure...it's not here. This is the chapter where Christian and Ana begin to lay it all on the line...lots of information and comparing notes. I'm warning you guys in advance because a lot of my chapters always have something FANTASTIC happening and this one is pretty calm—especially after we just had this huge kidnapping ordeal. We have a few more chapters to go before Book I closes so...enjoy!**_

_**We all know...characters aint mine, just the crazy story-line. **_

Chapter 47—Come Let Us Reason Together

_**GREY**_

"I don't know how much she can do to him. I mean, he's in jail now, but..." I run my hands through my hair.

"But what?" Allen asks.

"Gerald just told her that David entered a 'not guilty' plea on a count of first degree kidnapping...and that he has claimed temporary insanity and mental distress."

"Excuse me!?" Allen looks appalled.

"He's claiming that it was all Harris' idea and he was forced into it." Allen nearly cracks right there in front of me. I'm wondering what the hell is so damn funny.

"Who the hell is his defense attorney?" He asks.

"I have no idea. Why?"

"I can't even begin to tell you how difficult it is to prove an_ mental distress _plea. In order for that plea to float, Harris would have had to have a bomb strapped to Edward's body at all times and had Edward's dick in a mini-guillotine. This man admitted to stalking her for weeks before he kidnapped her even though there was a protection order against him. He vandalized her car. She has text messages that he sent to her calling her names and threatening her. He knew that he was under surveillance so he changed his appearance and had someone smuggle him out of his apartment so that he couldn't be followed. All of that shows premeditation. He handcuffed the woman to a bed naked for Christ's sakes. He's not insane, he _obsessed_. And unfortunately for him, that's not an appropriate legal defense. Jewel can rest comfortably in the knowledge that whoever this lawyer is, he's going to take the double dicker for a boatload of money."

Money. Her plan somehow involves money because she wants David's financials, which Welch was able to get updated information for me. I hate to think how she might react if the information was too old for her purposes.

"I want to take her away, Allen. There are beautiful villas on the beach on Anguilla and I really think she would like it there. It's private and secluded—she would be able to relax and enjoy the tropical weather, drink, swim, and unwind. I think it's exactly what she needs right now...what do _you_ think?"

"It's a fabulous idea, but I think you better run it by Jewel." He responds.

"Of course, I'll run it by her. I can't just hijack her." I run my hands through my hair. "I was asking how do you think she'd respond to it?"

"Well, it's hard to tell right now, Chris." He responds. "Maybe you should have her talk to Maxie first." _Maxie?_ What the fuck does _Maxie_ have to do with this?

"I don't think she wants to talk to anyone right now." I say.

"Oh she'll talk to Maxie." He responds. What the fuck?

"Okay, so why would she talk to Maxine but ceremoniously dismiss _me_?" I snap, trying and failing to hide my ire. Allen tilts his head at me conspicuously and then a light goes off in his eyes.

"You don't know, do you?" He asks. I frown.

"Know what?"

"We're _all_ friends, but Maxie is her _therapist_. She had started seeing Maxie when she finished her internship at CCFW, but then she stopped. A few weeks ago, she started seeing her again." Oh shit...a few weeks ago, when I initiated that background check. How did I _not_ know Maxine was her therapist? That explains why she had to see her the first night I went to Green Valley.

"Yeah, in that case, I think Maxine is needed very quickly. Any likelihood we could get her over here tonight?" I ask.

"Again, I think you better talk to Jewel first. She might not like being ambushed." He warned. "Speaking of which..." He hands me Butterfly's passport. I had him procure it from her apartment. I want to get her to Anguilla as soon as possible and there is a lot to do...the first of which is to talk to Butterfly.

"Do you want to talk to her?" I ask. He looks at her still standing motionless on the balcony.

"Nope, Chris. I think I'll leave that to you." He pats me on the arm. "Good luck, but call me if you need me."

"I will." He nods and leaves. I pick up the land line and call back to the servants' quarters.

"_Yes Mr. Grey?"_ Gail answers.

"Gail, would you make one of your special teabags for Ana? It's difficult for her to sleep on the side of her face with the worst bruising, so it's not going down."

_"Yes Sir, Mr. Grey. If you look in the sandwich compartment in the refrigerator, there is a zipper bag in there with various sizes of the tea in it. Use one of the larger ones for her cheek."_

"I'll need more, like a four- or five-day supply. I want to take her out of town."

_"Will do, Sir. I'll get on it this evening if that's okay with you."_ She answers.

"That would be perfect, Gail. Thank you." I hang up the phone and retrieve the tea bag. Taylor approaches me in the kitchen.

"No better, Sir?" He asked, pointing to Butterfly.

"I haven't tried yet. I'm a little afraid. She hasn't moved from that spot for hours." I reply.

"Yes, I know."

"Listen. I need you to check the surveillance for last Wednesday night—mainly the great room and the dining room. Maxine Saunders came to visit Ana that night. Please remove the footage of their conversation. It turns out that Maxine is her therapist and I want to assure that her sessions are private if she chooses to have them here." I instruct Taylor.

"I got it covered, Sir."

"And contact Ms. Acton for me. Let her know that I need a full beach and tropical evening wardrobe including hiking and riding gear for Ana for a least 10 days. I want to take her away if she'll let me. Let Ms. Acton know that we'll be going to Anguilla and I will need those things ready for travel tomorrow afternoon. So nothing that requires alterations. I bought a few things for her for this week so she already has Ana's sizes." I further instruct him.

"Yes Sir. I'll take care of it." He says. "Anything else, Boss?" I sigh.

"Wish me luck..." I say, then proceed to the balcony door with extreme caution.

She still doesn't move when I open the balcony door. I clear my throat and walk behind her.

"Butterfly?"

"Yes, Christian." She says, softly.

"I brought another tea satchel for your cheek." She moves very quickly, slamming her body into mine—holding me around my waist and pressing her cheek against my chest. The force of her embrace nearly knocks me back into the balcony door. I gasp at the contact, then wrap my arms around her tiny body. I only want her to be happy. I want to chase all of the shadows away...

"A few months..." She begins, without looking at me. "After what he did to me, he could only get a few months." I kiss her hair.

"Ana, if he ever comes near you again, I swear I'll kill him myself." And I mean it. She looks up into my eyes and she _knows_ that I mean it.

"I need to sit." She says. I'm sure you do! You've been standing here for hours! I sit on the double chaise and she sits next to me. I take her hand in mine. It's so tiny...I almost feel like I'm going to crush it. We both look at our hands and she starts talking.

"Ray called me." She sighs. "He, um...he said that Carla had called him trying to find out who he sent to Nevada asking about what happened to me. Well...Ray loves Carla about as much as you would love a stone in your shoe, so he ended that call quickly—and then he called me. I was clueless as to what he was talking about until he kept saying 'this suit'..."

"_This suit?" _I ask bemused.

"Yes. He kept saying there's 'this suit' asking questions, and that's when I knew that it was you." She wipes a tear from her face. "I called George because he always called me when something like this came up...he hadn't called me in years. He called when I relocated to Seattle and he never told me how he got my number. Then he called me again when you initiated the background check. But no other time...not _once_." She wipes away another tear and curls her legs underneath her. "It wasn't hard to figure out that it was you. I called George and he didn't even want to speak to me. He though that I had sent you down there. He was scared shitless. That's when I twisted his arm and found out why...found out that while he was pretending to be my friend all of this time, he was actually protecting Vincent. I thought he was my friend, and he wasn't! He was one of _them_ the whole time!" She start to weep again, no doubt feeling the betrayal of the last person in Green Valley that she trusted...because he was the law, and surely the _law_ was on her side, right? Apparently not.

I pulled her to me and cuddled her into my chest. I just wanted her to stop crying, stop feeling this way. I thought about the times that I felt betrayed, hurt, or lost and no one held me. No one _could_ hold me...I wouldn't let them get close enough. I kiss her head again and stroke her hair, and she continues to talk through her tears.

"I left because of everything! The thought of you down there with those bastards made me ill, but finding out what you were doing down there hurt me so bad...because I want to forget about it, because I didn't want you in that part of my life, because I hate those people, because you lied to me...all of it. I didn't have a chance to prepare myself and I couldn't believe that you would lie to me. I've shared more with you than I have shared with any _one_ person in my life except for maybe Al, and I feel like even though you think you were using it to help me, you actually used it against me." I stiffen and gasp at her words, pulling her back to look into her eyes.

"Butterfly, how could you possibly feel that way?" I ask, my voice betraying my horror.

"You took all of the information that I gave you and you used it to get _more_ information. When you needed to confirm that information, you gave it back to me—in a lie—and waited for me to react. I was tortured the day that you mentioned that man's name to me. My monsters were coming back to me all back over again, for the second time in less than a month! And when I fell apart, you knew that you had your guy." She said, her eyes filling with tears again.

Oh my God, she's right. That's _exactly_ what I did. What's worse, I did it on _purpose_. I was so concerned about getting to the bottom of the situation...about getting answers. I was so consumed with how she would feel once I got the answers for her that I didn't consider how my methods would affect her. To me, it was all means to justify an end. And now, at the end of a catastrophe, she's fighting to hold herself together, and I'm part of the reason that she nearly fell apart.

I can only assume that a myriad of emotions must be running across my face because she's staring at me. I can vaguely see her face as the Boulder of Realization attached to the Pendulum of Truth swings from its highest height and slams right into my stomach...

I am a fucking asshole!

"Ooooohhhh noooooo..." I groan, almost inaudibly as I drop my head and cover my face in utter shame. How could I do this? How could I just stoically forge ahead on this quest so focused on the destination that I gave no thought to how the journey would affect her? Fuck punishment for not eating...I should be punished _now_. This has to be one of the most selfish things I have ever done in my life—notwithstanding my reasons or intentions—and I don't understand why I didn't see it before now. If hindsight is 20/20, I was blind as a damn bat last week. Butterfly reaches up to touch my hair.

"It's okay, Christian..." she begins softly. I push her hand from my hair, shaking my head. I don't deserve any comfort from this situation.

"No. No. No...it's not okay. It's not okay. I can say that 'I'm sorry,' but it's not okay. This is not okay." I say, repeatedly shaking my head.

"No, Christian. It's not okay," she says. I know it's not. I know... "But I forgive you." I raise my head in shock.

"Why?" I ask, impassively. I can't see how she can forgive me for deliberately hurting her and going against her wishes just to get answers. What if I had come back empty-handed? Then there would have been no means to justify _any _ends. She reaches for my hair again and just as I am about to swat her hand away, she catches my arm.

"Stop it!" She commands, still grasping my wrist. I'm sort of in shock by this tiny little being holding my arm with the force of 10 men. "First of all, you are _my_ man, and I will touch your hair anytime I damn well please!"

Whoa! Okay...

"Second, I forgive you because I love you, it's my choice, and..." she's starting to choke on her words, "...and...and because you saved me from the bad guys." She wails as she burst into tears again. I snatch her into my arms and my lap, clinging to her tiny frame. She has lost too much weight these past few days and I just want her to be happy again. I have no idea how much she has cried through all of this, but I know that I have seen her cry more in the last two days than I have in the entire time that I've known her.

"Please, Baby, please tell me what to do." I beg. I can't stand to see her hurting anymore.

"Just...hold me...please..." She whimpers, through her tears. I clutch her tighter, one arm around her waist, my hand splayed across her back and one arm under her arm my hand protectively holding the back of her neck and head.

"I love you, Ana. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you with everything I am...with everything I have. I'll never let you go..." I swear and her arms tighten around my neck.

"I love you, too, Christian. You're the only thing that kept me going, that kept me alive. You're the reason I didn't give up. I'll never leave you...ever." She squeaks. I don't want to squeeze her any tighter for fear that I may hurt her, so I simply sink into her—close my eyes and absorb this moment...breathe her in, feel her soul clinging to mine. For once in my entire, wretched, awful, miserably life, sitting here holding this broken woman, my heart is full and my soul is light. I feel whole and healed...like I had never been broken; like all the shadows that haunted me when my eyes were closed had been chased away, and in their places...butterflies.

I scoot back on the chaise and lie down with Butterfly in my arms. I had almost forgotten the tea satchel that Gail made. She slid into the crook in my arm, partially on her side and partially on her back, both of her hands resting on my chest. I knew that she would lay on my chest with the bruised cheek exposed. I placed the tea satchel on her bruised cheek and gently hold it there stroking her hair with my free hand. Neither of us said a word, we just lay there in the afternoon sun, letting a summer breeze brush over us.

* * *

I open my eyes and I have no idea how much time has passed. The summer sun is headed towards the horizon which means that it is most likely around 6 or 7 pm. I look down at my Butterfly, sleeping peacefully in my arms. I won't disturb her. We have nowhere to be tomorrow morning as I plan to spend time with my Baby and get our trip planned out. So if she can't sleep later, we'll stay up all night watching old movies, talking, or making love. I look at her dainty little hands, carelessly lying on my chest. My eyes immediately go to her left hand—and the lack of a ring there. I love her. I want to spend my life with her. I want to marry her and have children with her—but I know that it's too soon to ask. I don't want to scare her away...but I do want to put a ring on that finger.

A promise ring maybe? Is that too corny? It's either that or an engagement ring...so I guess it will be a promise ring...and I know just the ring...

"You look like the cat who caught the canary." A soft beautiful voice rises up from my chest. And look down to see sleepy sapphire blue eyes. I didn't know she was awake.

"Only if you're the canary." I say, kissing her hair.

"How long have we been out here?" She asks stretching her arms and legs.

"I don't know. I would guess a few hours maybe."

"Mmmm. I'm hungry." She purrs. Good. I want you to gain the weight you've lost. Almost on cue, Gail comes to the balcony.

"Mr. Grey, dinner will be ready in 15 minutes." She says.

"Perfect. Where do you want to eat, Baby?" I ask. Noting the table on the far end of the balcony, she asks, "Can we eat out here? It's a beautiful evening." I smile.

"We can eat wherever you like." I respond, pulling her close to me again. Taylor now appears over Gail's shoulder.

"Dr. Grey is here, Sir." Yes. Mom needs to check Ana's bruises and change the bandages on her wrists.

"Thank you, Taylor. We'll be there in a moment. Gail, Butterfly wants to eat out here." I say.

"Yes, Sir." They say in unison and smile a little secret smile at each other. Sometimes, I forget they are a couple until moments like this. I stretch my arms and back and we sit up.

"Come, Beautiful. Let's go and greet my mother." I rise from the chaise and reach for Ana's hand. She puts her hand in mine and we walk inside to see Grace.

"Ana, Dear, you look fantastic!" Grace says. Don't overdo it, Mom. "What have you been doing? You haven't been using too much ice, have you? You don't want to damage the skin on your face." I take a closer look at Butterfly's cheek...and Mom's right. The big black and blue bruise has gone way down, now.

"No, Gail has this special tea that reduces bruising quickly. It has sage and ginger...and all-spice in it, I think." Butterfly says.

"Heeey!" Gail calls from the kitchen. "Don't be in there giving away my secret recipe!" She scolds.

"Those are just the things I could smell!" Butterfly calls back and laughs. Mom laughs too, then examines Butterfly's face more closely.

"Well, keep it up and that bruising will be completely gone by the weekend." She smiles. "Now. Why don't we sit on the sofa and lets take a look at your wrists." Ana nods and follows Grace to the great room. I go back and close the balcony door, kind of wandering aimlessly to give her some privacy.

"Christian?" Butterfly calls to me. When I turn to her, she say, "Come with me, please." I'm by her side in a moment. I know that she hasn't seen the bruising on her wrist yet and she knows that I haven't either. We sit next to each other and Mom begins to remove one of the bandages. Butterfly takes a deep breath to prepare herself for the worst. When Mom removed the bandage, we were both surprised that it didn't look that bad at all—still kind of red, but not raw.

"Very good." Grace said. "You won't be needing the bandages anymore. Fresh air will actually help them heal better. Take this cream and put it on your wrist three times a day. It will help to minimize the scarring and accelerate the healing process. If you want to wear a bracelet or a watch, wrap them up again so that they don't get irritated. I'll leave some extra bandages for you."

"Thank you, Grace. I'm so sorry that you had to come all this way for this silly little thing." Butterfly says.

"Not silly at all, Dear. I'm glad to be able to see for myself that you are doing okay...and looking very well, I might add." Butterfly blushes...and I saw it—unobscured by massive bruising.

"I'm going to go freshen up before dinner." Butterfly says before kissing me gently. "Thank you again, Grace."

"No problem at all, Dear." She kissed Butterfly on her cheek, causing her to blush again before heading back to our bedroom. I watch her as she walks away...and forgot my mother was in the room.

"Christian." She brings me back and I snap my head around like the kid with his hand in the cookie jar. "You're quite smitten, aren't you?" Yikes. I run my hands through my hair. I've never talked to my mother about anything like this. Hell, I've never talked to _anyone_ about anything like this...except Flynn...and the Pedophile, sort of.

"I love her, Mom." I say, nervously. I don't know how to have this conversation.

"You love her." My mother says like she is testing out the words. "No, I think it's more than that, Son. I think you are _in _love with her."

"Well, yes, that what I said." I say.

"No, you said you love her. This is different. You _love _me, and your sister Mia, and your father, and your crazy brother, Elliot. I love you. I am _in love _with Cary...and you, my son, are _in love _with Ana." She says. When she puts it that way, she's absolutely right. I am _so_ in love with Ana.

"I want to marry her, Mom." My mother's eyes get large. I roll my eyes. "Not _tomorrow_. I'm just saying that when that time comes, I want it to be Ana."

"Well!" Mom exclaims. "She certainly has had a profound effect on on you. Are you sure about this?"

"I've never been more certain of anything before in my life." I look over my shoulder to make sure that she is not coming out of the room. "I want to buy her a ring, Mom...a promise ring. Do you think that's too much? I don't want to scare her away."

"I think a promise ring would be perfect actually, Son. It solidifies your commitment to her without backing her into a permanent decision about her future before she's ready. I think it's a fantastic idea." Her eyes are sparkling like I said I was giving the ring to _her_. I sigh.

"I want to take her out of town for a while. Have her relax and be pampered. Give her a chance to decompress. She's not doing very well. She's very angry and she cries all the time. I know it's going to take a while for her to work through what happened. I just want to help her without crowding the fuck out of...oh! I'm sorry, Mom." She smiles a crooked smile.

"It's okay, Son. I'm just glad that you feel that you can talk to me about these things." She says.

"Me, too, although I know that there is going to be some Flynn time in my future." I run my fingers through my hair again.

"You'll be fine." She says standing up. I stand with her and she kisses me on the cheek. "You both will." She adds with a smile. "Give Ana my love."

"I will." I say before she leaves. I duck into my study and close the door and dial Cartier.

_"Thank you for calling Cartier. This is Marvin. How can I assist you today?"_

"Hello, Marvin. This is Christian Grey."

_"Mr. Grey!_" His voice perks up immediately. Yeah, I know you're seeing dollar signs._ "It's nice to hear from you again so soon. I hope those pieces were to your lady-friend's liking."_

"Oh, yes, they worked out very well. Thank you. I'm calling about that last piece that we spoke about. I'm wondering how soon you can have that piece ready for me." I say.

_"I can have it ready for you tomorrow afternoon if you like. Is that soon enough?"_ Marvin asks.

"That's perfect. I plan on taking her out of town on Friday and I would like to have it ready to travel by then."

_"That won't be a problem, Mr. Grey. Would you like it delivered or would you like to pick it up?"_ It's good to have such a reputation with a jeweler that they will actually deliver exquisite pieces of jewelry to you.

"Delivered, please. Escala. You have the address."

_"Yes, I do. Shall we say, 4:00?"_ Marvin asks.

"Yes, that will do nicely. Please have the courier only deliver to Taylor or myself. It's a surprise."

_"Absolutely, Mr. Grey. I will phone you when the courier is on his way."_

"Thank you, Marvin." I say before ending the call. I emerge from my study and Butterfly still hasn't come from the bedroom yet. I go in and find her attempting to apply make-up to her swollen face and lips.

"Butterfly! What are you doing?" I ask. She's going to irritate her bruises!

"I...just wanted to see if I could cover them...but I can't because it hurts too much." She says, sounding defeated. I shake my head and get some baby oil and a cotton ball.

"Close your eyes." She closes her eyes and I slowly and gently remove the goop that she has put on her face trying to cover the bruises. When I have removed all of the makeup, I toss the used cotton balls in the trash, then gently kiss her eyes, her cheeks, her neck, and her lips, rubbing my nose against hers as I cradle her face in my hands.

"I love you, Anastasia." I whisper, my eyes still closed. "I will love you always."

"I love you, too, Christian." I open my eyes and she is looking at me—big, beautiful, blue eyes. I move behind her, my arms around her waist, until we are both looking at the mirror.

"This is woman that I love, and the face that I love. I will love this face until the bruises heal. And _when_ the bruises heal, I will love that face, too. But until that day, I will love this face. I will _always _think this face is beautiful...at the dawn of day, in the middle of the night, flawless and pale, or wearing the remarkable bruises of a survivor...I will always love _this_ face. Do you understand me, Anastasia?" She is frozen, looking at my eyes in the mirror. "Anastasia, did you hear what I said?" She nods, quickly, almost like a child...wide-eyed. "Then look at _you_, not me." Her eyes slowly shift to her own reflection.

"You are my beautiful Butterfly. And no matter what face you wear, as long as those eyes are looking back at me, you will always be my beautiful Butterfly. Always. Do you _understand_ me, My Love?" I say, almost begging. She let go of a breath that she was holding and closed her eyes.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I understand."

"Thank you." I sigh as I drop my head on her shoulder. I wish she knew how much I love and adore her. She would never doubt her beauty again. I guess I'll just have to keep showing her.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

We talked about nothing and everything through dinner, but avoided the heavy topics. Christian has decided to let Ros run the business for a while so that he can spend some time with me. I've decided to call my patients from here tomorrow to see how they are faring without me and make sure no one has become desperate or suicidal or anything like that. When he uncorks my favorite Cabernet, I decide that it's time to approach the elephants in the room.

"So...David." I say.

"Before...we approach that topic, I'd like to ask you something." He interrupts me.

"Okay."

"I asked Allen to bring your passport by today and make sure that it was in order. I'd like to take you away for a little while." He says timidly. Hmmm, take me away where? And for how long? As if he could read my mind, he says, "I'd like to take you to a villa on Anguilla. It's secluded and private and you don't have to see people unless you want to. It has a private pool or if you prefer the ocean, it's right on the beach. We can stay for four days or 10 days—whatever you want. We would leave Friday...if you want..." he says.

"Where is Anguilla?" I ask.

"In the Caribbean. It's a small island...British territory. Only 17 miles long from end to end." Private, secluded, and I don't have to see people unless I want to.

"It sounds wonderful, Christian." I say, breathily, dreaming of working on my tan in the Caribbean sun.

"Is that a 'yes?'" He says with a smile.

"That's a hell yes!" I exclaim.

"Oh, we're going to have a great time. I think it will be just what we need!" He says like a kid at Christmas.

"I'll need to go back to my condo...I have to pack." I say. He makes a little face. "What?"

"I...ordered a wardrobe for you. I thought that if you decided that you didn't want to go, well then you'd just have some more nice summer clothes to wear." He shrugged. I shake my head.

"Do you realize that you spoil me terribly?" I ask.

"Are you complaining?"

"Not. One. Bit." I say matter-of-factly and we laugh together. "But I might get used to it." He reaches across the table and takes my hand.

"I certainly hope so." He says, looking longingly at me.

"You certainly know how to sweep a lady off her feet." I say softly.

"Only one lady." He says, placing an open-mouthed kiss on my hand. I take a deep breath and let it out, trying to control my arousal.

"Okay." I say, taking another breath. "We really have some serious things to talk about."

"Okay." He says, taking a swallow of his wine and I take a swallow of mine. "David."

"Yes, David...and Green Valley." I say, clearly surprising him.

"And Green Valley?" He asks.

"Yes, and Green Valley. I meant it when I said that I want satisfaction. I'm not going to be a victim anymore, I can't take it. I can't live like this. I want to be able to sleep at night knowing that the people who have hurt me will pay for what they have done...that includes the Mortons." I say, impassively and I mean business!

"Alright. I agree." He says.

"So, what's the word on David's net worth?"

"With his company, his assets, savings, investments, and condo, I would put him easily worth about $6 million. I don't know if he has any offshore accounts. We're checking into that now. He doesn't own any vacation houses or anything like that—just his Belltown condo and the building downtown where his web design business is housed. Do I get to know why now?"

"Yes. I'm suing him for false imprisonment." He does a double-take.

"You can _do_ that?" He asks.

"Yes, I can. He doesn't have to be convicted of kidnapping me because false imprisonment is a civil suit. I want to sue him for two-thirds of his net worth. I can't sue him for more than he's worth because I wouldn't get it. But suing him for this much is enough to freeze his assets so that he can't start disposing of them. He can't even use his money for his trumped-up defense!" I state with disdain.

"If you win, he could file for bankruptcy protection." Christian says.

"He could, but he would still have to pay me...and I want his business."

"What are you going to do with his business?" He exclaims.

"Well, you're going to be my business consultant, so _you're_ going to tell me what to do with it." I say, matter-of-factly. He sits back in his chair.

"You're serious about this." He says.

"Yes, I am."

"That's cutthroat, Ana." He states.

"Yes, it is." He licks his lips.

"That's fucking hot!" He says, his voice full of lust. My nipples immediately stand at attention.

"Oh God, Christian, please." I say, instantly flushed. "We still have so much to talk about." I'm fanning myself, now.

"Okay, Baby. I'll behave...for now." He refills both of our glasses. "So, you're going to have Allen take care of this for you?"

"Yep. I think he'd love it. I just need to have updated financials and I can move forward."

"Well, once Welch double-checks on offshore accounts which should be sometime tomorrow, you'll have all the info that you need." He sips his wine again. "How did you come to two-thirds of his net worth?"

"Well, I have to have monetary damages, and I do. I have lost wages and hospital bills—not to mention the very expensive helicopter that had to fly me to the mainland because I was so desperately dehydrated."

"Ana, I can cover all of that...and I own the helicopter." He protests.

"We'll talk about that later. We'll work something out that we can both live with." I say. He frowns.

"Ana. I'm not charging you for using my helicopter." He says.

"Yes, you are. You're a businessman, Christian. You have to know that this is all part of the lawsuit. I show that I have monetary damages, I can sue for punitive damages. That's where I'm going to hit him. And I'm not destitute, Christian. I can pay my own bills." I scold. He sighs.

"Let's make a deal. If the bills become a hardship, then I'll pay them. I'll bill you for the helicopter...but I pay _that_ bill." They're not going to be a hardship—one night's hospital stay and emergency services. At it's very worse, we are looking at five to ten grand. The big money comes with the chopper transport, and he's just going to give me a bill for that. I also have time lost from work and since I'm a therapist with a full load of clients, that's really going to take a bite out of David's pocket.

"Okay, you have a deal." I say. He sighs, relieved.

"AND as my girlfriend, I reserve the right to gift you money whenever I choose." Oh, good grief, Grey! I should have known he was going to find a way to get around our deal.

_He needs to take care of you. _Let_ him. He needs this._ I shake my head.

"Okay." I relent.

"Okay?" He repeats.

"Okay...you sneaky bastard!"

"What?" He ask, badly feigning innocence.

"You know that I know what the hell you're doing. But it's okay for now." I say. "Anyway, once I add the punitive damages, I can ask for a tidy sum. And quite frankly, I don't think there is a sum on earth that can be tidy enough for what these bastards put me through. So yes, I want to attach enough of his assets to require that he relinquish his business, but not so much so that the judge throws it out of court." Christian nods.

"Why not three-fourths?" He asks.

"Because at two-thirds he is still technically functional and the case won't be thrown out of court. I could honestly probably take him for everything...but I want to _win_. I want his company and I want his investments liquidated. He can keep his piece of shit condo and his piece of shit car. And exactly how much did he pay Harris to do this shit?"

"I can tell you, but you can't use it in court." He says.

"I know." I respond. "How much?"

"Fifty thousand. You said that there was supposed to be more money changing hands. I don't know how much that was supposed to be since it never happened."

"That greedy bastard!" I exclaim. "He could have taken that money and hit the damn road, but no...he's following a psychopath around trying to get more money. He stole my credit cards and if he did hit them over two days, he didn't get more than $5,000 total. And now his ass is dead...dead trying to get a dollar...stupid fuck." I say shaking my head.

"Okay, so you've got your plan for David. When do you put this into motion?"

"Tomorrow." I answer. "I'll have Allen meet me here for lunch and we'll get the ball rolling...assuming that he's not in court."

"Good. Then I can harass him some more about coming to work for me." Christian says.

"I thought that was a done deal." I say. He shrugged.

"We haven't discussed anything, so I don't know. Can you think of anything that would make him hesitate?"

"Well, he's built a client base over a few years. He wouldn't want to lose that, so he surely wouldn't agree to exclusivity."

"Okay, I can understand that." Christian says.

"He's pretty autonomous. Not accustomed to answering to a boss." I continue.

"Well, he would only have to answer to me when it comes to GEH matters. The problem is that I would expect him to be at my beck and call."

"That _could_ be a problem." I warn.

"You don't think that several zeros could solve that problem?" He asks. I shrug.

"That's where you have ask Al." I say.

"Okay...so, we're getting a little sidetracked. What else do we need to discuss?" He asked.

"Green Valley." I say. His shoulders fall.

"Oh yeah, Green Valley." He says, not raising his eyes.

"We've already had the scolding part. We need to compare notes now." His head jerks up at me.

"Compare notes?" He says, bemused.

"That's what I said. You tell me what you know. I'll tell you what I know and we get a plan of action from there." I answer. He just stares at me. "What?" I ask again, perturbed.

"Can I fuck you now?" He growls. Oh, shit. That went straight to my core. I square my shoulders.

"Later. Where do we start?" He groans and pushes his chair closer to me.

"I _will_ fuck you." He warns sensually.

"I know. Now...Green Valley." I say, trying to hold my ground.

Christian tells me all about Whitmore's posing stunt and the bodyguard on the floor with broken fingers...and now I _definitely _want to fuck him, but I manage to maintain composure. He discovered before Sullivan told me that Vincent has something to do with what happened to me—whether he participated, watched, or was just in the vicinity, his car was there and that prevented the _police_ from doing a thorough investigation. Christian will be reporting the matter to the Nevada State Attorney General to have them investigate the protocol followed for the case. Even a _mall_ cop would be able to tell that this case was poorly handled. Once the Attorney General and Internal Affairs gets a hold of this information, Sullivan will be out on his ass if not brought up on criminal charges.

From there, anonymous tips will befall the the Attorney General's office concerning the money that changed hands from the Whitmores to the Mortons that year that will hopefully prompt an investigation into the financials of the two families. Although this proves nothing on a criminal scale, the investigation into Whitmore's accounts and the necessity for him to explain the transfer will certainly make local news—maybe even national news after what just happened to me. True, they can say that the money was for anything at all, but the coincidence and the timing is enough to start the vicious circle of the rumor mill swirling. Whatever standing dear old _Mom _hasn't lost to having to become a nurse assistant in the snobby community with be shot to hell, and Whitmore will be lucky if he can sell insurance to an ant.

"Now what about _Cody_?" I ask, repulsed.

"Young Mr. Whitmore's prospects are all lined up in Daddy. If Daddy is ruined, he's ruined, too." Christian says. It wasn't enough for me. He wouldn't suffer enough as far as I'm concerned.

"There has to be more." I say. "I...I don't know...I just...there just has to be more."

"Oh, there's a whole lot more...but nothing legal." Christian says, staring at me. I don't blink, Do I want to cross that line? I don't know. What he did to me—what _they_ did to me—certainly wasn't legal! An innocent baby died in the process. True, I didn't want the baby, but I wouldn't have necessarily aborted it. Hell, I didn't even have the option to give the baby a chance!

"Let me think about it." I say. "Someone needs to be an example, then the roaches will come out of the woodwork turning on each other and trying to save themselves."

"I'm behind you, Baby, whatever you want to do." He says.

"That's the problem, though, Christian." I say. "You have found lots of information. No doubt, it is information that you would not have been able to find had you not gone to Green Valley. But now, anything shady that happens can lead right back to you." He chuckles deeply.

"Don't you worry about that, Baby. Nothing will _ever_ point back to me. Whatever I do, I don't work with amateurs." Now _that's_ a little scary.

"Christian, have you ever had anybody killed?" I ask. He glares at me.

"No, Anastasia!" He snaps, then softens. "Frightened, but not killed." I breathe a sigh of relief. Although I would _truly_ kill David right now on sight, I just can't wrap my mind around my beautiful Christian taking someone's life. How backwards is that?

"What else did you find out?" I ask him.

"That the incident took place at Madison Ranch." He says, watching me closely. I slam my hand on the table.

"I knew it! I fucking knew it!" I say, angrily. He waits for me to speak. "Carly Madison—Cody's little _pet! _She's the only one who talked to me. She called me a lying bitch and let me know that they were going to punish me. She slapped me before they beat the hell out of me. I couldn't see her face but I recognized her voice. I knew she was there...so that meant that Cody was there, not that I had any doubt!" I put my hands in my forehead and shake my head. I still remember every single detail of this ordeal...at least while I was conscious.

"This may sound stupid, but I really thought he liked me." I say softly. "I felt lucky and special when I got into his jeep. We were riding down Eastern and the sun was in my face and the wind in my hair. It was February—still just a little nippy outside but very spring-time in Nevada. He said he was taking me home." Christian gently tucks a stray hair behind my ear and brushes my cheek.

"I begged him to stop. I screamed and I cried and I begged him to stop...and when he was done, I was bleeding and crying in his back seat. He got mad, and kicked me out of his jeep...in the middle of the desert. I could barely walk. It hurt so bad." I couldn't seem to find anymore tears. I was just so angry now, so tired of being victimized. "I walked to the road and caught the bus home. I told Carla and Stephen what happened the moment that I hit the door. Carla made Stephen take me to the Whitmores to confront Cody..."

"I know this part." He interrupted me.

"You do?" I ask, slightly horrified but not really surprised.

"Yeah." He says. "Morton told me. He told me why he didn't believe you, too." I laughed.

"Do you know that while we were driving home, he called me a 'fast ass little girl?' He told me that I should learn to stay out of the boys faces because none of them really wanted me when they had all of these 'hot, rich girls to choose from.' He told me that I was the one who was stupid because I 'gave it up' to a rich kid hoping that he would fall for me and when he didn't, I accused him of rape. I had nothing else to say to Stephen Morton from that day on.

"But then I went to school the next day and that's when the real fun started. They booby-trapped my locker, spread shit in my seat, threw things at me when I walked down the hall. I tried to tell the principal...he was just like Stephen. He didn't want to go up against the rich kids. That lasted for a few weeks...and then they beat me." I say it so nonchalantly that it even surprised me. "When I woke up, there was nobody in the room. Not a doctor, not a nurse, not my parents...nobody. I didn't know where I was. I didn't know what had happened. I was just in this room, alone, and in excruciating pain...and nobody was there with me." I drop my head again and Christian takes my hand tightly in his.

"I cried every night. I cried because the nightmares wouldn't go away, because I couldn't understand why my mother didn't love me, why Stephen believed them over me...I kept thinking they were coming to get me. I kept thinking they would come to my hospital room and beat me in the bed. But you know what? They didn't come. In fact, _no one came_. No teachers, no parents, no classmates, _no one_. Carla only showed up twice, Stephen only once. I wouldn't even talk; there was nothing to say. I sat there looking out the window...day after day after day. Then one day, I opened my eyes...and Daddy was there. He told me that he was here to take me home and he wasn't leaving without me. Ray stayed in that room for days, and every time I opened my eyes, there he was...watching me or sleeping with his head on my bed or watching sports on television. And when it was time for me to leave, Daddy took me home.

"When I escaped from that hell and I went to my dad, I immediately found Al, and all was right with the world again. I was starting over where everybody knew me and I was with my best friend and I. Was. Happy...and then they came and brought me back...brought me back to _hell_. I would have gladly kept quiet if they had just let me stay with Ray...but they brought me back...so that they could watch me suffer." I look up at Christian. "There has to be more, Christian. I don't know how much more, but there has to be _more_." He nods at me.

"There _will_ be more, Baby. I promise you that." He says, sternly, and I nod.

I confirm for him that Wiseman, Yick, and Mulligan would have most likely taken part in the bonfire activities along with Vesta Evans and Simone Pallister. He mentioned some names that I didn't recognize but of course, that doesn't mean that they had nothing to do with it. I also gave him the names of Cody's flunkies who were most certainly likely to have attended—Randall Marshall, Timothy Leahman, Joseph Kulp, and Blaine Nelson. I was shocked when he told me that he already knew about Everest Billings.

"Does he have something to do with the incident?" I asked.

"He says that he doesn't, but of course they all would. His story is typical of someone on the outside looking in. I can read people pretty well. I read Sullivan in the first five minutes of our conversation. I knew he was dirty. Then the asshole took my police report and put it in his desk...like that was my only copy. Amateurs." He said waiving his hand in disgust. "Ana, these people are truly nothing. I'm not just saying that. If Whitmore is supposed to be the Big Man On Campus in this outfit, these people are _very_ small-time. They are deluded by their own power because they are living in a fishbowl. But once the Big World confronts them, they are small potatoes..._very _small." He says.

"Then I know that me and my Big Fish are going to take care of things." I say. He smiles devilishly at me.

"Damn straight." He growls.

"I want to be kept in the loop. I want to know about everything." I say.

"I will tell you everything. Except...I reserve the right to withhold details if you will need plausible deniability." Oh, I don't like the sound of that, but since we haven't decided on the levels of "more" yet...

"I agree for now, reserving the right for information later, depending on the situation, severity, and necessity." I stipulate.

"Damn! You should come and work for me, too." he says, and I chuckle.

"Agreed?" I ask.

"Agreed." He replies.

"So, did you know that Sullivan's little brother was involved in some way?" I ask. Christian sighs heavily.

"I figured it out while I was there." He says.

"How?"

"You told me." He said. Now, I'm confused.

"_I_ told you? How did _I_ tell you? I didn't even know myself until Friday," I say. He stands and takes my hand.

"Come with me." He leads me to his study and I sit in one of the chairs facing him. He reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out, of all things, a Green Valley High School yearbook from 2001! Get the fuck outta here! Who keeps these things? Is there nothing this man can't get?

"Page 65." He says. There's actually a marker on the page. I open it to the S's...and look into the face of my 15-year-old self...over 11 years ago. I giggle a bit.

"I look so goofy." I say. I'm smiling, not a full-on sitting-on-top-of-the-world smile, but smiling...like a kid whose biggest worry is the math test on Friday. I remember that they took yearbook pictures at the very beginning of the year. They used those pictures for your yearly school ID. This picture was well before all of the hell broke loose.

"I still don't understand how I _told_ you something." I say.

"Well, while I'm gazing longingly at my beautiful girl at 15, my eyes started wandering over the page a bit. Look who's next to you." Sure as shit, there's Vincent.

"But that could have been _any _Sullivan, Christian. How did you put it together?" I ask.

"He looks just like his brother." Christian says as he types on his computer a bit.

"Really?" I don't remember what George looks like per se but... My thoughts are interrupted when Christian turns the flat screen around and shows me a current picture of George. I look from Vincent to George and realize that Vincent could be a younger George and George could be an older Vincent.

"Holy. Cow. Batman." I say. "Yeah, that resemblance is uncanny. He told me about his little brother when he came to the hospital to take my report. I often wondered why he kept saying Vince's name. Now I know it was because he wanted to know if I had seen him at the bonfire." I put the yearbook on the desk and fall silent.

"Butterfly?" Christian catches my attention, concerned.

"I want to see my pictures." I say.

"What pictures?" He asks bemused. "You mean..." He hesitates.

"I want to see the pictures of me...after the beating." He falls back in his chair.

"Ana...are you sure?" He asks, his voice soft and uncertain. I nod without raising my head.

"Yes, I'm sure." I respond. He sighs heavily and reaches into his desk drawer again and pulls out a manila envelope. He walks around to the front of the desk where I am sitting and leans on the edge bending one leg slightly up on the desk.

"I normally keep these at the office but I took them with me to Nevada. Quite the coincidence that you would want to see them today." He says, hesitant to give me the envelope.

"Maybe _not_ a coincidence. Everything happens for a reason." I say. He sighs again and gives me the envelope. I open it slowly, like a death sentence.

_If you're afraid to look at them, why did you ask to see them?  
_Because I need motivation. I need to see what he saw...what drove him lie to me and manipulate me...so that he could protect me.  
_Well, then, hurry up and open the damn envelope and get it over and done._

I open the envelope and remove the pictures. I am at first stunned into silence by what I see. I remember them beating me, mercilessly. I can hear them shouting and laughing, like it was a game. I smell the boys' urine...I taste it in my mouth. I feel them spitting on me and kicking me...in my stomach...in my face. I gasp and sob for a moment as I relive the terror. Christian is on his knees in front of me in an instant, trying to take the pictures away, but I protest.

"No. No." I say, looking at the second picture. It was brutal. My body spoke of savagery, cruelty, and immeasurable violence. The young girl in these pictures looks nothing like the pale teenager in that yearbook...or the woman that looked back at me from the mirror last week...or even the woman who looks back at me today. This poor girl is nearly dead—black and blue and purple all over, her hair matted with blood and other bodily fluids...not one centimeter of her flawless pale white skin is visible _anywhere_. I nearly asked Christian if he was sure that these were _my_ pictures until I saw the third photo...the picture of the burns.

"Oh!" I gasped and whimpered as the pictures fell from my hands which subsequently flew up to my chest and my mouth as I am gasping for air. Christian has wrapped me in his arms and he is holding me close to him as I am panting through my tears. I clutch him around his shoulders and neck, driving my hands into his hair and pulling him close to me.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I say between breaths.

"Baby...?" He begins.

"I understand now. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten angry..." I pant.

"No, _I'm _sorry. I should have talked to you..." He protests. The Bitch was right. To be so smart, I can really be stupid sometimes.

"Thank you, Christian. Thank you." I say, still panting and trying to pull him into me.

"For what, Baby?" He asks.

"For loving me...for making me feel beautiful...for calling me _Butterfly. _I swear, I won't complain about these bruises not one more second." With these words, he pulls me out of the chair and cradles me in his arms on the floor.

"Oh, God, Ana you _are_ beautiful, and you are so easy to love. _Everyone_ loves you...but you chose _me. _My beautiful Butterfly, you chose me..." He said, rocking me gently, his voice cracking. I stay there cradled in his arms as he crushes me to him. This little bruising that I see today is _nothing _compared to the bruising of that poor girl in those pictures...and that poor girl was _me. _I have no idea how she survived...how_ I_ survived...but I did. So these little bumps are meaningless, but those pictures were the driving force behind Christian's actions. I understand now...I completely understand now.

"You can't keep anything from me, Baby." I say softly. "We're a team now...remember?" He nods, his face buried in my neck.

"I remember," he says, his muffled voice thick with emotion.

"Good." I say, pushing my tears back so that I can sit up and look into his beautiful gray eyes—beautiful, longing gray eyes...oh, Christian.

I take his face in my hands and stroke his cheek with my thumbs. We are both on our knees facing each other as I caress his face. His eyes never leave mine as he gazes at me with what I can only describe as wonder. His eyes droop and his hands rise and rest gently on my hips as I lean in, pulling his face to me to place tender kisses on his lips. His breath hitches as I kiss him then brush his lips with mine.

"Open." He whispers, and I part my lips to share the special kiss we have used over the past two days. My heart is so full and I fight not to launch myself at him, to completely lose myself in him. I can feel my body trembling with the force of the emotion that I feel for him. I have never felt this way before in my life...for _anyone_..._ever_. I want to spend my life with this man. Should I tell him? Is it too soon? He'll surely think I'm crazy. Hell, _I _think I'm crazy!

_Just enjoy it, Ana. You know that he loves you. You know that he'll do anything for you. Relax in the moment. Let it take its own course. The time will come when it won't seem so crazy. But for right now, just love him back. _

_That_, I can do.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**So now Ana and Christian are on the same page with Green Valley. I hope I answered a few lingering questions with Ana and Christian's talk. I know that there are still some more out there. Feel free to ask and I will try to answer without spoilers! What do you think should happen to the inhabitants of this "little pond" and their "Big Man On Campus?"**_

_**Next chapter, our couple "wrap up some loose ends" and get ready for a wonderful trip to the islands!**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs!**_  
_**Lynn x**_


	48. Ch 48: Putting Everything In Its Place

_**Okay, so a really quick thank you to all of my readers and reviewers. I'm so sorry that I still haven't had a chance to thank you personally but you know, know, know that I will. I just try to make sure I still get you your chapter even if my business makes it difficult for me to read the reviews in a timely manner. Nonetheless, here's more C&A tag-team drama for you...with a little fun and frivolousness thrown in! Enjoy!**_

_**I think Fanfiction is acting stupid again today because I couldn't get to my reviews. It better not lock me out again...here's hoping.**_

_**As usual, misusing the characters as I see fit even though I don't own them...on with the story!**_

_Chapter 48—Putting Everything In Its Place_

_**GREY**_

I made good on my promise to fuck Butterfly last night. And fuck her, I did..._well!_ She was so responsive, she gave her body to me in every way. The way that she touched me and melded with me last night showed me that although love was missing from my Dom/sub relationships, what I was truly missing all of this time was intimacy. The way that she touched my face and caressed my skin, the way that she breathed my name and wrapped herself around me—not just physically but emotionally as well...it was amazing! We looked into each others souls. We loved each other for hours...and I never wanted it to end.

We, of course, slept like dead men through the rest of the night. I wake up to find my dear delicate beautiful Butterfly out cold with the bruised side of her face buried deep in the pillow. Oh, well, at least it got the benefit of the tea last night. Her lips are only just slightly puffy now. Unfortunately, black eyes just have to run their course, but the terrible swelling has reduced to just a small mound under one eye. The "Harris hand prints" are gone (fucker) and her wrists even look better today. I brush her hair out of her face and kiss her gently on the cheek. She smiles in her sleep.

"I love you, Christian..." she murmurs without waking, and my heart did a cartwheel. Thank God she's not dreaming about psychopathic ex-boyfriends or vicious mobs of teenagers.

"I love you, too, Butterfly." I whisper before kissing her again. I need to head to the study and put some things in motion. I quietly get out of bed and put on a pair of sweatpants before going to my study.

I fire up the computer and open my email. I am scrolling through emails when one in particular catches my eye. I almost didn't read it, but the curiosity was killing me.

******To: Christian Grey**

**__****Re: Television Appearances?**

**__****Date: Thursday, July 26, 2012, 05:31**

**__****From: Elena Lincoln**

**__****So, I see that little Ms. Perfect has a past that has disrupted your life. Maybe now you will wake up and see that she is not the one for you after all. She is bringing chaos into your once-controlled surroundings. No doubt it is affecting your work and undoing everything that I have taught you. I know that you are most likely pulling your lovely hair out right now with the confusion that this woman has unleashed upon you. I understand, Darling. I am the only one who has completely understood everything about you, and I will be here to put the pieces back together when you finally realize that she is not the one for you—that she will destroy everything that you hold dear because she will destroy everything that you are. I will help you rebuild into the god that you were always meant to be. **

**__****I can give you everything that she can and more, Christian. You know that. You know that we have always been so good together, you and me. We can have that again. There's nothing to stop us but that meddling like twit. Just think about it Christian. I forgive you for pulling your backing from Haviland Mutual. I know that you only did it with prompting from that little bitch. I had to sell one of the salons to meet the obligation, but the new owner has agreed to let me lease the space. It is considerably more than the loan payment, but I have learned my lesson, Darling. I have taught you control and you have exercised it on me. I am very proud of you and I find that quite appealing and very sexy. I know you too well, Christian, you know that. Come back to me now, and all is forgiven. We can start all over—like the good old days when I was your sub...and you were mine. You know you miss it as much as I do. Come back to me, Christian. I'm waiting for you. **

**__****Your Beloved,  
Elena**

_****__**Elena Lincoln, Owner and Operator, Esclava Salons Washington**_

What has this Pedophile batty bitch been smoking!? I have my people watching her seduce a minor—although I haven't gotten anything new in the last week—and she thinks that I even _slightly_ want to deal with her at all? Much less, on a romantic level? She is far, far beyond delusional and after what just happened with David, I am about to increase surveillance on her bat-shit ass.

**__****To: Elena Lincoln**

**__****Re: Delusional Bleached Blondes**

**__****Date: Thursday, July 26, 2012, 08:17**

**__****From: Christian Grey **

**__****I think the title says it all. If you think that I would want you over the Goddess that sleeps with me every night in our bed, you are not only sadly mistaken but clearly insane. If I had any sense whatsoever, I would have ended our business relationship instead of signing that new contract with you. Do you not clearly understand that I truly want nothing whatsoever to do with you? Just in case you don't understand, let me make it clear. Do not contact me again in this manner or any other manner without legal representation present or I will be calling Sound Community to pull my backing from that bank as well. You only have four loans remaining, Mrs. Lincoln. I wouldn't press my luck if I were you.**

**____****Christian Grey, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.**

I press "send" and continue reading my emails. I do want to know why we haven't gotten any more intel on her with young Mr. Hemstead. I need to speak to Welch.

"Sir." Welch answers.

"Welch, what's the word on our latest intel on Mrs. Lincoln?" I ask.

"Well, she hasn't had little Hemstead over at her place for the last several days. We were getting usable evidence against her the first week and then the second week, everything was pretty PG at best. This week, she hasn't seen the boy at all. We may have to try to build something based on what we already have. I would say that we have some pretty good evidence as it is." I remember that her activities with this one seemed to coincide with events in my life.

"You say she was grooming him pretty regularly the first week. Are you referring to the week of the 8th—when we first discovered her activities with Mr. Hemstead?" I ask, checking my intel. After a pause,

"Yes sir. That's correct." Welch confirms.

"And then the week of the 15th, her activities with the young man waned, you say." I observe again. After a second pause, he replies,

"Yes, Sir, that's correct."

"And now over the last several days, she hasn't encountered him at all." I point out.

"That's right."

"Do you see a pattern here, Welch?" I ask. I, first of all, see a pattern that he wouldn't see—the pattern of ending a contract with a sub. You either ween yourself off of the sub, or you cut them off quickly. I always opted for the quick route. The Pedophile was always one for delayed agony.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I know that I probably should, but I don't."He responds.

"Well, that could be because I have a piece of information that you don't have. From the 8th to the 13th I'd say, she was very into Mr. Hemstead." I point out again.

"The 14th, Sir." He corrects.

"I was hospitalized late on the 13th. Although it wasn't mentioned in the media, those who needed to know knew about it. So from the 14th until—I bet—the 22nd, she had a PG relationship with this kid."

"Yes Sir, that's right." Welch says, surprised. "And the 22nd was the day that you went public with your relationship with Ms. Steele."

"Exactly. Now, she hasn't seen the kid all week. What has the kid been doing?" I ask.

"Going to summer school, coming home. This was his last week for summer classes. He's been mostly at his parents' home." He's acting like a brokenhearted teenager. I need to ask Carrick if he has spoken to the Hemstead's about young Shane.

"Someone will be over tonight. It most likely won't be Hemstead...she'll need a seasoned sub this evening." There was a pause. "Hemstead was being released for me. I rejected her today. Place more surveillance on her. Whoever the mole is, they were feeding information to her as well. Someone is trying to destroy me from the inside. I want to know who the fucker is." I pay these people enough, they should be able to find this out for me.

"Yes, Sir."

"Any new news on our Green Valley suspects?" I ask.

"Two deceased. I have sent you preliminary intel on the others as requested."

"I am sending you additional names that Ms. Steele gave me last night." I add.

"Ms. Steele?" He asks surprised. "She's on board now?"

"With a vengeance. This ordeal with David has changed her whole outlook. I need as much information as you can get me on his current situation—who he's bunking with, when he's moved."

"I'll do what I can, but I think Jason is your man for that one." He says.

"Oh! That reminds me. Ms. Steele and I are going to Anguilla for a while. We will be leaving tomorrow and we will be gone for at least four days, maybe more. I plan to take Taylor, Davenport, and Mrs. Jones with me. I don't want the penthouse left empty, so make sure that we have security set up to stay in the guest quarters and monitor around the clock. There will be some work being done in one of the bedrooms, so make sure your people are on their toes."

"Will do. I have also sent over the background information on Amanda Hearns that you requested, Sir."

"Anything of particular interest?" I ask.

"Absolutely nothing, Sir. Seattle girl next door, for the most part. Lived her whole life here, worked here, went to school here...besides a traffic ticket in college, absolutely nothing adverse on her record whatsoever." I hope Butterfly be pleased to hear that. Ray seems pretty stricken with this woman.

"Very good. I'll be in touch." I say before ending the call. I send a text to Taylor who should be awake and roaming by now to get his ass out from under Mrs. Jones and get to my study. I immediately book the villa on Anguilla through August 4th just in case Butterfly wants to stay the whole week. Taylor steps into my office in a dress shirt and slacks, dressed for a casual work-day from home and fresh as a daisy.

"As you can see," he says gesturing to his crisp attire, "I clearly was not _under_ Mrs. Jones." Whatever. I guess not everyone can fuck a woman senseless then be crisp enough to run a boardroom three minutes later. It's a gift.

"We're going to Anguilla for a while. I think Butterfly needs to decompress. Get the jet ready as well as ground transportation on Anguilla. We will also need a charter from St. Marteen. I would like to leave as soon as we possibly can after midnight tonight. Any time that the pilot will be available is fine. Ms. Acton should have Butterfly's wardrobe ready by noon, so I will need that to be picked up. Cartier will be making a delivery today at 4:00. The courier has instructions to only deliver to me or you. It's a surprise for Butterfly. Do you know if Gail has attire suitable for a weeks stay on the island?" Taylor jerks back in surprise.

"Gail, Sir?" He asks bemused.

"Well, yes. I think Butterfly will be more comfortable with someone familiar around. I do expect her to perform _some_ of her regular duties, but the villa has housekeeping and chef service so it will mostly be a vacation for you as well. I also plan on bringing Davenport since he is Butterfly's personal and permanent security now. He might as well get used to it..."

"_Permanent_ and personal? She agreed to that?" I looked at him incredulously.

"What do you think? She just spent the weekend handcuffed to a bed..._against _her will." I say matter-of-factly. He nodded.

"Duh! So...full alert for Anguilla?" Taylor asks. I rub my chin.

"I don't know for sure. So far the only ones that know we are going are you and I, Welch, my mother, Allen, and Ana. So those are all trusted people. Once you notify the pilot and co-pilot, then Gail...that will be a few more. I have never had reason to question Ms. Acton. Let's play it by ear. Not too lax, but not full alert unless we see the need." I reply.

"No problem. Let me talk to Gail and see what we need to do for transport." I nod and Taylor is on his way. When I finish combing through my emails and forwarding important ones to Ros, it's around 10am. Time to wake Sleeping Beauty. I turn off my computer and walk down the hall to our bedroom. Thank God the door was closed! Butterfly was beautifully sprawled out across the bed, her hair splayed out over the pillow. The blanket is only covering her lower extremities and her perfect pink nipples are exposed and erect, like she is dreaming of a chilly winter afternoon. I can't help but take one in my mouth and suck. Her back curves almost immediately at the contact as she wakes and stretches.

"Christian," she says, sleepily, "Baby, I can't. My coochie is going to fall off."

"I'm not touching your coochie. I'm sucking your tits." I say, switching to the neglected nipple.

"Oh!" She moans, thrusting her fingers in my hair. "But you know what this always leads to." She whines, her voice heavy with desire.

"I know, but it doesn't have to." I say, still teasing her nipple with my tongue and teeth while pinching and squeezing the other one.

"Christiaaaan," she whines, "Don't be mean." I chuckle against her nipple and suck it once more.

"Okay, Baby." I say scooting up the bed to kiss her. "How do you feel this morning?" I ask.

"Deliciously sore." She answers draping her arms around my neck.

"Mmmm." I moan while closing my lips over hers. "I like the sound of that." She giggles against my lips. "And I like the sound of that, too. Would you like a shower, my Butterfly?"

"Absolutely. What time is it?" She asks.

"Just after 10."

"Mmmm. We better hurry. Allen's coming over at 11:30 to discuss my case and Maxie will be here at one to...talk." She still doesn't know that I know.

"Where will you and Maxine be...talking?" I ask.

"In the library. Why?"

"I'll have Taylor disable the closed-circuit TV for that room until you're done." She does a sharp intake of air.

"Did you...see it?" I know she is referring to her session with Maxine last Wednesday.

"No, I had Taylor remove the footage. Allen told me. I just put two and two together about last Wednesday." I say. She looks away from me, almost like she's ashamed. "What's wrong? You have Maxine, I have Flynn. Just let me or Taylor know whenever you plan to meet with her here and we'll make sure that you get your privacy." She smiles at me again.

"Thank you, Baby." Mmm, that's sounds good.

"You're welcome, Butterfly." I say kissing the tip of her nose. "Now, let's get you cleaned and dressed."

"You're going to dress me again?" She says, smiling.

"If you'll let me." I reply. Her smile went from beaming to coy.

"Of course, I'll let you." She says sweetly, and plants another kiss on my lips. Oh, how I love this woman.

After her shower, I put her in a pair of beige Hanky Panky regular rise lace thongs and a beige Rachel Pally pina halter maxi dress. I can easily caress the contours of her beautiful body through the soft jersey material.

"What...no bra, Mr. Grey?" She says seductively. I gently brush my hand against her nipple through the fabric and her breath catches.

"No, Ms. Steele." I say just as seductively as she did. "No bra. Besides, you have firm, beautiful breasts." She closes her eyes to gather herself, but the tautness of her nipple through the dress gave away her arousal.

"May...I wear my butterflies again?" I was taken aback by her request. Her voice was soft, beseeching...like she knew she didn't have to ask, but she wanted my approval.

"Of course." I say, softly. I hear the reverence in my voice. I wanted to make her feel special and she made _me_ feel special by requesting my pieces again. As I retrieve the jewelry from the nightstand, Butterfly quickly scoops her hair up in a bun and holds it in place with two wooden chopsticks with gold and silver butterflies at the end.

"Those are adorable. Where did you find them?" I ask.

"At a little chachki shop in the Marketplace Val and I visited a while back. I never thought I would really have cause to wear them and then..." She smiles coyly at me.

"They're lovely, Butterfly." I say. I adorn her in the rest of her butterflies. "Now, it's perfect." We stand there smiling at each other like two giddy teenagers. "You make me very happy, Ms. Steele."

"And you make my heart leap, Mr. Grey." We share another kiss before we leave the bedroom hand in hand.

Allen is standing in the great room when we get there. "I'm sorry, Sir. I was just on my way to inform you." Taylor apologizes.

"No problem, Taylor. We were expecting him." I say.

"Jewel!" Allen coos. "You look lovely!" Butterfly blushes a beautiful shade of pink.

"Thank you." She replies coyly.

"Boy! A little rest can do wonders for a girl. When I came over yesterday, you looked like you were ready to go to the mattresses."

"Oh, I'm still ready to go to the mattresses, which is part of the reason why I called you here today. It's just that my Baby makes sure that I look good while I'm doing it." She smiles coyly at me. I bring her hands to my lips and kiss them gently.

"Well, well...whatever you're doing, Chris, keep it up. I'm glad to see my Jewel is better than ever!" Allen says.

"Oh, I intend to." I say, never taking my eyes off of my beautiful Butterfly. Taylor's signature throat-clearing can be heard behind Allen. I make eye-contact with him.

"Sir, Your Highness, the Mortons are downstairs." Taylor says.

"What the fuck?" I exclaim.

"_Your Highness!?_" Al asks, turning to me.

"Private joke." She says to Al. "Go get them. Bring them up." She tells Taylor. I glare at her.

"What? Why do you want to see them? What could they possibly have to say to you?" I shoot.

"I don't want to see them. I want them to see _me_. And they have _nothing_ to say to me, but I have a whole lot to say to them. Where's Chuck?"

"Right here, Ana." Davenport says coming out of the study.

"You ready?" She asks, looking over her shoulder.

"For however, you need me." He nods and takes the stance. I stand silently behind Butterfly as she watches the door awaiting the arrival of the Mortons. Minutes later, Taylor opens the door and, noting our configuration, he quickly steps aside and allows the Mortons inside. He takes his stance next to me after he closes the door.

Butterfly is expressionless, like she was when she was standing on the balcony yesterday—cold, stoic, and scary. Her arms are folded in front of her as she glares at the people standing in the great room just beyond the entrance.

"Ana. Hello." Mini-Morton begins. Butterfly says nothing. "You look beautiful, so much better than you did at the hospital. Are you _feeling _better now?" She says hopeful. Still no sound from Butterfly. I thought she said she had a lot to say to them. What gives? She is still staring stoically at her mother. "I, um, don't know where to start. I've missed you so much. I didn't know where you were. I figured that you came to Washington once you graduated...to live with Ray...but then we...lost touch and I didn't know what happened to you after that."

Lost touch. Is that what they call it now...when you emotionally abandon your child living in the same house with you? Basically leave her to fend for herself for two years until she runs away from you screaming, never to look back? Lost touch...that's what you call that? I guess that's what happened with the crack whore—she _lost touch_ with the need to feed, clothe, and protect me. Gee, thanks for explaining that, Mini-Morton!

"Are you finished?" Butterfly's voice breaks me out of my sarcastic introspection. "Are you _done _trying to be _Mommy _now? Because I told you two days ago to leave and never come back, and I can't figure out for the life of me why you're still here. I needed _Mommy_ 11 years ago. I don't _need_ Mommy now! You are clearly not wanted and not needed, so why are you still here?"

Mini-Morton's face turns pale and she seems to be fighting to find her words. "I'm...I...want to repair our relationship...to make amends..."

"Amends? There are no amends for us...ever. You sold your amends...for $750,000. Remember that?" Butterfly says flatly.

"Ana, please..."

"Only my friends call me Ana. For this small amount of time that you are in my presence, you refer to me as Dr. Steele." Whoa! I remember those days. She's pissed, _truly_ pissed.

"Doctor!? You're a doctor now?" Mini-Morton exclaims. Okay, I can't hold it in anymore.

"Okay, why the fuck are you two here? Because if you were concerned about her at all, you would at least know that she's a doctor!" I bark. Butterfly's small hand reaches back to me and rests on my chest to silence me. I am amazed how it immediately calms me as I am ready get on all fours and leap at these two rodents like a panther.

"Yes, Carla. Dr. Steele. Do _not_ call me Ana anymore." She says.

"I had no idea. I also didn't think...I mean, I knew that this wasn't going to be easy, but I never expected you to be so bitter towards me." Mini-Morton says, clearly trying to muster up some tears.

"Oooooohohoho," Butterfly laughs almost sinisterly. "I am _leagues_ beyond bitter." She growls. "I passed bitter so long ago, I don't even know what bitter looks like anymore."

"Ann, we're only trying to mend the fences here. Your mother was grief-stricken when she heard that you had been kidnapped." Now, Morton decides to speak.

Butterfly turns slightly to Morton, and the glare she turns on him should have melted his eyeballs out of their sockets...pure, unadulterated loathing, enmity, and detestation.

"Why do _you_ keep showing up, I mean, why? I can halfway understand her, but _you.._I don't get at all. Why are you here, you sniveling little, money-grubbing weasel? I truly hope that you two don't think for one second that you are going to pop back into my life for any reason whatsoever. The sight of you makes me physically ill. I don't even want to know _why_ you did what you did to me or treated me the way that you did because there is absolutely _nothing_ that you can say to me that will allow me to excuse it. As far as I am concerned, you are just two names on the long list of people that are going to feel my wrath very soon and you shouldn't even want to be in my presence. You should want to hide whenever you see me, because trust me—when you see me coming, I am up to no good when it comes down to the two of you. You keep walking into the snake pit and I'm a 50-foot Anaconda about to eat your ass alive...you should be running!" Fuck! Why did my damn dick just get hard?

"Why are you so damn evil to me?" Mini-Morton begins to close the space between her and Butterfly. Remembering her threat to take him to the mat, Davenport steps in front of Mini-Morton holding up his hand.

"That's far enough." He says to her. Morton steps to Mini-Morton.

"Touch my wife and I'll break your arm." He says to Davenport, exhibiting those balls that I saw in Dylan's a few nights ago but that seemed to have evaded him in the hospital on Tuesday.

"Touch _me _and I'll break your neck." Davenport says to Morton, who clearly shrinks back a little. He turns his attention to Butterfly.

"She's trying, Ann. She could have just ignored the news reports..." He begins.

"She _should_ have!" Butterfly snaps. "Do you two just _want_ me to scream at you and treat you badly? Because until I can find a way to make you pay for what you did to me, that's all I have for you!"

"Really, Ann, can't you just give her a chance?"

"No, I can't. And I realize that your liver is probably pickled but is your brain pickled, too? If I don't want _her _calling me Ana, what makes you think I want _you_ calling me _Ann_? My names is Dr. Steele, or are you too busy swimming in whiskey to hear me?" Call her Dr. Steele, Morton. Call her Dr. Steele. I'm a witness, you won't win this one.

"Why should I show you any respect when you show none to me?" He spit.

"Respect!? Are you kidding!? Seriously, is that a joke? Is that a joke?" She is screaming now. "How much respect did you show me when that fucker raped me, and you took $750,000 to keep me quiet? Yes, that fucker _raped_ me, you ass! I didn't _give it up, _and I wasn't _swinging my ass around in front of him. _And I don't give a flying fuck that he had a hot girlfriend...he fucking raped me...little, mousy, quiet, poor Anastasia Steele. He fucking raped me. He probably did it because he _knew_ nobody would believe me. He _knew_ that they would take his word over mine, and that's exactly what _you_ did. Do you have any fucking idea how it feels for someone to blame you for being raped...and then punish you? Brutally?"

She did something at that moment that caused my entire security staff to blush and turn away. She untied her beautiful dress and dropped it to the floor. She is standing there with her back to the Mortons so they can see her brand. "Butterfly!" She looks up at me and I can see that she is fighting the tears.

"Do you see it? Look at it closely...do you see it?" She barks.

"Yes, Butterfly, they see it." I honestly think they may have never seen it before the way that they are staring at it now. I pick up her dress and pull it back over her body. She composes her tears as I tie it around her neck. "Thank you." She whispers to me. I nod to her before she turns back to the Mortons.

"This is what I got for being raped. This is my reward for going to my stepfather and hoping for some kind of _justice_ from the spoiled, entitled asshole who viciously ripped my virginity from me without my permission. They fucking branded me...like livestock...and I was _awake_—for the first brand anyway. I wanted you to believe me then, but I don't want it now. I don't want you to believe me, I don't want amends, I don't even want respect. I want revenge...and I'm going to get it against every fucker who had anything to do with this...and I want you to leave and never come back, because there is no place in my life for you. There never will be, so just. Go. Away." She turns to leave and Morton grabs her arm.

None of us heard what he said as a gaggle of men _attempted_ to reach Morton with full intentions on pummeling him, but we were too slow. With her usual tiger-like speed and reflexes, Butterfly sucker-punched Morton in the jaw, followed by an elbow strike, a good strong gut-punch, and then this woman actually held her dress up while she drop-kicked him—barefoot - in the chin. This man went sailing back to the door he and his mini-wife had entered a few minutes ago and landed on the floor on his back.

"Steve!" Mini-Morton yells as she rushes to his side.

"You spineless, drunken worm—don't you ever touch me again!" Butterfly hisses.

"I'll sue you!" He yells. "I'll fucking sue you."

"Yeah, you do that, but I should warn you—this apartment is wired with closed circuit television. So I have you on tape putting your hands on me first. I was just defending myself. So you sue me and I will _own _that worthless piece of shit property that you have in Green Valley, which I probably will anyway by the time I'm done with you," she threatens. Knowing that his actions have been recorded and he has no ground to stand on, Morton silently nurses his sore jaw—thrice hit by the tigress that is my Butterfly.

"To the person formerly known as my _Mom, _would you like some of the same?" Mini-Morton never answered, but of course she didn't need to. "Then please take your pile of drunk, deadbeat husband and get the _fuck_ out of my home." Her home. She called it _her_ home. Oh...if only... My hope flutters a bit hearing those words.

"Go back to Nevada, before I make your lives here very uncomfortable, and for the last time...don't. Come near me. Again. This is your last warning." She says, impassively, and folds her arms again. That's my signal that she is done. I gesture to Taylor to show the Mortons out. He walks to the door where Morton is still lying on the floor.

"Again, you heard the lady. Leave." He says to them. Mini-Morton turns to me.

"So now you're going to resort to bullying us!" She spits.

"I have nothing to say to you!" I bark. "Get out of my house. You are trespassing. She has asked you to leave several times. I will only tell you once. As I have it on video that you have been requested to leave several times, I will be within my rights to forcibly remove you—and if that means head first down the emergency stairwell, so be it!" Mini-Morton's eyes grow large as she attempts to help Morton off of the floor who is pretending to be hurt. I walk over and look down at him.

"I told you she could take care of herself. Since you put your hands on my girlfriend, if I ever see you again—in private or in public—I will take it as an act of aggression and act accordingly. Now you are blocking my door. Don't. Make me say it. Again!" I hiss. Having met my fist before, Morton quickly scrambles to his feet and, after Taylor opens the doors, escorts his wife out of my apartment. We watch as they wait for the elevator to arrive, get inside, and the doors close behind them. Butterfly lets go of a breath that she was holding.

"I'm sorry, Guys. I didn't mean to drop trou in front of you that way." She says, blushing.

"Well, technically, you didn't drop trou. You dropped dress, but we understand." Davenport replied. She smiled embarrassed. Then she looked at me, shaking their heads.

"They don't get it. I thought they were just being greedy, but I saw it in their eyes. Neither of them stuck around when I was in the hospital, so they don't know what I went through...but that's no excuse, because they didn't really _want_ to know. What's worse, they don't think there's anything wrong with what they did. As far as they're concerned, this was just my plight in life and I should just accept it. The Distillery there still doesn't believe that I was raped, but I don't care anymore. I said what I have to say and now they need to just stay the hell away from me." She puts her hand on her forehead and looks down. "Oh, God, please let me be a better mother than that when I have children." My heart actually stood still when she said that.

_When I have children..._

I never knew how she felt about it. We never talked about it. I rush to her side and take her face in my hands.

"Don't you worry, Butterfly. You are a wonderful person...and you're going to be a fantastic mother." I say. Her eyes light up like Christmas. It's the most beautiful thing that have ever seen.

"Thank you, Baby." She says, smiling sincerely, touching my hand as she leans into it.

"Okay, we've disposed of the garbage, now I think we all have some serious business to attend to." Allen snaps us out of our thoughts.

"That we do!" Butterfly says.

"Okay, we'll leave you to it. Taylor, we have a trip to plan." I say as I head for my study.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"Well, that was entertaining." Al says as I pull out an Asian chicken salad that Gail was kind enough to make for lunch.

"To say the least! You'd think they would learn, but noooooo." I sing the _no_. Allen and I chew the fat about everything and nothing while I warm some breadsticks to go with the salad and mix some cranberry spritzers. I excuse myself momentarily while I load up a tray and take lunch to a very grateful Christian and Taylor. I think my boyfriend—like I—forgot that we slept in kind of late and hadn't eaten anything yet.

Allen and I take our lunch in the great room and continue to gab about Val and Elliot and where we think they're headed. Quite frankly I think he's just a plaything for her and that he is using this opportunity to get over the broken engagement with Kate. Al seems to think it's more. I am _dying_ to know what, if anything, has transpired between Marilyn and Gary. Now, _that's _a cute little couple.

"I feel like Jane Austin's _Emma_, although her matches weren't always successful." I laugh.

"This is true, young Jewel." He says sipping his spritzer. "So, we have had a lovely lunch. Now, what is the purpose of this meeting...besides my good company?"

"Well, I want to talk about lawsuits."

"Ooooh, this is a business meeting." Al says.

"Yes, Sir. One third of the settlement and all." I respond. Allen perks up.

"Delicious. Who are we going after?"

"First, Edward David." I say. He looks at me confused for a moment, then it dawns on him.

"False imprisonment." He says in realization. I nod. "Genius, Jewel! How much are we talking?"

"I want his company. I want to attach at least two-thirds of his assets and I don't want him to be able to dispose of any of the assets to use on his defense." I say.

"That's easy enough. I just have to do some discovery."

"Well, I'll let you know right now that Christian has already done a background check and has his financials. I don't want his cheap ass condo or his funky ass car, but I want everything else. Christian has him netted out at about 6 million."

"Good, then we'll sue for five." I pause.

"Five? Isn't that exorbitant? I want to win." I say. Al frowns at me.

"Babydoll...who's the lawyer?" I throw my hands up. "You ask for more than what you want in hopes that you get _what_ you want. You want to come out with 4 to 4.5, so you ask for five."

"Okay, you're the boss." I say.

"No, _you're_ the boss. I'm just the expert. I'll get that ball rolling ASAP and I'd like to see the financials if Chris doesn't mind sharing."

"I'm sure he won't mind. I've already shared that idea with him...but I haven't shared this one yet." We are sitting on the sofa in the great room and I lean my arms on my knees. "I want to sue Henderson and Clark County, Nevada." Allen sits back on the sofa.

"Jewel, what do you think you're going to get from that?" He ask.

"If nothing else, I'll get some publicity for this shit. I need to make some noise. I need someone to say something. I need something more than a hunch to sink my teeth into and rats always run from a sinking ship...as if there's somewhere that they can go. Well this bitch is Titanic, and I need some satisfaction."

"First blood." He says.

"First _mother fucking _blood." I confirm. "I don't expect to get anything out of this. I know these cases are very rarely ever won and this one has holes all over the place. So I'm willing to pay your hourly rate for any work that you have to do with this since I don't expect a settlement..." Allen starts waving his hands at me.

"If you don't get a settlement, then neither do I, Jewel. I'm completely behind you—balls to the wall. Where do you want to start?"

"Well, this case received local and statewide media recognition. I'm not sure if it was picked up nationally—I was only 15 and I really didn't care about all of that and I don't remember. We could probably Google it and find out, but I know it was in the local news for months—maybe even years if we go on just the mention of it—and the District Attorney's office never even touched it. Why is that? Any other time, they would be pushing for evidence to get a highly publicized case solved. Hell, they even changed the curfew laws in Green Valley because of it—so it _was_ highly fucking publicized. Was this just a case of negligence—the case wasn't big enough? Or maybe the case was _too_ big. Were their hands tied because there was not enough evidence collected by the police, or did somebody pay the DA off, too? I don't know, but once the Attorney General grabs this case, I want a lawsuit on George Sullivan, the Henderson Police Department, the Clark County District Attorney's office, and the sitting DA at that time. Negligence is going to be my primary suit and anything that can come from the information that you find in discovery. If we get any suspects out of this—which I doubt that we will because the evidence was _so_ awful—I'll be filing wrongful death suits on them for the death of the baby."

"You've really thought about this, haven't you?" He said. I sighed.

"Ever since I got out of the hospital, I've just been thinking and thinking and thinking—about the people who wronged me and what they gained from it; about how they seem to be happy in their lives—most of them, anyway—and I seem to have misery befall me more often than I should. Why should they go coasting happily through life while I walk around carrying Magnums and Berettas that couldn't even help me at that critical moment? I am sick with vengeance and I am trying to fix my mind because I know that line of thinking is dangerous and wrong, but I'm not going to be the victim anymore. I am Christian Grey's girlfriend and that makes me a target in more ways than one. I am going to make it clearly known that I have sharpened my claws and fangs and if you bite me, I will maul and mangle you to death."

"You're not likely to get anything on that wrongful death, Jewel. Are you sure you want to pursue that?" he asks.

"I'm not expecting to get anything on any of it except publicity. Oh, I expect to take all of David's money. By the time I'm done taking his company, the money he has left with have to go to his defense. If I'm not mistaken, if he's in jail, an executor will be assigned to handle his assets, correct?"

"That's correct." Al confirms.

"And those assets will be frozen to avoid any misappropriation while he is in jail and under investigation, correct?"

"Yep. That's the way it usually works." He says.

"Good. Then it's right in line with what I want."

"You know he's never going to make that insanity plea float, right? I mean, it's completely ludicrous and unfounded. There's intent all over the place—starting with that protection order. There's no way that he's going to be able to prove that this was not premeditated. He even changed his appearance for Christ's sake." Al exclaims.

"Well, he better hope for his sake that it doesn't float, because if he ever comes near me again, I'm going to kill him." I say, flatly. Al throws his hands up in the air.

"Damn it! You and Chris! Shit! I keep telling you that you can't tell me that shit." He says.

"I can tell you whatever I want, Al. You're my attorney. Everything that I say to you is privileged!" I say. "He terrorized me. He violated a protection order and he terrorized me. If I ever see him coming my way again, I believe he's going to terrorize me again—and I am going to aim for his fucking skull and empty the fucking clip! So for his sake, he better hope that his insanity plea _doesn't_ pan out for him, because if I _ever_ find out that he's a free man, I'm going to hunt him down like the dog that he is. If I am 90 years old and can't walk, I will chase him on a motorized scooter carrying a nine with a hairpin trigger—and I don't care who knows. That psychotic fuck will never get near me again. So for his safety, they better keep him locked up." I spit. That's when I remember I have business at that vermin's current place of residence. "That reminds me. I need to go to the police station to pick up my mag and my boo."

"Do you want me to take you?" He asks.

"No, I've got Maxie coming over shortly. I'll have Chuck take me this afternoon, assuming Christian doesn't insist on doing it. You know that he won't let me out of his sight." I say with a smirk.

"He loves you, Girl." Al says, sweetly.

"Yeah, I know." I blush. "That reminds me. Did you bring it?"

"Of course, I brought it. I almost jumped out of my skin when you told me to get it." Allen reaches in his pocket an pulls out a small box wrapped in yellowing tissue paper.

"Thank you, Al." I say, holding the little package like it's the Hope Diamond.

"Are you sure this is it, Jewel? I mean, I have a feeling that this is a _point of no return_ type of thing here."

"Allen Michael Forsythe, I am beyond the point of no return. If this is not _it_, I am totally screwed." I say to him.

"Well, I wish you joy." He says with a little bow.

"And you as well." I say with a curtsey.

"Here, I brought your mail, too." He hands me a bundle of mail.

"Thank you, Love." I say.

"Well, Darling. I'm going to leave you and Chris to your planning. I know Maxie will be here any minute, so I'm going to take off." He kisses me on the cheek.

"Okay, Dear, keep me posted and let me know if you need any more information." Before I finish my sentence, Christian and Taylor emerge from his study and Taylor heads back to the guest quarters.

"Are you two finished?" Christian says joining us in the great room.

"Yes," I say, putting my arms around his waist. "I was just bidding farewell to my gay boyfriend." I jest. Christian's brow furrows.

"I'll never get used to hearing that..." He says as he kisses my forehead. "Allen, can I detain you for a moment?"

"Sure, what's up?' Allen says. I kiss Christian's cheek.

"I'm going up to my office." Christian smiles at me. "What?"

"Nothing." He says. "I'll send Maxine up when she gets here." I look at him a little strange, then shrug it off. "I'm going to call Chuck. I want to go and pick up my car and my guns this afternoon."

"I'll have Taylor notify him. What time do you want to go?" Christian asks.

"Maxie and I should be done around two, so I'd say maybe three." He nods.

"Okay. No problem." He says. I turn to leave, then something occurs to me.

"Christian?" He turns around. "What do you want me to do with my gun?" His brow furrows again.

"What do you mean?" He asks.

"Well, I'm going to pick up my guns and then I'm coming back here. My bo...my Glock stays in the glove box but my Magnum comes with me. I know you don't like guns, so what do you want me to do with it?" I ask. He walks over to me and kisses me on the forehead again.

"Thank you for thinking of me. Do you mind putting it in a fireproof lock box when it's here?" He asks.

"No, I don't mind that at all." I respond. I could just put it in the beautiful desk that he brought me, but I know that the lock box will make him feel better.

"Okay, I'll have one in _your_ office by the time you get back." I noticed that he stressed the word_ your._ I wonder if he's being a smart ass.

"Thank you, Dear." I say sarcastically before ascending the stairs to _my_ office. I put my little package safely in my desk drawer and lock it. I place the mail on top of the desk—I'll look at it later. I have a few minutes before Maxie gets here and I thought about what I said to Al about Googling the Green Valley incident. I wonder... To avoid getting every plastic surgeon and special interest story in the Valley, I Googled _myself_. I seemed to have forgetten that I just had a very eventful weekend. Christian was right...I have instant celebrity status. Before I clicked on the various headlines I read which ranged from truth to utterly ridiculous, I decided to click on images. There are various pictures at every angle of Christian carrying me from the hospital. Some old picture from college...God only knows what that was for. The one that caught my eye is a picture of Christian and Allen sitting in Christian's study. I click on the picture and it's actually a link to a live feed.

Allen is doing all of the talking. He is issuing a plea for anyone with information about my whereabouts to contact their local police department. There are pictures of David and Harris before and after their transformations. How they got "after" shots, I don't know, but they got them. Christian hasn't said anything, but his face says it all. He looks beaten and worn, like he's been crying or hasn't gotten any sleep...or both. His shoulders are rounded...not squared like I am accustomed to seeing them. He looks gorgeous as usual...but tortured—so, so tortured. I begin to check the news stations and I see that the video was picked up by all of the major networks. Everybody wants a piece of Christian Grey, and I bet he was counting on that. That's why Harris panicked. He saw himself on television in connection with my disappearance and he freaked out. It caused him and Edward to get sloppy, and afforded me the opportunity to contact the police for help. Poor Christian. He looks so lost and hopeless.

"I take it this is your first time seeing it." Maxie's voice broke my concentration. I nod.

"I take it you've already seen it." I say.

"Several times. I had words with Allen for not telling me before I saw it on MSNBC. He explained that they had to work quickly." She says.

"He looks so hurt." I say looking at Christian's broken expression on the computer screen.

"He was a basketcase before he got a chance to see you at the hospital, Ana. He paced a hole in the waiting room floor. He hit the wall several times. He gave the nurses hell trying to get information on you. The only one that could calm him down was his mother. He seemed to reign in his feelings when Ray showed up, but not by much. He is completely besotted with you. He is hopelessly gone. What have you done to that man?" She sits in one of the chairs in the library. I come from behind the desk and sit in the chair across from her.

"The same thing he has done to me." I say, putting my hand on my forehead. "You already know that I'm in love with this man."

"Yes, and I would venture to say that he's in love with you, too...if his behavior this weekend is any indication. You should see him when you walk out of a room. He's frozen to you. I am sure that if you two are the only two in the room that he watches the door until you get back." She says laughing and I join her in the laughter.

"Well, I was kidnapped." I say.

"Yep."

"And brutally beaten..._again!_" I add.

"Yep, yep." She says.

"And I discovered that Christian went to Green Valley to confront the Whitmores and the people who attacked me the first time."

"Ye...what?" Now I've really got her attention.

"Yep!" I finish the word for her. "There was never any K&R insurance, well, at least not in this instance. He used it as a cover to go to Green Valley and dig around and oh, what he found! When I found out, I became angry, I left the apartment without security and got kidnapped."

"Oh, Ana." She says, her voice low.

"So...as you can see, I think I'm going to need a few regular sessions for a while. So I'm going to need to be paying you...especially for these house calls."

"Okay, no problem. Same as before?" She says referring to our previous payment arrangement.

"Same as before." I agree. "He's taking me away...to Anguilla..."

I have a long, detailed talk with Maxie about everything on my mind—the kidnapping, David's plea, the truth about Green Valley, my plot for revenge, the lawsuits, the Mortons, the trip to Anguilla, the significance of the box Al brought me today. She didn't get a chance to say much because I just needed to unload. We'll go into all of the delving and picking things apart later...there's only so much that we can do in an hour. We keep the paid sessions very professional, and save our girl talk for once we're done. Once the clock was off...

"Phil wants a traditional wedding. I want something small. What the hell are we going to do?" She says, a bit forlorn.

"Have you started your guest lists yet?" I ask. She shakes her head.

"I don't even know where I'm having it yet let alone who I'm inviting." She responds, clearly flustered.

"Well, start there. Decide who you really want to be there and then you can decide how big the wedding is going to be. And for God's sake, don't start inviting your third cousin once removed that you haven't seen in 20 years because it's a waste of an RSVP." I say throwing my hands in the air. She falls back in her chair.

"Should I hire a planner?" She asks. I'm not really sure about that.

"Start with the guest list. If it gets to be more than 100 people, hire a planner and prepare for an old fashioned wedding." I say winking at her and walking back to my desk. "And don't start inviting people because your mom wants her friends to come or So-and-so is going to be angry if they don't get an invitation. This is _your_ day. Make sure it is what you want it to be. And don't turn into Bridezilla on me because I'll drop you like a hot potato before you can blink." She knows that I'm kidding about dropping her but not about Bridezilla.

"So...Anguilla? I'm so jealous, you cow!" She says after a brief silence. Just then, I hear frantic, rushed footsteps coming up the stairs then a hurried knock at my door.

"Come in." I call, wondering where the fire is. Gail pushes the door open, a woman on a mission, tendrils of hair flying out of her normally well-kept bun.

"Anguilla!?" She squeals a little more than flustered. "I don't have the wardrobe for Anguilla! And we're leaving at 4 in the morning...tomorrow! What am I supposed to do?" Maxie and I burst into laughter.

"Well, it looks like there's an impromptu shopping trip in our future." I say to Maxie.

"Oh most definitely." Maxie exclaims. "I can live vicariously through the two of you since _I_ won't be going to fabulous Anguilla."

"Ana...are you sure? I know how you feel about your bruising." Gail says.

"Well, first of all, it's gone down considerably and second, I've decided that I'm not going to worry about it anymore. Now, we have to make a detour because I have to go to the police station and get my car and my guns..."

"Your _guns?_" Gail says.

"Yeah. Our girl here is a regular bad-ass. There's no way those two fucks would have gotten her if she had been allowed to keep her Magnum in her purse." Maxie says.

"A Magnum...really?" Gail says. She sounds fascinated.

"Yes. My dad taught me how to shoot at an early age and when I turned 21, I got my CCW. Now I have a Magnum, a Glock 9mm, and a Beretta."

"So which ones are at the police station?" She asked.

"The Glock and the Magnum. I keep the Glock in my glovebox and the Magnum in my purse."

"So I get to see them...?" She is _really _intrigued.

"Sure you get to see them. Christian is putting a lockbox in here so that I can keep my Magnum safe." I say.

"A gun? In the apartment? I would think Mr. Grey would never agree to that." Gail says, skeptically.

"Well, he has to now. We talked about my guns in the beginning of our relationship and now, he knows I will go absolutely NOWHERE without them. So..." I shrug.

"Wow. You've really made some changes in Mr. Grey." She says.

"Yes, and we had better get going because we don't have much time. As far as I know we are staying four days, but it could be longer, so we need to get you clothes for 10." I Google the weather for Anguilla this time of year.

"I certainly can't afford that, Ana." She protests.

"Oh, don't worry. I didn't get to shop for myself, so I can shop for you."

"Oh, Ana, I couldn't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking me. I'm doing it. Look at my face. I looked like Quasimodo two days ago. Now I look like I've just been in a tussle. By Saturday, I'll be good as new! There's no way I could have done this without that fabulous tea. Oh please, Gail. We are going to be on the beautiful island of Anguilla. You _have _to look fabulous!" I have my hands clasped together like I'm praying. She couldn't help but laugh.

"Well, how can I decline such an offer?" She says.

"Good! Go grab your purse and we can get going."

"But I'm still working..." She protests.

"Yeah, go grab your purse. I'll take care of Mr. Grey." I say. "What about you, Max?"

"I kept the afternoon free. I didn't know what our session was going to be like." I nodded.

"Good thinking." I say as we all leave my office and head down the stairs. I knock on the door to Christian's study.

"Come in." I hear him say through the door. He face lights up when I enter. I like that.

"Hey," I say, noticing that Al is sitting across from him. "What are you two conspiring now?"

"Terms." He says, almost triumphantly. I look from him to Al, then back to him, then back to Al.

"He romanced you, huh?" I say to Al.

"Jewel, please," He says holding his hands up to me. "I don't need that visual of my newest client." I laugh.

"How did he manage to win you over?" I say.

"Well, the terms of our agreement are non-disclosed, but let's just say that he made me an offer that I couldn't refuse." He says, doing a very bad impression of Vito Corleone.

"Oh, God, spare me, please." I say, throwing my hands in the air. "Baby, I am leaving early and I am stealing your housekeeper for the evening." He frowns a bit.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

"Well, you are whisking us away to a beautiful island paradise for we don't know how many days and you failed to tell your housekeeper that she was also going until..." I grab his arm and look at his watch. "...fifteen hours before departure. Although you have so generously taking care of my attire for this glorious trip, no one has outfitted poor Gail...not even poor Gail herself. So I am taking her on a super-duper fast impromptu shopping spree."

"_You're _taking her?" He says.

"Yes." I respond.

"That will never do." He scoffs as he pulls out his wallet.

"Christian, I have a couple of pennies to rub together, you know. I can take care of it." I protest.

"I know you do, but this trip is for you, and I don't want you spending any of your own money...unless it's for souvenirs or things like that...and only then if you choose to do so. Besides, I'm the one that caught everybody off guard. It's the least I can do." He pulls out a credit card and hands it to me...and I almost fucking choke. I try to remain calm.

"What's my limit?" I ask, concentrating on controlling my voice. He looks up at me with crisp Grey eyes.

"Are you really asking me that?" He says, a little curtly. I sigh.

"Well, I don't want to take advantage of you. Do you know what kind of damage a girl can do with an American Express Black?" I exclaim.

"Do you worst." He replies with a smile.

"Remember you said that." I say pointing at him. He laughs again and kisses me on my cheek.

"Have fun, spend lots of my money, and don't worry about it. Tell Gail that I insist, and that if she comes back with less that 15 gorgeous things that I know she gave you a hard time. Be sure to buy something for yourself." Oh, good Lord, I could get used to this. I take a deep breath and let it out.

"Okay. We will probably grab dinner out somewhere. Should we take someone else with us or will Chuck be enough?" I say.

"I thought you'd never ask. Take Lawrence with you. I'd feel better if there are two of them." He responds. I salute him.

"Aye, aye, Captain." I say, laughing at him as I leave the study. I meet Gail and Maxie in the great room. "Ladies, it is _on_!" I say as I flash Christian's Black card between my index and middle fingers. Maxie gasps and Gail falls silent.

"You're kidding!" Maxie whispers like we are talking about national security.

'I am not...and the sky is the limit!" I say as I fan myself with the Holy Grail of Credit Cards. "Gail, he says he insists, and don't give me a hard time." She claps her hands like a kid going to recess. Good! I thought she _was_ going to give me a hard time. "Now lets go, Ladies, before he changes his mind."

"I'm not going to change my mind!" He yells from his study and we giggle.

"Where are the guards, Dear?" I ask through my laughter.

"Downstairs. They're already waiting for you." He yells again.

"Okay. Love you! Kisses, Al."

"Love you, too, Butterfly."

"Kisses, Jewel!"

"Al's in there?" Maxie says.

"Yeah." I answer.

"Asshole!" She yells.

"Love you, too, Max." Al responds. Gail and I both gape at her.

"What was that about?" I say as we make our way to the door.

"Oh, we have an agreement. He has to endure that for a while since I had to find out about you on MSNBC." She says flatly. I hiss.

"Ooo...okay." I drop the topic and we enter the elevator headed for the parking garage.

* * *

_**A/N**_

_**"Go to the mattresses" & "an offer I couldn't refuse" - As if you didn't know, it's from "The Godfather." "Going to the mattresses" actually refers to soldiers of a mafia family sleeping on mattresses in a hideout waiting for the "call to arms" in a war with a rival family. I mean think about it - imagine the Don is calling for action and you're stuck in traffic. So "going to the mattresses" has come to symbolize going to war. The "offer you can't refuse" usually meant "do what I say or die." Vito Corleone got someone to sign a contract by telling him either "his brains or his signature would be on the contract." I don't think you'd refuse that offer! Another "offer" came when Corleone sent his consigliere to convince a movie producer to cast Corleone's nephew in a film, but the producer wouldn't do it. The next thing the producer knew, he woke up with the head of his prized Arabian stallion in his bed. Just a little useless trivia for you!**_

_**The Anguilla trip will prove to be quite the adventure! For that reason, I have made a Pinterest board just for our group's island escapades. Put it in your favorites as the next chapter will start the trek to the Caribbean Sea! Our couple will share love, passion, some bonding moments, a bit of angst, and some fun in the sun in the British West Indies' island of Anguilla beginning in chapter 49 of our story. Don't miss it! Please bookmark the board pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla / if you want to travel along with the adventures of our favorite couple!**_

_**Also, don't forget our regular Pinterest page for this chapter - pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Next chapter - tying up some loose ends and we are off to de island in de sun!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!**_  
_**Lynn x**_


	49. Chapter 49:Preparing for Sunnier Climes

**_I'm sorry Bronze O'clock was a little late today, but you all know...business comes first!_**

**_I have so many reviews to catch up on, but I am working my way through. If I haven't responded to you yet, I promise that I will!_**

**_To JN - Thanks for your reviews! I hope they were happy tears. :-) "Boo" is a pet name. It's usually reserved for your boyfriend or girlfriend, like "Baby." She's just indicating that "Boo" is her favorite gun. ;-)_**

**_To Michelle B - Thanks for your reviews! I didn't even see the dress that Bella wore in Twilight, so I Googled it and it came up with like three different dresses. I didn't like any of them, so we don't have to worry about Ana wearing them when the time comes._**

**_To Tempress - Thanks for your reviews! Excellent analysis of how Ana may be feeling about Christian delving into Green Valley. I love that a reader can look at the story and make an analysis like that. You hit a lot of nails on the head. One or two points we may disagree but overall, you were spot on. I have to disagree with you about the promise ring, though. I think it's completely appropriate for someone who has been only dating for a month, but are completely committed to each other and want to make that commitment known. Even though we know that whirlwind romances do happen (I'm a witness), I still want to keep the story as realistic as possible and as much as I love E.L. James'original version of the story and over 200 active fanfics that I am reading, have read, and want to read, I've never been able to get behind that whole "Boom-I met you, boom-we're engaged, boom-we're married" story-line. I like the way that other people portray it - it's romantic and shows all the longing and love of a runaway romance, and I want that element, too...but I also need some realism. I won't make them wait five years to get married or anything like that, but they won't be getting married after three months. Stick with me, Babe, I promise you won't be disappointed. ;-)_**

**_To Tj - Thanks for your reviews! FYI, Ana had a miscarriage, not an abortion, which is pretty traumatic in and of itself. And you are right, everybody has a breaking point. Stay tuned..._**

**_To CG GIrl - Thanks for your reviews! Girl, I need me a Christian Card, too! And great idea about David!_**

**_To all of my other reviewers including but not limited to Beachycolor, Carol , Christian618, CM (Yes, you can sue a town - you may or may not win, but you can sue), Jaimini, Laney (glad to be of service, Darling!), michelle (I didn't mean to make you cry so hard), Marissa (thanks for joining me!), Sonnie, Teresaromance (cojones! IKR!), and my guests who have stopped by to show me some love, thank you thank you thank you!_**

**_Again, if you haven't heard from me yet, you will hear from me soon! Thank you all for your support. _**

**_I don't own the characters, I'm just mangling them at my will._**

_Chapter 49—Preparing For Sunnier Climes_

_**STEELE**_

We all climbed into the Audi SUV since we had to stop at the police station first to pick up my belongings. It is my hope to never have to deal with the Seattle Police Department in this capacity again. I know that I received special treatment—most likely because of a certain copper-haired, gray-eyed Adonis that I know and love—and it was _still_ a damn nightmare getting my things back! There has to be a petition and a background check for me to retrieve my guns. Luckily, that process was started the day that they retrieved _me. _I'm at the evidence warehouse and the guy is treating me like a toddler. By the time it's all said and done, I'm flailing my hands about asking this guy who is older than Jesus, "I have a CCW! I have to get a background check for the CCW! What is the problem? Just tell me what I need to do to get my guns!" This guy wanted to stand there and make jokes about my height and my guns being bigger than I am.

Wrong move, Moses.

By the time it was all said and done, I called Gerald and then I called Christian and they called somebody else and the next thing I knew, Christian, Williams, Gerald, and some other cop—chief, I think—were all down at the warehouse. Gerald and this Chief guy is screaming Moses down who is now shaking and shivering and trying to find my guns and my car. My car was at the impound, and then they took it somewhere else and now it's here and blah, blah, blah...just give me my shit! By the time I get my guns, I have now wasted an hour of shopping time—thank God, we left early—and when I go out to my car, it looks like pure shit. It's filthy and dirty. It's got fingerprints all over it. There's black gunk on the inside and they damaged it when they towed it.

"What the fuck happened?" Christian shouted. "I was at the aquarium when they put this car on the truck. It didn't look like this!" He shouted, looking from Williams to Gerald.

"I know. I saw it, too." Gerald says.

"What the hell did they do to her car!?" Christian is screaming now. I tune out anything they are saying. I look at what once was my beautiful pearl blue 2012 Chrysler 300 with matching suede interior. It now a dusty, dirty, grimy, damaged hunk of junk. It doesn't even look like my car anymore. I turn away from the car and walk silently to the nearby Audi SUV. Fuck it, I thought. First, Edward bashes the windshield out and now the police get a hold of it and treat it like a useless piece of tin. I'm still paying for the damn thing! Whatever. I get into the back seat and close the door. I fold my arm and silent tears fall down my face.

Fucking cops.

In a moment, Christian is opening the door. "Butterfly?" I wipe my tears quickly, like I'm ashamed for him to see them. "Do you want to make a report?"

"No," I say quietly. "I want to get out of here." The tears are still flowing as I look straight ahead.

"Are you still paying for that car, Butterfly?" He asks. I nod. "Then you should really make a report."

"I don't care anymore, Christian. I want to get out of here. I want to go shopping with my friends." I reply, still trying to wipe the tears from my sore face. Christian takes out his handkerchief and gently dabs my tears dry.

"I'll talk to Gerald and we'll make the report. We saw the car when they loaded it." I just nod. I don't think he understands that that car is not _my car _anymore. Whatever happens, I just going to trade the damn thing in or something, I don't know. My beautiful 300. "I'll make sure it gets detailed and repaired for you, okay?" Detailed. Again. Sure. I nod. I don't care what they do with it. I didn't even put my Boo back in it. "Are you okay, Baby?" I nod again. Gail and Maxie come back over to the SUV.

"Ana, are you okay?" Gail asks. I give her a tortured, tearful smile.

"I'll be fine, but we have less space to fill since my car is destroyed." I croak, trying to make light of the situation.

"Lawrence can drive the other SUV. You guys can take the two SUV's with you." Christian says.

"What about you and Williams?" I ask.

"Don't worry about us, we'll be fine. You don't have many more shopping hours left—I want you to go. Okay?" He smiled at me and I suddenly feel better.

"Okay." I reply as he dabs my eyes again.

"I'll take care of this. No more crying." He scolds. I nod.

"Okay." He kisses me on my lips and the girls climb into the SUV. Lawrence gets into the other SUV and follows us to Nordstrom. We have about five hours to make a _big _dent in this store, and that's exactly what I plan to do. I gave my firearms to Chuck to secure in the glove box, and proceed into Nordstrom to give the "Holy Grail" a workout.

When I say that we put a hole in Nordstrom, I mean that we put a _hole_ in Nordstrom! First, we head to the summer dresses. We need tropical colors and flowing materials. One we put a dent in that department, we wandered over to blouses, then pants and leggings, swimwear, then shoes...ah, shoes! One we chose our accessories, Poor Gail turned several shades of pink when I told her that we could not leave without lingerie.

"I'm comfortable in nightgowns and pajamas. I'll be just fine." She tries to protest.

"Oh, no," I say. "We are going to Anguilla. You will wearing silk, lace, or satin every night that we are there."

"I'm too old for that stuff." She says.

"You most certainly are not!" I disagree. "I'll have you know that I'll be wearing this _stuff_ when I'm in my sixties and beyond. As long as Mr. Grey's eyes work, I will give him something to look at. Now move your patootie!"

"Patootie?" Maxie whines. "Really Ana?"

"Just...come on you guys."

I help Gail pick out her spread for a 10 days just in case. We chose a white Joquil Casablanca Satin and Lace nightgown, a Cosabella Never Say Never black stretch lace chemise, an Oscar De La Renta white print satin chemise with black lace trim, a Honeydew Intimates Emma Elegance Coral nightie with black lace bosom and trim, a Calvin Klein sultan purple nylon chemise with lace trim, a Joquil In Bloom orchid lace trapeze nightie (I bought the same nightie in black and turquoise), and the Natori Zen Floral chemise with lace bosom in heathered sea grass, which is kind of like seafoam green (I got the same nightie in black). I made sure to get her the Natori Kabibi Robe as well. Nothing too risque—we don't want Jason having a heart attack, but we do want him to find her utterly irresistible on this lovely, romantic, tropical island. I purchased a few pieces for me as well and a couple for Maxie...I didn't want her to feel left out.

We had that poor salesgirl carrying armfuls upon armfuls of clothing and shoes and costume jewelry, nighties, and hats and bags. I even purchased luggage because I knew Christian would forget that I had none at his apartment...and I just wasn't ready to go back to my condo, yet. Lawrence and Chuck were very efficient in carrying the items out to the SUVs as I watched the cash register sing higher and higher while most of Nordstrom's inventory walked out with my security. "Is that everything, Ma'am?"

"That's everything." I say as look at the astronomical number on display. "Yep, I'd say that's everything." Lawrence and Chuck have finally gotten the SUV's loaded and we walk out of Nordstrom only to find that the paparazzi had been hiding and waiting for me to emerge. Oh, enough of this hiding. I put on my sunglasses to hide the worst of the bruising and walk to the SUV.

"Smile for the cameras, Ladies." I say, as I wave at the crowd of photographers a few feet away...and the cameras go wild.

"How are you feeling, Ms. Steele?" One of them yells.

"I'm doing well. Thank you for asking. Good night." I yell back. I hurry and get into the SUV to avoid the frenzy of more questions that will follow. Chuck looks back at me.

"That might not have been the best idea, Ana." He says.

"Well, Christian is not here, Chuck, and I have to play it by ear. With what's going to be happening over the next several weeks and probably the next several months, I'm going to be getting a lot of exposure whether I want it or not. With what Christian and I have planned, I need the press to be on my side. I don't need them pegging me as a disagreeable bitch." He nodded skeptically and turned around, starting the car.

"Where would you like to go to eat?" Chuck asked.

"With paparazzi in tow, we should probably just go home. I'll whip us up something when we get there." I say to Chuck, and he proceeds to drive us back to Escala.

We have so much stuff that when we get back to Escala, Chuck and Lawrence just drive around to the service elevator. We help them by unloading some of the smaller bags while they unload the luggage and the larger parcels. Maxie made sure that her things were bagged separately so that she could leave when we got back and return to her beloved Phil. I gave her a hug and and kiss because I knew it would be at least a week before I saw her again. As Lawrence and Chuck were putting the last of the packages in the service elevator, I retrieved my guns from the glove compartment.

"If you don't mind my asking, Ma'am, what are you working with there?" Lawrence asks when I pull my guns from the glove compartment.

"I'll tell you if you stop calling me _Ma'am_."I reply. "Ask Jason and Chuck, I hate it."

"You prefer _Her Highness?" _He snickers and I laugh with him.

"That was a joke that just got carried away." I chuckle. "So now I'm stuck with it. I actually prefer Ana. What's your first name anyway?"

"Benjamin." He responds.

"Benjamin." I repeat. "That's even more formal than Lawrence." I say closing the glove box.

"Ben for short." He says.

"That I can do. Ben, this is my Boo. She's a 9mm Glock G19C with a slide lock and integrated compensator. I usually keep her in the car. She's the ride along." I hand him my Glock.

"Impressive." He says testing the weight of it. "Light." He observes.

"What can I say? I'm small." I shrug. I pull out my revolver. "This is my carrier... .44 Magnum 629. It's a double-action Smith & Wesson Special." I hand him the Magnum and he returns my Boo. I check the lock before I put it back in my purse.

"Heavier metal." He says, again testing the weight.

"Yep. Less ammo. Back at home, I have a 9mm Beretta Px4 Storm Type F Sub-Compact with a reversible magazine."

"Whoa! Now that's the one that means business!" He says, returning my Magnum as we walk back to the elevator. I put it in my purse with the Glock.

"Hey, I figure if you are walking in someone's house, you get what you deserve." I say unapologetic.

"The Glock is your favorite." he says as we join Chuck and Gail in the elevator and ride to the penthouse.

"What makes you say that?" I ask.

"It's obvious, you call it your _Boo."_ He says, laughing. I shrug.

"Yeah, I do. I guess it's because it's midway between the other two. No reversible magazine like the Beretta since I'm not trying to empty two clips into anyone, but a little mote fire power than the Magnum." I say. He nods.

"Very impressive, Ana." He says and smiles at me.

"Thank you, Ben." I respond, and we ride the rest of the way in silence.

When we get to the penthouse, I go straight to my office. Christian has the lock box sitting on my desk with instructions that there is a hideaway compartment inside the wall behind me once I have safely locked away my firearms. I open the lockbox, take my Boo out of my purse and begin to inspect her. I release and remove the magazine. I remove each round and inspect it for tampering and damage. I pull the chamber back and release the bullet that's inside the chamber. The carriage pops back indicating that the gun in empty. I have to inspect it carefully since she has been out of my possession for the last few days. Those idiots fucked up my car; there's no telling what the did to my guns. I check down the barrel. No obstructions. No smell of gun powder, so it hasn't been fired. I pull the trigger, popping the carriage back in place and engage the slide lock before I put it in the lock box. I reload the ammunition back into the magazine and place it next to my Boo in the box.

"You really know what you're doing there." His honey voice caresses my ears and draws my eyes to him, standing in the doorway of my office looking all delicious. His eyes are filled with wonder.

"I better—these are not toys, you know." I wink at him as I pop open the chamber on the Magnum and empty the bullets into my hand. He comes into my office and pulls a chair beside me while I inspect the rounds I just removed from the gun.

"What are you doing?" He asks. I look up at him...he's curious.

"I always know where my guns are—Beretta secured in my nightstand; Glock secured in my glove box, Magnum secured on me. If, for any reason, there are not in one of those three places, I have to inspect them carefully to make sure that they are in correct working condition." I say while I continue to inspect the bullets.

"Do you think they broke them?" He asked.

"Well, not necessarily _broke_ them, but they could have been mishandled or something." I say while inspect the chamber and the barrel. "See, look here." He nervously leans over to me. I smile. "There are no bullets in the gun, Christian." I say, spinning the empty chamber. He nods and moves in closer. "Look down the barrel there. Do you see the debris?"

"Yeah." He says examining the gun.

"Now, I have to clean it before I fire it. I was going to do that anyway." I say as I put the loose rounds in the lockbox—no use in loading a dirty gun. "When a gun is fired, the bullet doesn't go straight through the barrel. It goes around. Each barrel is unique, so when the bullet goes around in the barrel before it is discharged, the barrel leaves markings on the bullet. That's why ballistics can match a bullet to a particular gun." He raises his eyebrows and nods.

"Can that debris change the markings on the bullet?" He asks. I shake my head.

"It's not likely, but depending on the debris, it can cause the firearm to malfunction and I could get hurt." Oh, he didn't like the sound of that at all. "That's why Ray made sure that I knew everything there is to know about a gun before he put one in my hands." I pull the hammer back and pull the trigger once. Christian jumps. I told you the gun in not loaded, Baby.

"Why do you do that...fire it with no bullets?" He asks.

"Well, I'm sure you wouldn't want me to fire it _with_ bullets in your glass tower. That wouldn't be good." I tease. Christian didn't find that funny. "I'm sorry, Baby. I do that to make sure it's engaging properly...and I smell it to make sure it hasn't been fired."

"You _smell _it?" He frowns.

"Yes. If it's been fired recently, it smells like gunpowder. Another forensics lesson...gunpowder residue on you clothes and hands indicates that you were the shooter. Dun dun duuuuuuunnnnn!" I make the sound of ominous music to lighten the mood. It works—Christian's shoulders relax and he smiles. I close the chamber and put the Magnum in the lock box then pick up my Boo and the magazine.

"This is the ammunition for this gun." I hold up the magazine before putting it back into the box. I slide open the chamber to show him that the gun is empty. Then I pull the trigger.

"Do you see how that carriage rocks back and forth when you pull the trigger?" I say.

"I didn't see it. Do it again." I repeat the process so that he can see it moving. He nods.

"If you don't know how to hold the gun properly or the gun isn't calibrated properly, this carriage can snap back and cut your hand. Have you ever heard of recoil?" I ask.

"I've heard of a _person _recoiling." He responds.

"It's kinda the same thing. When the bullet is discharged, the force pushes the gun back. It can be light recoil or heavy recoil, depending on the gun and the ammo. I'm strong, but I'm still a little person, so I wouldn't try to fire an Uzi. It would literally knock me on my ass on the first attempt. That's why you see them holding them in the movies like this." I demonstrate how the movie stars hold a large automatic weapon. "They're not that heavy but they hold them like they weigh a ton. That's because they are firing multiple shots at once and the recoil is insane!" I say as I put my Boo back in the box and lock it. Christian opens the compartment behind me in the wall and I put the box inside.

"You weren't really interested in all of that, we're you?" I ask him as he secures the compartment.

"Yes and no." He admits. "I came up here for another reason, but then I saw you taking the gun apart. I told you that I detest guns, but I was fascinated watching you and thought, well, maybe I should ask you about it. All I've even known from guns is that they kill people. I've never tried to learn anything else. If you had asked me last week, I wouldn't have been interested. Watching you dismantle the gun, I was interested." I laugh.

"Oh, I haven't dismantled it yet. That comes when I clean it." I say. He chuckles and takes me in his arms.

"I wish you had it on you last Friday. I never thought I would hear myself say that, but I really wish you had." He says, his eyes sincere and sad.

"Me, too." I say, pushing my face into his chest and holding him close to me. "But I'm okay, and I'll be all better soon." I say, looking into his loving eyes. "Now I have to go and fix my people something to eat since we didn't get a chance to eat while we were out." I say giving him a peck on the lips and walking out of the office.

"Oh yeah, that's why I came up here." He's following me down the stairs and to the kitchen. "Davenport said that you spoke to the paps. What was that about?" I look in the refrigerator to see what I can cook quickly. Gail had taken pork chops out for dinner, but we went shopping instead. I quickly dialed back to Gail's quarters.

"_Yes, Mr. Grey?_" She answered.

"It's me, Gail. May I use your pork chops? I'm going to throw something together for us to eat since we don't have much time."

"_Sure, do you need me to help?_" She asked.

"No, you've got packing to do and so do I, come to think of it."

"_I'll do your packing, Ana. You don't have to worry about it."_ She says.

"I'll tell you what. Come and help me with dinner and we'll pack together."

"_Okay, be there in a moment." _ I hang up the phone and go back to the fridge. I take out the pork chops and begin preparing them to cook. I turn around and Christian is sitting at the breakfast bar expecting. I forgot he was there.

"I'm sorry, Baby. What did you say?" I ask.

"The paparazzi, you spoke to them..." He begins.

"Well, you weren't there. I was on my own. I expect for us to be in the news quite a bit in the coming months. I figure it's better to make the media a friend than an enemy." I filled a pot halfway with water and put it on to boil. Then I put some olive oil in a pan on the stove top for the pork chops. Gail comes around the corner and grabs her apron.

"What do you need me to do?" She asked.

"Can you make a nice salad, please? We'll have some seared pork chops with a quick pasta." I respond. She nods and begins making the salad. "Have you an Jason eaten yet? It's late." I ask Christian.

"No. What did you say to them?" He says.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, why didn't you eat?" I ask.

"You had my cook now answer my question." He responds flatly. I lean on the breakfast bar in front of him.

"First of all, that's no excuse. You know better. It's after 9:00. And before you try to use my words against me—I was shopping, we were pressed for time, and the paps were following me. _You, _my love, were at home." I say pointing in his face. He does the shaking head nod as he knew I squashed that conversation. "Second, I waved to the paparazzi. They asked how I was, I told them I was very well, thanked them for asking, and said goodnight. My dress didn't fly up so that my cooch would end up on the front page of a tabloid and I didn't say anything that could be used as a sound byte. Okay?" I await his approval. He smirks at me.

"Okay. Just be careful. They will say things to try to get a rise out of you then use your reaction against you in the media." He warned.

"I will." I say as I go to the stove and put the chops in the frying pan with a little lemon pepper. Since there will be six of us, I start another pan to fry the remaining chops so that I'm not in the kitchen all night. Gail is just about done with the salad. "Gail, please set the table for six when you're done." She nods.

"Six?" Christian asks as I put whole cloves of peeled garlic and spaghetti in the boiling water.

"Yes, six. You, me, Gail, Jason, Chuck, and Ben."

"_Ben? _Who the hell is _Ben?_" He asks.

"Lawrence! Do you know _anybody's_ first name besides Jason and Gail?" I ask.

"I try _not _to. These people are my employees, Ana. I only started calling Gail by her first name since _you_ got here, and I'm not too keen on sitting at the dinner table with all of them. It's not always appropriate. Gail and Taylor, yes, they've been with me the longest. But Davenport and Lawrence..." He trails off.

"Where was Chuck going to eat anyway? He has to be here tonight to leave with us in the morning." I ask.

"He was going to eat in the servant's quarters." Ugh, I hate that term. Gail and I were going to eat together, chew the fat and talk—but I can't shove Chuck and Ben in the _servant's _quarters like _butlers_ while the four of us sit out here having a gay old time. I sigh.

"Gail, please set the table for two. In fact, just set the bar, and you can take dinner back to your quarters for everyone else. Is that okay?" I say to her, my voice subdued.

"Of course, Ana. Do you still want me to help you pack?" She asks. I'm feeling a little Christian-crushed right now so I just say, "No, just have Jason or Chuck bring the few things and the luggage that I bought for myself to our bedroom and I'll take care of it." She nods.

"You bought luggage?" Christian asks. I really don't want to speak to him right now.

"Yes." I say in a controlled voice. "I didn't have time to go back to the condo to get mine."

"I have _plenty _of luggage, Butterfly." He says.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked. I really don't need it, I just didn't know. I can return it..." I begin.

"No, it's perfectly fine. You should have your own. Is it nice?" He asks, still trying to make conversation.

"It's functional." I say dryly. It is rather nice, but I don't want to sit here and talk about luggage. Gail notices the tension in the air and finds a reason to excuse herself after she sets the breakfast bar for Christian and me.

"I'm going to go set the table in the servant's quarters and I'll be right back." She says softly. I nod and she makes a fast getaway.

"And now, you're angry with me." Christian says as I drain the pasta and turn the chops. I sigh.

"No I'm not angry." I say truthfully...disappointed, but not angry. I toss the pasta with oregano and olive oil then cover it so that it will stay warm. "I understand that you have lived this structured life with order and formality all of this time and then here _I _come with my guns and my _Your Highness_ and my _Chuck, Jason, and Ben_ and rattle all of your structure. I'm not trying to change you or the way you do things. I just have to remember where I fit in." I say, downcast. I realize that didn't come out like I wanted it to, but I don't know what else to say. I turn my chops once more and add lemon juice, honey, and a touch of soy sauce and let them simmer.

"Butterfly," he comes around the breakfast bar into the kitchen and puts his arms around me, "you don't just _fit in_ here. You are my life, now. Everything has to fit around _you_ or it has to go. I've never been that friendly with my staff. I like to keep the lines separate. I understand how you feel and that you are more personable than I am, but I'll probably never call Davenport or Lawrence by their first names and I've called Taylor _Taylor_ for so long, that _is_ his first name to me. I don't want you to be unhappy or ever think you have to _fit in._ We're a team...remember?" He says the last words with hope in his voice. "And if it means that much to you, they can eat at the table with us."

"No, I'm fine." I say. "You'll be grinding your teeth with security sitting at the table with us...be honest." He does that yes/no nod/shake that he does and I know that he would be doing just that. "Might as well go on and let them eat with Gail and Jason, as long as I don't have to send Ben home hungry." I say, taking the chops off the fire and putting enough on a serving platter for the _staff_. "But know this, I plan on having _some _meals with your _staff_ while we are in Anguilla. I respect that you don't want to break bread with them all the time, but sometimes..." He cuts me off.

"Totally acceptable. I just want you to be happy and have a good time." He says. I turn around to face him just as he goes to kiss my cheek and his mouth hits mine...and it didn't hurt! His face is a hair away from mine and he stands there waiting for my reaction. The moment I gasped out the breath I was holding, he snatched me in his arms—my feet dangling in the air—and closed his lips over mine. The kiss was gentle, deep, and passionate. I tangled my fingers into his hair and sunk into the kiss. We have been waiting _days _for this! I whimpered into his mouth and fought the urge to wrap my legs around him. We are mauling each other like two starving dogs...tongues and lips and teeth and oh my God! I gasp when his mouth releases mine and his lips travel down my cheek to my jaw, then my neck...fire!

"Christian..." I breathe. My loins are burning, but we don't have time. We have to board a plane at 4:00am.

"I know. We have to stop." He breathed into my neck. He stops his assault and I am still stroking his hair.

"Yes." I whisper, clearly out of breath.

"You're hot, Baby" He says, bringing his face up to meet mine.

"So are you." I breathe.

"No," he says, brushing his lips against my cheek and I shiver. "You see that? You're _hot_. We may have to alleviate that later." He blows a hot breath on my neck and I feel my nipples stiffen.

"Ah...Christian, please. We don't have time." I whine.

"There's always time for an orgasm." He says...in that voice. Oh, fuck. I shake my head and regain my senses.

"We must eat. _Now_. And then I must pack...and shower. I probably won't even sleep tonight since we're leaving here so early." he kisses me gently on my cheek.

"You're right." He says as he places me back on the floor. Thank God. I was losing that battle quickly. "Wine or spritzers?" He asks.

"Spritzers. I don't want to get too relaxed and then I can't pack." I say. He makes us two spritzers as I serve up our dinner. Gail comes out and takes the food back to the rest of the guys. No doubt she wandered out here during our make-out session. Her timing _can't_ be _that_ perfect.

I enjoy a fast meal with Christian, then dash back to my office to make sure that all of my travel documents are in order. I toss my cell in my purse with my charger. I decide to run through my mail quickly and I see a postcard from...Kate! Get outta here! It's addressed to the office so I can only assume that Al must have gone by there as well.

_**Hi Ana, **_

_**Doing some brain cleansing on the beach at St. Tropez and I thought of you. Yes, I know...strange. But you were the catalyst that let me know that I need to get myself together and now I am thinking more clearly. Please let Elliot know that I am fine and I think of him and hope that his life is now going the way that he hopes. Hoping that you and I can have a drink or something when I am stateside again. Until then, à bientôt! **_

_**Kate**_

I literally laugh aloud when I read the card. Our entire relationship started—_badly, _because she threw a French term at me and now she's in the French Riviera! Speaking French! I think... How ironic.

There was nothing else for me to be concerned about in the mail that couldn't wait until I get back. I intended to call some of my patients today, but I didn't have a chance. There was no indication from my service or Marilyn that anyone had any emergencies, so I have to assume that all is well unless someone notifies me otherwise. I send an email to Marilyn that I am going out of the country and will most likely not be back for at least a week. She can contact me by phone and email if there are any issues that need my immediate attention. I take the package Al brought to me earlier out of my desk and put it in my purse. I'll need it on Anguilla.

I go into our bedroom and it looks like a garment boutique exploded in here. In addition to the pieces I bought for myself from Nordstrom, apparently my vacation wardrobe has been delivered. Good God, does this man plan on staying in Anguilla for a whole damn month!? Where am I supposed to put all of this? I can't take it _all_! I go to the closet and apparently, Christian has made more room for my things in here. Not only are there more clothes hanging in here for me, but there is also plenty of room for that _wardrobe_ he just bought me. I wonder what he did with _his_ things? His words from earlier come back to me...

_You don't just fit in here. You are my life, now. Everything has to fit around you or it has to go._

I feel a little giggly when I think of it. I begin to go through the lovely things that he bought for me—dresses and shorts and blouses and skirts, shoes, lingerie, even accessories. He thought of everything...or the personal shopper he hired thought of everything. I don't care! All I know is that I'm going to look _hot_ in Anguilla! I am finally done packing everything that I plan to take with me and it is just after midnight. I'm glad I bought a separate hat carrier since I didn't know I had so many hats. A standard hot box would be sure to be crushed by some clumsy baggage handler.

This flight is destined to be 10 to 12 hours long and I plan to be comfortable. So I decide on my new Bailey Tower of Babel bandage tank. It's a long black tank top with white designs that travel up the shirt like the "Tower of Babel." I will compliment this with a pair of white shorts and one of Christian's linen shirts. I'll wear my Christian Louboutin Almeria 120 white wedges. For jewelry, I'll wear my silver necklace with the multiply yin yang symbols, my simple yin yang earrings and some white fashion bangles to cover the healing scars on my wrist. I must say that my face is looking fantastic. My lips are totally kissable, my eyes can be covered with concealer and my cheek is almost completely back to normal. Oh, shit! I better remember to pack some of Gail's tea. I dash out of the door and I am stopped just outside of the door by a wall of man..._gorgeous_ man.

"Where are you off too?" He says, slowly walking forward and walking me backwards.

"I'm...going to get...um..." The proximity is making me lose my train of thought. "Tea! I'm going to get tea!"

"You're thirsty?" He says, seductively, still walking me backwards into our bedroom.

"No," I whimper. Oh, good Lord, his presence alone makes me hot. "I...uh...Gail's tea...for my face."

"I've packed it already." He says, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

"Christian." I breathe. "I have to change...we have to leave for the airport shortly..." I try to reason with him. If he touches me, I'm gone.

"We have time, Baby." He says before he pulls me against his hard body.

I'm gone.

* * *

_**GREY**_

That sheen is showing up on her skin and I haven't even touched her yet. I won't drag this out. She's right, we only have about two hours before we have to get to the airport. Since I won't fuck her on the plane.._.this time._..I will have to get my fill of her now, and quickly. When I close the space between us and grind her with my erection, her moan and escaping breath let me know that I had her. That kiss in the kitchen set me on fire. Even while I was organizing renovations to the closet while we were gone, checking the quality of her promise ring, tying up loose ends a GEH and making sure that her car would be as good as new when we returned, I could think of nothing else but that kiss...that searing, sensuous kiss that I had been craving for over a week. Yes, our sore-lip alterations are fantastic, especially the open-mouthed tongue-play. We're going to have to keep that one around. But Ana's kiss...

Fuck. Me.

There's nothing in the world like Butterfly's lips. She can do amazing things with her mouth—her oral skills are unparalleled. But when she kisses you..._really_ kisses you...you feel it in places that you didn't know existed. Nothing and no one has ever touched me the way this woman has. This is why I have to make sure that she knows that she is mine...and I have to _kiss_ her.

I bend my knees so that I am eye level to her and kiss those delicious lips again. Mmmm...so good. When her arms wrap around my neck, I waste no time lifting her by her ass and crawling onto the bed with her in my arms. She wraps her legs around me and I almost lose it right there and then. I feel her nipples press against my chest through our clothes as I lay her down and my hands go immediately to her perfect mounds. I tease her breasts through the thin material of the dress and she trembles, moaning a tortured moan as she pulls my hair gently.

Butterfly, I warn mentally. Fuck!

I continue to assault her mouth and breasts and she starts to grind against my erection. Fucking hell...I'm about to nut in my jeans and I can tell by her body that she's about to blow. I stop the assault on her breasts and lift her off the bed with one arm, raising her dress with my free hand. She is so impatient that she begins to remove her panties before I can get the dress off. Fuck it. I lay her back on the bed and make quick work of her panties, throwing them off somewhere to Pantyland. My mouth moves from her lips straight down to her flower. She squeals in pleasure as she thrusts her hips into my face. She is dripping wet! Absolutely dripping! I greedily devour her juices and move quickly back to the clitoris. I moan in satisfaction of her delectable sweet flavor. She has crossed her feet behind my back and she is riding my face viciously. Fuck, this is hot! She has hand fulls of my hair, grinding my face into her and I am sucking and licking that fruit like my very life depended on it. I reach my hands back around to her hungry screaming breasts, her nipples sitting up like two large, hard pebbles. Oh, hell, Baby, you are just _too_ damn horny. When you come, it's going to be loud and hard.

She is writhing insanely under me, so aroused that her engorged clitoris starts to throb and stiffen. Oh shit, I know what's coming. It's never happened to her before -not with me anyway - but it's about to happen now. I stick my index and middle finger into her and massage that spongy, rigid tissue on the front of her vaginal wall. She is making completely incoherent sounds as her body stills and she absorbs the pleasure. That's right, Butterfly, any second now. I look up at her and I can't see her head at all. She is lost in the throes of this pending orgasm and her head is thrown back as far as it can go. I probably should have warned her what was coming but my mouth is full.

"Christian...wait a...min...ute..." She protests. Relax into it, Baby. I'm told the feeling is incredible. "Ah...Christian...wa...ah..." She is sweating profusely, trying to catch her breath. I continue with my assault—her tender nipple, her hardened clitoris, and her g-spot. The more aroused she gets, the more it pushes back against my finger. "Christian...please..." Here it comes, Baby. I can taste your juice...it's sweeter. I can feel you tightening around my finger. Let it go, Baby. I can't stop and tell you...let it go... I extend my tongue to massage that spot just underneath her clitoris on the outside of her g-spot, Her breathing is heavy, labored, and loud. She can't protest anymore...she can only ride. I pinch her swollen nipple and continue the g-spot massage and her clitoris gets rock hard against my lips and tongue.

Oh, Baby!

The deep, guttural cry that I heard damn near scared the shit out of me. I felt the vibrations start in her stomach and they must have moved in both directions because her throat sounds like she gargling and her pussy is vibrating so hard, it could probably suck in a 10-pound-weight. I suck her welcoming clit as her body trembles violently and seconds after her orgasm starts, she squirts in my mouth. I knew it was coming, I just couldn't tell her. I taste her sweetness, but there is too much for me to catch. It's running down my mouth, squirting on my chin and my shirt and down her core to her ass. It's glorious! She is wet and glistening and beautiful—the product of her earth-shattering, mind-blowing orgasm all over me, her, and my bed.

Once she has ridden out the waves of her release, I can't get out of my clothes fast enough! My pants, shirt, and boxers take off to whatever mysterious land claimed her panties. I snatch her dress off quickly and flip her over like a pancake. She yelps at the speed and accuracy of my movements as I swiftly position her on her knees and impale her hot pussy balls deep. She is so wet, I slip right in all the way to the hilt.

"Ssssssssssssssssssshit!" I hiss, her muscles still contracting from her orgasm. "Oh, fucking hell!" I exclaim as my dick seems to dance in her walls though I remain completely still. Shit, she is a perfect fit. It doesn't matter if it's a finger or two, a semi-hard erection or a completely stiff rod, she always wraps around me completely perfect...like she was made for _me._ I start to move—slowly, trying to savor the feeling of being inside her. She's not having it. Her insides almost begin immediately to quiver again, and she is whimpering as she pushes herself back against me, slapping her ass on my pelvis and pumping my pink, veiny dick for all it's worth.

"Oh, baby, shit!" I can see the veins throbbing on the skin of my shaft, shining from her juices and sliding in and out, in and out of her hot, wet pussy.

"Baby, fuck!" I'm going to explode any second with her stroking me at this pace. I can't even try to stop it. I grab her hips and let her run, watching as she squeezes and caresses my erection with her juicy, sexy core. Her continuous, sensual, expert movements bring me right to the edge and just as I am about to reach around and massage that tender, sweet button, she falls over into her second orgasm, her body thrusting onto mine with fervor and purpose. I put both hands on her shoulders and begin my fall into ecstasy. Right at that moment, she reaches between her legs and strokes my balls.

Holy volcanoes Batman!

"Son of a bitch!" Every single part of my body goes stiff. I can't even scream. I can only lean in and jerk out this damn-near painful, hot, long, burning release that is sure to leave me dizzy when I'm done. I continue to empty into her and she continues to stroke my balls. When I am finally able to make a sound, I say, ""Fuck, yes, Baby! Yes! Yes!" I thrust into her a few more times, riding out each little squirt until I collapse on top of her, pushing us both down into the bed.

"Fucking hell!" I say as I try to catch my breath. I know that I am heavy on her. I try to roll off but she stops me.

"No. Please. Stay." She says between breaths.

"We can't go to sleep, Baby." I say softly in her ear.

"I know. I know." She says, still breathless. We are both sweating like we just ran a marathon. I move the hair back that is sticking to her forehead.

"We need a shower." I say as I kiss her temple, her ear, her neck, her back. God, she has been almost as insatiable as me these last couple of days. Talk about carpe diem!

"What happened?" She asked. Her eyes still closed. "What _was_ that?"

"You squirted, Baby." I said, kissing her shoulder. "I've tried to get you to do it before and you've come close, but you went all the way this time and it was delectable."

"Oh, Christian, it was fantastic. I thought I peed on myself." She says with a little chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I should have warned you, but by the time I knew it was happening it was too late. If I had stopped you would have gotten your Glock and shot me." She and I both burst out in laughter at that statement. "It starts in your bladder; that's why it feels that way." I kiss her shoulder again and we both wince as I pull out of her. "Come on, Butterfly. We have to get ready." She sighs heavily.

"Okay." We reluctantly drag ourselves from the bed and go to the en suite. We opt to shower together since we are fairly certain that neither of us will jump the others' bones as we have both been thoroughly well fucked. We cleaned each other thoroughly, hair and all. By the time I dried her hair for her, it was very close to time for us to leave. With 11 -13 hours of travel time, I thought it best to go casual with a Malano two piece white linen pants set and white Baynard sandals. When I emerged from the closet, I couldn't help but laugh at Butterfly.

"What?" She says, a little affronted.

"I just bought you a whole wardrobe and you still choose to wear one of my shirts." I laugh. She shrugs.

"That's because your shirts look best with my shorts." She says. I couldn't argue with that. She's wearing these white shorts that make her legs look long and these wedge shoes that make them look even longer. The fact that she's wearing a man's shirt lets the vultures know that she belongs to _some_ man. The fact that I'll be stuck to her like glue will let them know that _I'm that man!_

"It's hot, Baby." I kiss her on the cheek. "I love when you wear my clothes." She smiles at me. Who in the world can look that good at 2:00 in the morning...after no sleep? "Come on, lets go." I lead her into the great room. Davenport and Taylor are coming out of the security office and I instruct them that her luggage is in the bedroom. They take the luggage down by the service elevator. I confirm that Lawrence and Williams will be on shifts at Escala and we were off. We decided to take the service elevator as well to avoid any lurking paparazzi. As we pull out of the parking structure, we notice that there is not a pap in site. Nothing like sneaking out in the middle of the night.

We get to SeaTac in great time, with an hour left before takeoff. Butterfly looks a little lost as we pull into the terminal for private and charter flights. "Where are we going?" She asks.

"To Anguilla." I say confused.

"No, I mean...what are we doing, sneaking in the back door?" I laugh at her a bit.

"No, Baby. Private planes have a completely different loading procedure." I say. She nods.

"Ah. Okay." Taylor pulls up to the plane and lets us out while he takes care of the luggage. Butterfly examines my private jet. It's a Gulf Stream IV with the name _Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc_ across its fuselage. She whistles at the site.

"That's pretty." She says. I laugh.

"One of my toys. Come on, Butterfly." I take her and Gail up the stairs and into the jet. It's decorated in neutral tones just like my helicopter—tans, creams, and browns.

"This is a flying house." Butterfly says.

"Something like that." I say. "There is a restroom up front. Chairs and tables here. These sofas let out into beds." I say as we walk towards the back. "This is the galley, and beyond this door," I open the door to reveal a full sized bed, "is the bedroom. Bathroom is there." I say pointing to the en suite. "All of the comforts of home...but in the air." Butterfly nods.

"It's very beautiful. I'm impressed." She says walking back to the lounge and sitting on one of the sofas. "So this is how the rich and famous live."

"Yes, I have to say that I am proud of it. It's one of the perks of money." I say sitting next to her. Gail sits at one of the tables and begins to get comfortable.

"This is why She-Thing thinks I'm after your money. Regular people don't see things like this everyday." she says, gesturing at her surroundings. "You decide to take me to a luxurious villa on an exclusive island on Wednesday and on Friday morning, we're in the air...in a private jet! Who does that?"

"Not many people." I say, feeling a little sour at the introduction of the Pedophile into the conversation. "She sent me an email this morning." I confess.

"Who did?" Butterfly asks.

"The Pedophile." I respond. Butterfly's face turns cold.

"What did she say?" She asks, flatly.

"She saw the news coverage of your kidnapping. Told me how you were disrupting my structured life and together, she and I could rebuild it." I say. Butterfly's face didn't change.

"And what did you say?"

"I told her that she was delusional if she thought I would ever choose her over you and not to contact me again without an attorney." I reply. A smile split Butterfly's face in two as she crawled into my lap and kissed me deeply.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

After 12 hours and a stopover in North Carolina, we are finally landing on the island of St. Martin. Because Anguilla is so small, large jetliners cannot land on the island. The flight and layover was actually only nine hours, but we lost three hours in the time zone change. So it's effectively 12 hours. I didn't understand the stopover, but Christian explained that the pilot needed to refresh himself since the flight was pretty last minute and in the wee hours of the morning. Rather than take the public ferry to Anguilla, Christian chartered a smaller flight to get to the island.

We met up with a guy named Rinaldo Rogers who made sure that our bags were checked from Christian's jet to the charter plane so that we wouldn't have to go through customs again and we were off to the tropical island of Anquilla. The flight was only 10 minutes from St. Martin and quite frankly, I had been on a plane long enough! Christian looked so yummy in his two-piece linen pants suit, I kind of felt like a troll next to him. No problem, though. I had beautiful tropical dresses to wear for the rest of the trip!

Actually, the plane ride was quite delightful, but driving is...unique. The rental cars are American with the steering wheels on the left hand side, and since we had five people with enough luggage for ten, we needed two rentals. Not only that, but Chuck is effectively the fifth wheel. He swears that he doesn't mind, but we know that there will be some times when he wants to go off on his own during his downtime. The uniqueness of the driving situation is that you have to drive on the left hand side—unique only to Americans, I should add - in a car that's made for driving on the right. In addition to that, you have to pay a fee to get an Anguilla driver's license while you're there. We let Christian, Jason, and Chuck deal with that. Needless to say, I won't be driving in Anguilla.

This island is 17 miles long and has one main road that runs up the center of the island. There are little feeder road to get to various destinations on the island but you sure as hell can't get lost. No matter where you go, if you ask for directions, it's "up the road." It reminds you of driving through a city neighborhood. Locals are strolling along the road and people are always blowing their horns at you. I thought Chuck was breaking every traffic law in Anguilla until I later learned that's just how they greet you.

The villa is actually owned and decorated by private owners and rented out to tourists throughout the year. All of the villas and the upscale resorts are on the west end of the island. The locals are in central and east Anguilla. I wondered why it seemed like we were traveling in two different worlds on the way to the villa as the airport is closer to central Anguilla.

It was only a 15 minute drive from the airport on Anguilla to the villa Christian had rented for us and holy cow, Batman! This place was huge! It's called the Brazilian Emerald and I thought it was a hotel when we drove up to it. It's a large contemporary white and glass structure that sits directly on the Shoal Bay West Beach...five bedrooms and five bathrooms and glass walls everywhere...just like home. Gail and I ran around the house like two children, in and out of rooms just to see what was inside. The place has housekeepers and chef service, so we don't really know _what _Gail is going to be doing besides having fun. I'm glad we bought her the new wardrobe!

True to it's name, the villa is decorated in jewel-tones...mostly a very tropical pastel green accented with various shades of blue and purple on stylish bamboo furniture. The green was a little _too_ green for me, but I didn't mind since it went well with the beautiful trees and the view of the ocean out of every window. The great room is two stories tall and opens into a cove, the dining room and another lounge with a view of the kitchen. The two-story glass wall makes the tropical furniture look more appropriate. There's a beautiful sandalwood piano in the cove off of the living room. I wonder if Christian will play at all while he's here?

The lounge is decorated much like the great room—bamboo furniture with jewel-toned cushions and pillows. The dining room is opposite of the great room with a modern triangular glass table set with bronze chargers and flatware, crystal stemware, and the same quality bamboo chairs with green cushions. Amazingly, I liked the green at the dining-room table better than I did in the great room. The kitchen was full of stainless steel appliances and glass cabinets, but I didn't hang around in there for too long since I didn't plan on spending _any_ time in that room during this trip except for maybe a midnight snack! Off to the end there is a bedroom on the first floor that opens onto the patio.

Up the stairs to the second floor was a small office. Even though it is out in the open and not closed away in some obscure room, hopefully, Mr. Grey doesn't spend too much time in _this_ area during our trip. There is a lounge on this floor as well that overlooks the great room. It is decorated the same as the living room and has a pool table and a game table in it. There is also an entertainment room with a large screen television and another bedroom on this floor.

On the third floor, there is a state of the art in-house gym, yet another lounge, and two more bedrooms. Finally, the fourth floor—yes, this house has four damn floors and an elevator, thank God—is a suite unto itself. The master suite has its own lounge with another large screen television along with the master bedroom suite. It has a separate sitting and changing room, a balcony, and an en suite. Although all of the bedrooms have private en suites except for the first floor bathroom which is separate, the master bath has a sunken two-person jacuzzi tub. The bedroom is sparcely decorated, but it has the basics—chest of drawers, dresser, night stands, a huge king-sized bed and a stunning view of the beach. I may never leave.

While Gail and I perused the house we would be inhabiting for the next four to ten days, the gentlemen were sure to deliver our luggage to our respective rooms. Chuck has decided to take the room on the first floor. Gail and Jason will take the room on the second floor. No surprise no one wanted to be on the third floor with Christian and me on the fourth floor in the master suite. As I am beginning to unpack my things, Christian slides his arms around me from behind and kisses me on my neck.

"You like?" He says, his voice smooth and sexy as usual.

"Oh, Christian, it's beautiful. Have you seen the view off the balcony?" I lead him over to the balcony where you can see clear down the coastline of a semi-private beach. "It's breathtaking. I can hardly believe I'm here." He turns me around to face him.

"I've been in this villa or another villa on this island five times, and I can't remember enjoying myself once." He says.

"With your subs?" The words were out of my mouth before I could catch them. He looked hurt at first, but the look in my eyes must have told him that I didn't mean to say that. His expression softened as he kissed me on my cheek.

"With my family, but I mostly stayed inside and worked. I joined them for dinner at whatever restaurant they chose, but that was it." He replied.

"I'm sorry, Christian. That was so thoughtless and inconsiderate of me." I closed my eyes and shook my head. He held my chin and forced me to look at him.

"If it were me, I would have asked the same question." He said, kissing me on my lips again. "I've never taken a sub on a trip with me...or any woman for that matter. Another first for me."

"Exactly how many firsts do you think we can conquer over this vacation?" I say, mischievously. He smiles as he pulls me closer to him.

"I can think of a few." He says as he presses his lips to mine.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**So, lots of pictures on the new board pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla / and a few on the original board pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Nothing to add down here this time except...FUN IN THE SUN IN THE NEXT CHAPTER AND...**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs,  
Lynn x**_


	50. Chapter 50: The Adventure Begins

_**It was quiet for a while, wasn't it? We hadn't had any surprise "guests" for several chapters and lo and behold, but...I'm not going to zing them. I **_**think ****_I was _supposed _to zing it, but the reason I won't zing them is because I didn't understand what the hell they were trying to say. They said one sentence that had to do with my story and then the rest of it was something else, and I think it had to do with someone else's story...I think. They may have been reading two stories at the same time, I don't know._**

_**They were talking about some rant and something about somebody's story being slow...I don't know. I didn't rant, so it couldn't have been me, and no reviewers were ranting so I didn't know what it was. They didn't like my "squirt." They said it wasn't original, but as far as I know, people have been **_**cumming****_ since the beginning of time. To that end, nothing in sex is original—everything sexual has been done at least once (and most likely, millions and millions of times), even the really disgusting stuff. But it's okay that you didn't like the squirt...it's not everybody's taste, pun intended. _**

_**I did let the review post, though because maybe someone else can tell me what they were talking about. I gave them a chance to clarify by posting their review and then posting my own review that said "please clarify," but they didn't so...I'm just going to let that one float because I can't talk about something I don't understand. I've been told that I'm delusional, but I'm not **_**that****_ delusional. Thanks for the review anyway! :-)_**

**_Thank you to Carol , CG Girl (IKR? I thought about it and I was like "They probably think us driving on the right is strange, lol"), Dot, Gwen, Jaimini (I'm glad I could at least provide you with the fantasy; you'll_ love_ this one!),__ Laney, Leah, michelle b (thank you, I'm a busy gir, but I try!), OTB, Sonnie (I'm sorry I didn't do a bonus chapter, but how about an extra long chapter?), Tempress, Teresaromance, Tj, and all of my guest reviewers that I couldn't PM. To all of my readers, I still haven't caught up with responding to all of my reviews but I hope that I will get to that tonight. __  
_**

**_Also, thank you to my reader, new ones and long term, who support my right to defend and speak up for myself. I know that some people don't like it and they are free to just move on. I have even had some authors try to degrade me and others like me who choose not to be belittled or disrespected. I really appreciate those 99 out of 100 people that agree that I do not have to be belittled because someone thinks that I - or anyone else - should just keep quiet and take that crap. Thank you for supporting my right to speak up for myself and NOT allow myself to be disrespected. _**

_**This is one of my longer chapters, but hey—no other way to bring in 50 chapters, huh? I hope you all like this chapter because I am extremely proud of it. It starts out in Anastasia's POV, but most of it ends up in Christian's POV. I know that tastes differ, but along with chapters 20 and 37, this is one of my favorite chapters in the story. Enjoy!**_

_****__****__********__________**I do not own Fifty** Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too_******_._**

_Chapter 50—The Adventure Begins_

_**STEELE**_

It is Saturday morning, bright and early on the island of Anguilla. We have a couple of days yet before we completely reset from jet lag, so the entire villa is awake at 6 am. We were so wrung out from the traveling last night. We hadn't arranged for chef service for dinner on the first night and there was no way that we ladies were cooking after having been traveling for the better part of 12 hours. Our choices were to go to a restaurant or to order in. I was not very excited about ordering in and neither was Gail, but we were too tired to argue.

Little did we know that ordering in on Anguilla is not like ordering Chinese food in the States. There are two restaurants that deliver on Anguilla. _Un Amore Cafe _is Italian—mostly pizza, calzones, and such for those of us who are missing America already...I _wasn't_. The other option was a place called _Blanchard's _which seemed to have something from just about every corner of the world. _Now _we're talking! We had a veritable taste fest of curried chicken salad, grilled cubano sandwiches (roast pork, ham, Swiss cheese, chipotle mayo, dill pickles in grilled pita bread), lobster rolls, coconut-curry mussels, and blackened Mahi bites. I think we were all thoroughly fed and ready to turn in after _that_ meal. Well, I was anyway and I slept like a baby!

Chef service starts at 6:30 so I took a shower and donned my Calvin Klein sleeveless printed maxi dress in anticipation of what would be on the breakfast menu. At 7:00, Gail and I met in the great room to discuss what may be on the agenda for the day. I had no idea what Christian had planned and neither did Gail. It was nice to see her in some of the tropical clothes that we picked for the trip instead of her usual white shirt and some professional bottom—usually a pencil skirt or some slacks—that she wears while on duty at Escala. She is wearing a strapless yellow and white zigzag maxi dress that not only catches the sun brilliantly but also compliments her skin tone quite nicely.

We opted to have breakfast on the patio which was really nice since it was such a beautiful day. Gail and I are giggling like schoolgirls while fawning over each others' dresses as we proceed to the patio. I notice that Jason is watching his girlfriend from afar, just examining her it appears. He has a longing look in his eye—I recognize it from when Christian is gazing at me. One can tell that he is completely smitten with Gail, and I can only imagine the effect that seeing her carefree and beautiful like she is now must be having on him. I wonder if he has told her yet that he is in love with her? A blind man could see it...

"So, have you and Mr. Grey made any plans for the day?" Gail asks as we sit at the outside dining table waiting for our men and our breakfast.

"I don't know. I'm sure that he has planned something but he hasn't told me yet. Can you believe this?" I said gesturing to our surroundings and the stunning view of the sea from the patio. "I mean, this is outstanding! I never would have thought I would find myself here...not that I even knew what _here_ was before two days ago." I laugh.

"You know the bruising on your face is very nearly gone and your lips are completely normal now." Gail observes.

"Well, it's that fabulous miracle tea you made." I exclaim. "I can only hope that one day you'll give me the recipe...I know that there are some secret ingredients in there."

"You're right. And I will never reveal my secrets." She smiles.

"Oh well, I guess that means that I will have to keep you around." I sat and we burst into laughter. "I don't even pay attention to the bruises anymore, Gail," I say, turning serious. "There are just so many bigger things that these seem small in comparison...even before they went down." I drop my eyes to the table as I remember those pictures of my 15-year-old battered and bruised self. Gail reaches over and squeezes my hand.

"Life is short, Ana." She says. "Every time I look at the news or on the computer and I read that someone died, I just want to grab life by the horns and live to its fullest. When Mr. Jones died all those years ago, I felt like the best years of my life were over. We were so happy and I loved him so much. Still do, in fact..." A look of nostalgia comes across her face and I am surprised. Reading my face, she says, "Yes, I know what you must be thinking. How can I have a relationship with Jason if I am still holding a torch for my first husband."

"The thought had crossed my mind." I say, honestly.

"Douglas was my first love," she says sitting back in her chair. "He was supposed to be _it_ for me and I threw my whole self into our relationship...and our marriage. He was wonderful! He was tall and handsome...sweet." She sighs heavily. "We were going to have a baby. It seems so long ago now." It's my turn to squeeze her hand, now.

"It was one of those icy evenings in Seattle. We were driving home from dinner and Douglas hit a patch of ice. I remember spinning and screaming and that was it. I woke up in the hospital. My baby was gone...and so was my Douglas." I could hear the pain in her voice as she recounted the night she lost her entire family. "I didn't want to go on. It was bad enough to lose one of them, but _both_ of them...at the same time...it was more than I could bear. I went into a severe depression and my mother had me committed, for my own safety...I would have easily ended it all to be with Doug and my baby." She sighed. "Anyway, eight months later, I was ready to join the world again, although I lost my ability to have children."

"Oh, Gail. I'm so sorry." I say, holding her hand tighter. She nods and smiles a sad smile.

"I don't think I would have been able to handle it anyway, Ana. Losing my baby took me to the very edge of my sanity. I'm not sure how or if I would or could handle being pregnant again after that. Anyway, I can share darling little Sophie with Taylor, and it takes away a bit of the bite. Everything has a purpose, right?" She says, tucking away some of her blonde hair that has escaped from her ponytail.

"How does Jason deal with...the memory of Doug? You know, living up to a legend can often be the poison pill of a relationship." I warn.

"Oh, I would never expect him to do that." She says, throwing her hand at me. "Jason understands that Doug will always hold a very special part in my heart, a part that no one will be able to fill. That's the way its supposed to be. He was my first love, my first lover, the father of my child, and a beloved and perfect husband. I never want to forget that and I never intend to, but I can't _live_ in that. I will always have love in my heart for Doug, but that's what my life _used_ to be. It's not that anymore. My life now is my family and my friends...my sister Angela and her children, Mr. Grey, you...and of course, Jason and Sophie. Doug and my baby were a wonderful part of my past that was ripped away from me all too soon, but you all are my future." She is so well rounded for what she has been through. I wish half of my patients could find this kind of tranquility. Hell, sometimes I'm even searching for it, especially now.

"How long has it been?" I ask.

"Oh a long time, Dear. Thirteen years. My mom really helped to pull me through that tough time in my life, God rest her soul. We lost her to cancer a few years back, but Angie and I managed to hold it together and not fall completely apart." This woman is remarkable. I envy her for having the help of her mother during her rough times. What I would have given for Carla's love and support while I was suffering.

"It's a sad story, yet...not." I say, hoping that I am accurately portraying the point that I am trying to make. Apparently, I am because she nods.

"I know, but now look. I have a wonderful new friend, and I am sitting on the beautiful beach of Anguilla about to have breakfast with people that I have come to love very dearly." We smile at each other before she continues. "My love for Jason is very different than my love for Doug. No one would ever be able to take Doug's place, and Jason knows that. If he tried to take Doug's place—tried to make me forget what I had with him—we wouldn't work, just like I respect the fact that he had a wife before me. Even though they are divorced, he loved that woman once, and I have to respect that. I have to understand that if anything happens to her, he is going to be hurt—whether he understands it or accepts it right now or not—and that's okay. When I look back over my life, I see Doug...and our baby...and what we had...and unfortunately, what I lost - but when I look ahead, I see Jason." She smiled. That summed it up very nicely.

"He loves you very much." I say. She blushes.

"Now how would you know that?" She asks sweetly.

"Because when you're not looking, he looks at you like you're the only woman in the world." She tilts her head at me.

"Kind of like Mr. Grey looks at you." My turn to blush.

"Well, that feeling is mutual." I say, shyly. She chuckles at me.

"I don't know, Ana. I've seen him watch doors when you leave to see when you're going to come back through them. I've never seen him act that way before." She says.

"Well, his prior relationships didn't really allow for that, now did they?" I say a little sarcastically. She looks a little uncomfortable and looks down at the table. I quickly put her out of her misery. "I know. NDA. The question was rhetorical." I chuckle.

"Thank you!" She sighed. "I like you a lot, but we all know what I can and can't discuss if I want to stay employed."

"Yes, I know, and don't worry. I would _never_ put you in that position." I say. "We've both had pretty bumpy rides. Hell, I guess we _all_ have. I don't know Jason's story, but I know that Christian's start in life was horrendous and my bad luck just seems to be following me around lately. Now your sad story...I just think we all deserve some happiness...and lots of it!"

"Here! Here!" Gail cheers and we laugh again.

"I try very hard to stay focused." I begin. "You would think with my training—the magnificent _Dr. Steele—_I would be the most well adjusted person in the world. However, it's very true what they say about advice...it's very easy to give it, but harder to follow it, even your own. Have you ever noticed that some of the most screwed up people in the world can give some of the most sound and solid advice? You often find yourself asking, 'Why the hell won't you follow your own advice?' That's because it's very easy to point out what's wrong in someone else's life, and even though we are our own worst critics, it's still damn near impossible to correct our own imperfections sometimes." I look out over the beautiful turquoise sea. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that my past demons are coming back to bite me in the ass, what with my obsessive, kidnapping psycho ex-boyfriend and the unwelcome appearance of my crazy ass mother and her crazier ass drunken husband," I put my hand on my forehead, "and Christian going to Green Valley...right into the belly of the beast." Gail rubs my arm.

"I guess we'll all just be screwed up together." She says with a smile. "None of us are without our demons, Dear. I never in a million years thought that Mr. Grey would let someone into his heart _or_ his personal space. Some people are just not molded that way, you know? And from what I saw, he just wasn't that person, but you blew through here like a breath of fresh air. Now, we're rearranging the apartment and more people are in my kitchen. We're having dinner parties and that horrible woman is gone, ugh! I knew something wasn't right about her from the very start. Do you know how someone walks into the room and you immediately feel queasy?"

"Oh God, yes! The first time I met her, she showed up in this leather or pleather or rubber suit and a pair of thigh-high boots...in the middle of the day, no less...on a Sunday! I couldn't even imagine going out in public like that much less in the middle of the day! I guess she was trying to be intimidating or something, but all I could do was laugh...and good Lord, what's with all the black?" I ask.

"It matches her soul, I guess." Gail says and I shake my head. "Whatever you did, I'm just glad that she's gone! I mean, she couldn't have been _any _good for Mr. Grey." Oh, you have no idea. "I expected a forked tongue to pop out every time she opened her mouth."

"Well, here's hoping that we've seen the last of her!" I say, just as one of the kitchen staff comes out to the patio.

"Breakfast is just about ready, Ladies. Would you like something to drink?" I know _exactly _what I want.

"Yes, I would like a Mimosa if you have it." I say.

"Oh, that's sounds fabulous!" Gail exclaims. "Can you do a Mimosa?" She asked the beautiful mahogany woman with gorgeous long braids in her hair.

"Yes Ma'am. Coming right up." She says in a lovely island accent. Gail and I fell silent for a moment after she left. In no time at all, she was back with our Mimosas, chilled to perfection with the right mix of champagne and citrus.

"What kind of fruit juice is this?" I ask.

"Orange-tangerine mix with a touch of pineapple." She says.

"This is delicious!" Gail says.

"Thank you, ma'am." She respond.

"Oh, please. I'm Ana and this is Gail."

"Ana, Gail." With her accent, my name sounds like _Ah-nah_, and Gail's name sounds like _Gell. _I rather liked it. "I am Sarah. You let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, Sarah." Gail says as she leaves. Once again, things fall quiet between me and Gail for a moment, until she decides to ask me something that I never expected to hear.

"Ana, can I ask you a personal question?" She says and I nod with an _um-hmm. _"I can see that you are very fond of Mr. Grey, but do you love him?"

* * *

_**GREY**_

Taylor and I just stand out of sight as we listen to Gail recount the story of the loss of her husband and child. I knew the basics of the story—from her background check and from the bits that she has told me—but now she sits on the patio telling Butterfly the whole thing, details and all. I'm not surprised. Like I said, it's the Butterfly Effect. I can't help but feel like we are kind of eavesdropping though.

"Maybe we should give them some privacy." I say to Taylor.

"I've heard the story." He says a bit curtly, but then he softens. "I sometimes feel I would never compare to him. He was her first..._everything. _I can't give her children...she can't have them after the loss of her son. She loves Sophie dearly, but it's something that I wish I could have given her...shared with her..."

"You want more children, Taylor?" I asked, surprised. He shakes his head.

"Not as such, Sir." He says. "I...just wish it was something...that_ I_ could have shared with her." I nod. I want children with Ana. We've never talked about it and I would be devastated if it turns out that she couldn't have any. We continue to listen as Gail explains that she has accepted her plight in life and wants her future to be with Taylor. I can see the relief clearly on his face at that statement.

"Something on your mind, Taylor?" I ask. He looks at me like I'm an alien...probably because I have never asked him anything about his personal life or about his and Gail's relationship. "It's just that you seemed a little surprised and a lot relieved about that last statement.

"It's nothing, Sir. It's just like Her Highness says—it's hard to compete with the perfect memory. It's good to know that I'm not." He says.

"I don't think I'll ever get use to that." I say. "Her Highness." I clarify. He shrugs.

"It comes along with the job. Code names are easier—there are usually no mistakes. This was _her _idea...have you tried to say 'no' to her?" As a matter of fact, I have. It usually doesn't work. I look out at our women. They have just finished talking about past demons and ghosts and have now moved on to discussing the Pedophile.

"I have to agree with Gail on that one...I'm glad she's no longer a factor in the big scheme of things." Taylor says.

"Oh, she's still a factor, just not like before. She tried to contact me before we left Seattle. She sounds like she's getting desperate. I really don't care, but I hate to see what that translates to for her latest victim." I run my hand through my hair.

"How's the investigation going?"

"It may have stalled." I reply. "Every time something happens in my life, she lays off of the kid. I hate to put him through this, but we pretty much have to catch her _red-handed_ to make these charges stick."

"I know. Those boys are not likely to roll on her." Taylor says, disgusted. I shake my head.

"We think with our dicks...even if it kills us." I look at my Butterfly, her beautiful hair blowing in the Anguillian breeze and that print dress falling gracefully on her frame as she drinks her cocktail. She could lead me off a cliff and I would gladly and blindly follow...not the smartest thing, I know, but it's true.

"I can see that you are very fond of Mr. Grey, but do you love him?" What? Did Gail just ask her that!? I look over at Taylor who makes to go to the patio, probably to rescue Gail, but I put my hand out to stop him. I want to see how she answers it...and yes, we have moved from _kind of _eavesdropping to _shamelessly _eavesdropping!

I'm nervous because it takes Butterfly a while to answer the question. "I don't mean to pry," Gail continues, "it's just that it's clear to anyone that Mr. Grey was not what one would call _personable_...until you arrived. He's a completely different person now. He's happy and sad and strong and vulnerable and I've worked for him for a long time. I've come to care for him. I haven't had anyone to care for all these years but my men...Jason and Mr. Grey. He's always had a handle on those other women—generic nutchasers and money grabbers including that blonde Bride of Frankenstein and damn the NDA, I want to know if you love him!" She spit the last part out very quickly almost like she was ashamed to say it but desperately needed to know. Taylor and I exchange a look like we have no idea who this woman is in Gail's body...which we don't. Butterfly registers momentary shock then says the magic words.

"Gail, I love him so much that it scares me." I have to cover my mouth to prevent the gasp of surprise from betraying our position. "I don't feel like myself anymore. I feel like a whole person and half a person at the same time. I feel like I can take on the world, and I also feel like I could fall apart at any second. I feel everything and it's wonderful and then I feel too much and its weakening and frightening. Ever since my last break-up, I have been horrifyingly self-sufficient. Edward ripped my heart to shreds, and it was hell putting it back together again. He never could understand that even though I may have still had feelings for him in the beginning, I could never let him near me again. As time progressed, he became the enemy and I just wanted him to leave me alone." She starts to wring her hands a bit then they go to her forehead again.

"I had learned to be alone and I didn't even know that's what I was doing. I didn't realize it until the gang got together and I was the only _stag_ in the group. Even my father had a girlfriend and I was alone. Edward was pursuing me heavily, and I could have easily gone back to him. I had just decided that I didn't want to be alone anymore and he was right there...but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't take the chance of subjecting myself to him and his lies again.

"Christian and I agreed to a mutually _satisfying_ relationship...if you know what I mean...and in no time flat it just took off from there. It's like neither of us had any control over it...or at least I know I didn't. It's like a runaway train...going on full power, forging ahead on a track with no idea what direction we're going in, where we are going to end up, if the bridge is out, is the tunnel finished, or is there a brick wall at the end of the track." Her voice starts to crack and Gail reaches for her hand again.

"This is it for me, Gail." She says, wiping away a stray tear that has fallen. "I can't go through this again. I love this man with every cell in my body, and if this doesn't work out, I'll never be with another man as long as I live. Since I don't like women in that way, I guess that means I'll be alone." I am stunned into silence as Butterfly finishes her cocktail and I realize that she feels the same way about me that I feel about her. I almost lose my balance in the euphoria that I am feeling right now. I look over at Taylor who is just as speechless as I am. What do you say to something like that?

"I'm sorry, Gail. I didn't mean to unload on you like that. That was probably more information than you needed this early in the morning." She looks out at the water and sighs.

"No, I asked...and pretty forcefully, too. I got my answer." Gail responded.

"Probably pretty silly and girly, huh?" Butterfly plays with her now empty glass. Gail smiles at her.

"I told you. When I see my future, I see Jason...however he'll have me. I think that says it all."

Now it's Taylor's turn to wear that dopey, sappy expression. "I'm going to go get Chuck for breakfast." He says and turns to make a speedy getaway. I'm going to go join my girl.

I walk out onto the patio and kiss Butterfly on the forehead. "Good morning, Ladies." I greet them both. "What are we having?" Butterfly quickly tries to pull herself together.

"Good morning, Mr. Grey. We're having Mimosas." Gail says, finishing hers. If I don't ask, she'll know that I know something.

"Are you okay?" I put my arm around her chair. She nods and smiles.

"Gail and I were just getting a little sentimental." She answers truthfully. I sit next to her and kiss her deeply on her cheek near her ear. Oh, Butterfly, I love you too—more than mere words can say. A few moments later, Taylor and Davenport join us at the breakfast table.

"Well, Sarah says breakfast should be here any minute, so you slow pokes are right on time." Gail teases. Almost on cue, the kitchen staff begins to bring a gourmet island breakfast to us: Spanish frittata, Nova Scotia smoked salmon and bagels, french bread french toast, buttermilk pancakes, johnny cakes, fresh fruit, and omelets made to order. Of course there was coffee, juice, and more Mimosas.

"So what's on the agenda for today?" Gail asked, tucking into her french toast.

"Well, I thought I'd take Butterfly horseback riding and have lunch on the beach. You're all welcome to come along, but I plan to have her to myself for dinner." I smile at her and she blushes as she swallows a mouthful of her Spanish frittata.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful." Gail says, turning to Taylor. "Chuck, Jason, what do you think?" Taylor shrugs.

"Been a while since I've been on a horse. I hope I remember how." He takes a healthy bite of a smoked salmon bagel. "This is really good." He says, his voice muffled by the food.

"Hmm, horses, I'm not to sure about that." Davenport protests while devouring a pile of johnny cakes.

"Are you afraid of horses, Chuck?" Butterfly says, her voice a little squeaky.

"No, I'm not afraid of them. I just don't like them...and I don't think they like me." He retorts.

"These are some of the most gentle horses in the world." I affirm. "Babies ride these horses." Chuck shakes his head.

"I'll give it a try," he says, "but if that beast starts acting like a beast, I'm getting off..and you can laugh all you want!" He pours himself another cup of coffee. Butterfly smiles that priceless smile the nearly splits her face in two as she teases her personal security. Part of me wants to be jealous of their relationship. The other part of me is happy that I have someone to keep her safe when I'm not with her—someone that she trusts. I can't imagine my life without her. I nearly lost my mind when David and Harris had her... wondering what they were doing to her and imagining the worst. I wish I had been the one to take that fucker Harris down. I would have taken great pride in watching the life slip from his worthless eyes for what he put my Butterfly through.

"Christian, did you hear me?" Butterfly's sweet voice brought me back from my dark daydream.

"I'm sorry, what?" I say, shaking off thoughts of choking the already dead Robert Harris with my bare hands.

"Are you okay?" She says, her brow furrowed. I dig in to finish my omelet.

"Yes, I'm fine, Baby. Just thinking of things I shouldn't be." I say.

"Well, stop it." She scolds. "We're on vacation." Her voice is a little urgent and a tiny bit whiny.

"Yes, Ma'am." I say playfully, finishing my omelet. "Were you saying something else?"

"I was asking should I wear jeans or shorts to go riding on the beach?"

"Probably shorts. The horses like to go into the water." I respond. She nod and finishes her frittata and fresh fruit.

"Well, I can't swim just yet with all of this food on my stomach, but I think I'll lie around the pool anyway. I can assume that we won't be going horseback riding for at least another four hours." Butterfly announces, stretching her sexy legs.

"You assume correctly." I respond.

"Well, in that case, I will see whomever decides to join me at the pool in about 20 minutes." She stands, leans in and kisses my quickly on the lips before going back inside the villa. I watch as she walks into the great room and disappears up the stairs. She is so beautiful and graceful, and she loves me so much that it scares her. I don't want her to be afraid of her love. I want her to embrace it. I have to do everything that I can to make sure that she does.

"Permission to speak freely, Sir." Davenport breaks my train of thought. I turn to him and furrow my brow.

"What?" I say.

"You got it bad." He says sipping his coffee. Gail and Taylor snicker at the same time.

"Keep it up. I'll fire you all." I say.

"I wish I had a camera to catch your face." Davenport continued. "She went into the house, Sir, not across the country. She has promised that she will reemerge at the pool in 20 minutes. Forgive my candidness, but you looked like somebody just snatched your puppy!"

I hate hate HATE it when my staff sees me in a weakened state.

"Okay, that's enough _free speaking_." I say, flatly.

"Yes Sir." He says, rising from the table. "But you still got it bad." That last part was mumbled and I wasn't supposed to hear it.

"What was that?" I snap.

"Nothing, Sir." He says, continuing into the villa. Smart ass. This is why I like to keep the lines drawn between staff and employer. Butterfly has now blurred all of those lines and I can't complain or blame everyone for feeling so comfortable with her around.

"Well, I think Ana has the right idea about sunning a bit so if you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I will go and change as well. Mr. Grey..." She nods in my direction and then kisses Taylor on the cheek before going into the villa as well.

"Everybody's awfully comfortable on this vacation, aren't they?" I say to Taylor once everyone has gone inside. Immediately getting the thrust of what I was saying, he responds, "I'll talk to him, Sir." I finish my coffee and stretch in my seat.

"Don't bother. We're on vacation. But when we get back to Seattle..." I look at him.

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

Butterfly is out by the pool with Gail and Taylor. Davenport has decided to take a nap. I am in the bedroom, wearing my swim trunks and sitting on the bed looking at the piece that I ordered from Cartier and wondering how she will react to it. I have to pick just the right moment to present it to her and, after her conversation with Gail that I wasn't supposed to hear, I can't _wait_ to give it to her. I've decided that I'll give it to her today and hope that she will be happy with it. I put the box back in the drawer of the nightstand and go down to the pool to join the others.

I sneak up on my beautiful goddess spread out on a chaise wearing the tiniest black tankini and a large straw hat. I lean down so that I can see her eyes under the hat.

"You're beautiful." I say, kissing her gently on the lips.

"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself." She says softly, with a smile. I sit on the side of her chaise.

"This is very small." I run my fingers over the frilly edges of the tiny bikini bottoms at the crease of her leg. "Are you okay with it...with your brand?" I gently caress her thigh so that she is comfortable. She gives me a small smile.

"I thought of that. I wanted to wear it at least once and decided that I would just wear it around the villa...not to the beach." She responds. I gently stroke her stomach where the bottoms meet her pelvic line, then I circle her navel.

"You look fantastic." I say, my voice as full of lust as I can get it. She starts to squirm on the chaise.

Bingo!

I lean over her, resting one hand on the chaise to support my weight. I use the other hand to caress her cheek, chin, neck, shoulders, and chest while I softly and sensuously massage her lips and tongue with my own. She lets out a soft moan.

"If Gail and Taylor weren't out here with us, I'd make love to you right here on this chaise." I say into her mouth, seductively devouring her sweet, sweet kisses. Her hands travel from my abs up my chest and rest on my shoulders. I shiver involuntarily at her touch.

"Christian, you have to stop that or I'll never catch any sun." She says, her weakness and arousal evident in her voice.

"Yes, you will, Baby." I say, still feasting on her luscious mouth and tongue. "I wouldn't bring you (kiss) to this island paradise (kiss) and not let you tan (kiss, kiss) that delectable body." I kiss her deeply then run my nose along hers. "Just know that I plan to sex you every chance I get. I can't help it that you are so irresistible and I love you so much." A small puff of air escapes her pouty lips as she tangles her body around mine. I scoop her into my lap and shamelessly make out with her sitting at the pool on the chaise, wrapping my arms around her body and covering her brand so that she won't feel subconscious about it. The way that she is vined around me, her arms clasped around my neck and her hands thrust into my hair as she devours my mouth with hers—I don't think she gives one good damn about that brand right now!

"Oh, Christian!" She gasps, as our mouths separate, burying her lips in my neck and planting open-mouthed kisses there from my ear to my shoulders.

"Baby...we better stop...or I'm going to make good on my promise and do you right here." I pant, my eyes closed trying talk Greystone out of convincing me to move her bikini bottoms to the side and slide into my happy place. She pulls back and looks at me with deep, carnal blue eyes...

...and that doesn't help.

"Baby, damn!" I can't take it anymore. I look around and Taylor and Gail have made a discreet exit. I can't chance them coming back out to the pool and catching us _in flagrante delicto_. I stand with her in my arms, her legs wrapped around me, and dash to the side of the house where there is a large, covered patio. This will have to do. I have to have her now.

"Do you care?" I ask, kissing her hungrily and grabbing her ass.

"No," she breathes, still vined around me, breathing heavily. I sit on the white wicker love seat with her on my lap—Greystone standing at full attention, his head poking through my trunks. She looks down and sees my cock sticking out of my trunks. She rises and moves her bottoms to the side—just like I saw in my head—moves my waistband down and takes Greystone in her hand. She positions me at her opening and very slowly slides her wet pussy over my hard, waiting shaft—a little, then a little more, then a little more until she is wrapped around my entire member. She is so sexy, so hot. She moans when I have filled her completely. "Oh, Christian, Baby." She says as she drops her head on my shoulder and slowly begins to grind into me.

"Oh, yes!" I breathe, rocking my hips into her each time she drops her soft, velvety core onto me. "Baby, you are magnificent!" I growl into her neck. We are trying to keep quiet just in case someone passes by on the beach or one of our staff comes looking for us, but she is so hot, so wet...I have no idea how I'm going to be silent when I release. I stick my hands into the legs of her bottoms and pull her ass cheeks apart, effectively separating her folds more.

"Uuuuuuuuuugh!" She moans deep in her chest. "Yes, yes, do that, do that!" She whispers, throwing her head back and losing her hat. Shit, she is pumping me for all I'm worth.

"Ana, shit!" I groan, holding on to that delectable ass while she drops masterfully and viciously on my dick, grinding so that it rubs against _all_ of her vaginal walls, then rising so that the head gets long stimulation on the ride out and the ride back in as she drops and starts the torturous process all back over again. "Ah, good damn, Baby that shit is so good." I breathe. She is definitely going to unman me any second.

"Back. Sit back." She whispers as she pushes me back onto the loveseat. She adjusts her knees and her ass and...

"Fuuuuuuck...oh, fuuuuuck. Ana...I-I'm going...fuuck..."

"No, Baby. Not yet...hold it...wait..." She says, her release hiding in her voice. _Wait? _Is she fucking kidding me? She's rolling and grinding this tight, sexy flower on my defenseless, rigid cock and she's telling me to _wait_!?

"Ana...fuuuck...Ana...I can't...aahh!" She's got to be _kidding_ me.

"Yes...yes...yes, you can..." she mewls as her body and hips continue to roll over mine. Hell, hell, hell! This is torture! I damn-near want to safe word! I dig my fingers into the tender meat of her ass, spurring her to push into me harder as her legs start to tremble.

"Ah, yes, Baby. Almost...hold on, Baby...you can do it..." Her breathy voice sounds as tortured as I feel. Her insides begin to clamp down on me and I feel that deep, painful burn that comes from holding back my orgasm and that accompanies intense release.

"I can't...Ana...I can't...I'm gonna...Ana...I'm com...Ana..."

"Aaaaahh!" She mewls loudly and covers my already open mouth with hers, holding my face against hers so that I can't move away as she hungrily consumes my lips and mouth.

Goooooooooooooddddammit!

I whimper like a girl over and over again as I explode viciously, violently, and repeatedly into her eager, hungry core. I sound like a damn canary, but with the way she is grinding into me right now...

SING, MOTHERFUCKER! SING!

I am completely out of breath when I begin to kiss her wherever I can find skin, claiming ever piece of flesh that I touch.

"Baby, oh God, Baby. I love you. You are mine. Only mine." I say between kisses and breaths.

"Only yours. Always only yours." She whispers, her eyes closed and trying to find her own breath. I grab her and hold her close to me, nearly squeezing her to death, I know. I rock back and forth with her in my arms, still buried inside her, my head pressed against her chest.

"Oh, Ana, Baby, Butterfly. I love you so much." I feel like my chest will explode. She has to believe me. She has to believe that I love her more than anything, that I will give her anything, _do_ anything to have her by my side forever. I can't find the words to say to her. All I can say is, "I love you so much."

"Oh, Christian!" She lays her head on mine and I can hear the tears in her voice. Her body shakes with her sobs and I just pull her closer into me.

I know, Butterfly. I know. My heart knows. My soul knows. I know.

I continue to rock her, holding her so close to me that I'm sure she cannot move. When her crying begins to subside, I pull her back enough to kiss the tears from her cheeks.

"Mine." I say between kiss. "My love. My Butterfly. Mine." I kiss her face over and over again until her crying stops and she looks at me with beautiful, vulnerable, sapphire eyes. Her words come back to me:

_I love him so much that it scares me._

It used to scare me, too, Butterfly, but not anymore...not anymore, because _you_ are the answer. I'm not uncertain anymore because the answer is right here...in your eyes, in your arms, in your kiss, and in your love.

"I will protect you with my life," I say to her. "You are everything to me." Her lip starts to tremble again, but instead of crying she takes my face in her hands again and kisses me—softly and passionately. She is giving her energy to me and I am giving her mine. I can feel the exchange and I start to stiffen inside of her again. Neither of us move our lower regions but I still feel her tightening around me.

"Butterfly." I whisper.

"Baby." She responds breathlessly. I don't know what she's doing to me, but I can't move. It feels amazing and I can't explain what's going on. I feel it everywhere..._everywhere_...and we're not even moving. Oh God, what _is _this? Her breathing is getting heavy and I swear she is a _vice _on my penis! Now, I'm losing _my _breath. We are breathless...in sync. We sit there like this forever it seems...I don't know how long...but the feeling is rising in my pelvis...like I'm going to come!

It _can't _be! We're not even moving!

"Ana?"

"Aaah!" She mewls. What the hell is happening? She rubs her hands on my back, and I swear the feeling sends chills through me—down to my knees and my legs start to shake.

"Baby!" I moan.

"Christian!" She whimpers, still trying to catch her breath. Anastasia...what's happening? She starts to whimper with each feral breath and then...the sound starts as a groan, deep in her chest...then a higher-pitched moan...then a cry of pure abandon as she throws her head back and shifts only slightly on my lap—riding out her release? I think? I don't know. All I know is that shift grabs my dick and pulled and oh good God in heaven!

"Ah! Oh my God!" I don't recognize my own voice. I could not keep myself from thrusting just once and my juices spill into her once more. Even as I still, my dick is pulsating with the force of an earthquake bouncing off the sides of her sex. "Anastasia...oh my God!" I don't know where I am. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where my face is. All I know is that this is insane! I'm glad that I am underneath her and not on top of her because my legs are useless. We both sit there and breathe through this strange occurrence, neither of us quite knowing what to say right now. My face and chest are drenched and she is dripping in sweat, both of our hair sticking to our faces, both of us looking at each other like strange alien creatures, both of us breathless.

"What...in the world...was that?" She asked incredulously.

"I don't know...Oh God, I don't know...I can't breathe." This ain't like the squirt, Baby. I can't explain this one!

"So that's...never happened...to you before?" She asks, still trying to catch her breath. I shake my head feverishly.

"Uh-uh." Is all I can grunt. She has some kind of magic vagina or something. I was sure that I had seen it all..._done _it all...with a woman, anyway—but _this!? _I have no fucking idea what the hell just happened here! She wasn't sucking me; she wasn't fucking me; we weren't moving or grinding; there were no vibrators involved. Yet that feeling was _phenomenal._

"Well, what did _you _feel, Butterfly? What happened to you?" I'm just as curious about this experience as she is.

"I don't know really." She says. "When I kissed you...I just wanted you to know how much I love you. Everywhere our body touched, it was warm and...hot and...where you were inside me...it was unreal! I couldn't move. It was so...intense and amazing and...I just don't know what happened!" I could tell she had the same experience I did and had a hell of a time trying to describe it.

"Yah!" I said, unable to find any other words to fit the situation.

"Are you telling me that you had the _exact_ same experience?" She asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

"You have to _ask?_" I declare. "Did you _not_ feel me come!? Good grief, I couldn't even curse!" I remember! I remember this orgasm! "Not a _fuck, _not a _shit,_ not a _damn _in sight. Just _Oh my God!"_ A look of realization comes across her face and she bursts into uncontrollable laughter. I mean, she can't even catch her breath. What the hell is this? I watch her like some psycho escaped from the looney bin and the next thing I know, I'm laughing, too! What the hell am I laughing at? I don't know, but it's cathartic! She winces a bit as she rises off of my thoroughly juiced member, but never stops laughing. I tuck Greystone back into my swim trunks and I am now in tears from this ridiculous laughter.

"What exactly is so damn funny?" I choke out between my laughter.

"I don't know. You tell me!" She cackles. I don't think either of us is quite clear on what just happened. I don't know if we ever will be. All we know for sure is that we just shared a rare moment of pleasure and joy, and we are basking in the happiness of it. We stop laughing but gaze at each other with true sincere smiles on our faces. Then she kisses me again.

"Thank you, Christian." She says, still smiling.

"For what?" I ask through my apple-pie grin.

"For loving me." She responds. I brush her wet hair off her face and kiss her.

"Thank _you_ Anastasia."

"For what?" She laughs, coyly.

"For _letting_ me."

* * *

Around noon, we drove the three miles just around the bend to Cove Bay where the Seaside Stables were located. Since the horses are rented by the hour, we got four horses for four hours so that we could ride together a bit and then the couples could spit up for some alone time. Since Butterfly and I had already partaken in some _alone time_ after breakfast, we just wanted to do some riding and exploring. Davenport's chicken-shit ass decided against the horseback riding after all and agreed to meet us on the other end of the beach with our picnic lunch.

There is a short orientation when we get to the stables...the rules for riding and how to treat the horses so that the experience is enjoyable for the horse and the rider, that sort of thing. The ride is a combination of a brush trail and a ride along—and in—the water. We are introduced to our horses and Butterfly takes to hers immediately. Butterfly's horse was Jazz—a beautiful creamy stallion with gray eyes. I wonder what drew her to that horse? The moment she started to bond with the horse, I somehow got a vision of her walking along the water in a beautiful white dress, holding the bottom so that it doesn't get wet and leading this magnificent equine by the reins...the ocean beside her and a dynamic sky above and behind her...

Don't ask me where that came from...I have no idea.

Gail took a liking to the other pale horse, Tango. This horse was gray with a white mane. I couldn't help but wonder where that combination of color came from. Taylor and I both took the brown horses—Biscuit and Zemi. They were fine specimens accept for the fact that one of the stable kitties—yes, stable kitties—was sitting on Biscuit's back when it was time to me to ride him. I hate cats—well, maybe not _hate_ them, but I'm not particular for them _at all! _The only "pussy" I intend to touch is connected to Butterfly's body, so someone else has to rid my horse of its previous rider.

My cute Dr. Doolittle comes over and lifts the evil looking gray and white fur ball from off my horse's butt. The fucker was huge! The damn thing was almost as big as Anastasia. The handler tells us that the cat's name is Twinkie and its little tabby companion with the same coloring just inside the barn door was Lulu. Do I really care about these damn cats? Not that I'm too concerned about the dollar amount per se, but at $100 per hour per horse for the whole afternoon, I'm not particularly interested in _felines_! When Ana put the cat on the ground, I'm certain that _Twinkie_ noted my distaste...and I would swear that the hideous little beast was snarling at me! Yeah, whatever...beat it, Fuzzy!

I love watching Butterfly. I love watching her in everything she does...the way that she moves, how she interacts with people, the way that she smiles. I love the way that she makes a room shift when she enters it—that all the people around her are affected in some way by her energy. Animals even seem to respond to her in a mysterious manner...yes, you too, Fuzzy! Most of all, I love the way she wears her clothes. She is wearing a pair of faded pink cut-off denim shorts with a crotchet spaghetti-stringed half blouse that hooks and drapes in the back with one of her straw hats. She has removed whatever shoes that she was wearing since she knows that the horses will be wading. She is walking away from me towards Jazz and her ass looks fantastic!

Butterfly puts her foot in the stirrup and daintily throws her leg over the horse, gracefully landing in the saddle with every bit of the weight of a pillow. Horses sometimes dance just a bit after you mount them—you know your body signals the horse to move in different directions and in different ways—but not Butterfly's horse. It just stands there majestically holding my love, not moving one way of the other until she signals it to do so.

Gail had a bit of a harder time mounting Tango. She needed the handler to help her out. You don't get to do too much horseback riding when you live and work in a penthouse in Seattle. I mounted Biscuit and Taylor mounted Zemi and we were on our way along the few brush trails on the deserted beach. Now, I don't know what the hell was happening with these animals, but Biscuit and Jazz couldn't stay away from each other! Butterfly and I could barely control them—they were all over each other!

"Are you doing that?" I ask Butterfly when Jazz falls in line so close to Biscuit that they are walking in sync and mine and Butterfly's legs are nearly touching.

"Nope, that's not me." She replies. "I keep pulling her to the right, but she's just going to wander back over here. I thought they were trained not to walk this close."

"Are they mates?" I ask the handler who is riding a bit ahead of us.

"No, they're not. All of the horses get along, but none of them are _attached_ so to speak. This is strange behavior for them as a matter of fact." She says. Butterfly shrugs.

"As long as their legs don't get tangled, we're fine." She says. I believe our two steeds have been bitten by the love bug myself. See, Butterfly? You have the same effect on _everything_.

We spent a little while trekking through the trees and along the trails, taking pictures of the sun as it peeks through the palm leaves. At times, Butterfly seemed to be relaxed and enjoying herself—the sunshine, the cool breeze, the smell of the salt water on the beach not far from us. Still, at other times, she seemed a million miles away. I wanted to ask her where she was and what she was thinking, what ghosts she was chasing, but I thought better of it for now. Once we came out of the trails, the horses gladly took us for a wonderful dip in the Caribbean Sea. They apparently love the water and will go in nearly up to your seat and wade for a while. This is where Butterfly seemed most natural, but Gail nearly panicked until she was sure there was no danger being in the sea with a horse belly-deep. A few minutes later, we were out of the water and splitting up in different directions. The handler mentions to us that the horses often gallop, trot, or run down the beach and the moment the handler was gone and Taylor and Gail rode off into the afternoon sun, Butterfly's horse took off! What the hell!

"Fuck! ANASTASIA!" I don't know if she's doing it or the horse is out of control. She's not turning around of even acknowledging that I am calling to her.

"Shit!" I say as Biscuit and I take off full speed behind her and Jazz. Damn, that horse can fucking move! Then again, it's probably only carrying 110 lbs on its back, if that much. The closer I got to her, I realized that she had the horse under control. So why didn't she respond to me when I called her? Why did she just take off flying up the beach without me? After her little afternoon ride which only lasted a few minutes, she signals Jazz to slow to a walk and then stop. I bring Biscuit up next to them.

"Do you want to tell me what that was all about?" I ask, perturbed. Her expression is unreadable. I can't tell what's going through her mind at all. "What's wrong, Anastasia?" Her expression now looks a little crestfallen.

"I just wanted to ride." She answers softly, a little unsure.

"Why couldn't you just tell me that? You just took off...I thought your horse was out of control!" I say. She just smooths her horse's mane, not making eye contact with me. I run my hand through my hair. "Could you please just not do that again? You could have been killed. You scared me to death!" I say, still flustered but I don't want to fight about it. She just nods, still not making eye contact with me. She dismounts her horse and walks along the water until she gets to some rocks. She sits down, keeping Jazz's reins in her hand. Something is on her mind. I don't want to push her, but I can't help her if she doesn't let me in. I sit next to her on the rocks and take her hand in mine.

"Butterfly, please tell me what's wrong." I beseech her, tracing circles on her hands. She sighs.

"Well, this isn't how I thought this would go." She says. Huh? How she thought _what _would go?

"Care to elaborate?" I ask, bemused. Her shoulders fall.

"I'm nervous." She admits. Okay, now I'm really lost.

"What are you nervous about?" I ask, my voice controlled and even. She sighs again and reaches into her bag. She pulls out a bundle of yellowing tissue paper. What the hell is this?

"Just...here..." She hands me the wad of tissue, her voice is a bit tortured. I take the wad from her and begin to unwrap it. Inside there is a small wooden box—it looks like mahogany, but I'm not sure. It's about four inches long and two inches wide with a slide top on it made of five different color woods assembled in an Aztec-like design. I know the box is hand-made. I look up at Butterfly and she just stares at the box, clearly a bundle of nerves. I open the box to reveal a necklace, made of some kind of silvery-black metal. It's a heavy rope chain...and a key. The key is made from the same metal as the chain. It looks like an antique skeleton key. I have no idea what it's made of...but it's beautiful! I look to Butterfly for an explanation.

"When I bought this piece, I was drawn to it." She begin. "I bought it from a Japanese vendor at the Marketplace. She's still down there, too...the same place I got the Butterfly chopsticks. I had very little savings and it cost everything that I had. I knew when I bought it that it wasn't for me. I knew that it was for the man that I loved...the man that would hold my heart. I kept wanting to give it to Edward, because I thought it was _him_ but at the risk of sounding crazy, the necklace wasn't having it. I don't believe it's witchcraft or black magic or anything like that, but I'm telling you that at the age of 19 this piece spoke to me.

"So I spent my entire savings and I bought it. Both Al and Val thought I had lost my mind...but knowing why I purchased it, they were even more shocked to see that Edward never wore it. At first I thought that I was insane or something—I mean, a necklace _speaking _to you...sounds a little cuckoo...especially since when I got the necklace home and put it in my jewelry box, it was silent." She looks out over the sea like she is searching for the next words that she should be saying. I could tell that she hadn't planned this out any more than I planned out the Cartier box that I've been carrying around all day since we left the villa.

"My dorm was broken into three times and my first apartment was broken into twice. I didn't have anything of much value...all of my jewelry was costume. Each time they broke in, they cleaned out my jewelry boxes...I mean, really cheap tin shit. I don't think I owned diamonds—even very, very small ones—until well after I finished my internship, and I couldn't afford gold. In terms of cost, the most valuable thing in the box was this necklace...and they left it every time. Once, they took the whole box and left the necklace on my desk.

"About a week or so ago, I was feeling the pull again, but I didn't know what it was. So I waited...and then I was kidnapped." She paused and sighed. "Once I was rescued, the pull came back, but I still didn't know what it was. Then it occurred to me." She turned and looked at the necklace still lying in the slidebox. "This is the first time since I had to put the necklace in a new jewelry box that I have touched it. I sent Al to bring it to me and he felt nothing. I want you to have this...but I can't just give it to you. You have to accept it. In accepting it, you accept my love, my heart, my flaws...all of me. And here's the thing. It's meant for life, but if for some reason we don't make it, it's still meant for you...because I will _never_ love _anyone_ the way that I love you."

I swear on everything that I hold sacred that the heavens opened and I heard celestial trumpets and choirs serenading this moment. I have never had anyone make me feel like my chest would literally burst wide open and my heart would jump out and land in her lap declaring that it had found its new home until this woman. I am speechless. I look from this exquisitely detailed key in a metal I have never seen before and couldn't identify back to Butterfly's expectant blue eyes.

"You're giving this to _me?_" I say, my voice hopeful and incredulous. After that entire speech, I need her to say it again.

"Yes, Christian. I'm giving it to you...if you'll accept it." Her nerves have returned and I can hear the tremble in her voice. I pull the chain from it's handmade box and examine it more closely. The moment I touch it—feel the metal on my fingers—I know that it, like Butterfly, is _mine! _I hand the necklace to Butterfly and turn away from her.

"Will you put it on me, please?" I ask, needing her to put it next to my skin. A few moments later, I see the key appear on my chest and, after a few moments of adjusting, rest there like it had truly found its home. I quickly reach around a pull her into my lap, kissing her deeply. She whimpers from the surprise and then from the passion. I slowly pull my mouth away from hers, our faces only breaths apart. She is lying in my arms, her head nestled in my elbow looking up at me...breathless.

"Thank you." I whisper. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She breathes. I don't want to let her go and I don't want to steal her thunder, but if I wait another moment, I'm afraid it will cheapen the sentiment behind her gift and mine. She'll think I only bought it because she bought me something. I need her to know how I feel—that I feel the same way that she does, and that I have felt this way all along. I look up at Biscuit and Jazz, and they are quietly nuzzling one another. Go figure.

It's the Butterfly Effect.

I sit her up, pulling her further into my lap. "I didn't have a plan for this, I was kind of playing it by ear." Now it's my turn to be nervous. I reach into my pocket and pull out the Cartier box. I can feel her heart racing through her thighs!

"I know that we haven't known each other long, and that asking you to marry me right now would be utterly ludicrous since we still really need to get to know each other better. Having said that, I love you, Anastasia. I don't see anybody else in this place—_your_ place—but you. Until that time that we decide we want to take that next step and make this legal, I will wear your necklace to symbolize that I belong to you. Will you wear my promise ring to symbolize that you belong to me?" I open the Cartier box to reveal a diamond encrusted platinum ring in the shape of—you guess it—a butterfly.

I swear, she took in enough air to suck in the ozone layer!

"Oh my God! it's gorgeous!" She squeals like a little girl, her eyes filling with tears and her face nearly split in two by a full 32-tooth smile.

"Is that a _yes_? You'll wear my ring?" I ask with an expectant chuckle.

"Are you _kidding_!?" She squeals again as she thrusts her left hand in my face.

"It's a promise ring. I don't know if you are supposed to wear it on your ring finger." I say.

"It's _my_ ring, right?" She asks.

"Of course it is!" I respond. She sticks her left hand out with her ring finger separate and looked at me expectantly. I chuckle as I slip the ring on her finger, a perfect fit and right where it's supposed to be. She admires her latest piece of jewelry and sighs heavily before putting her hand on my cheek and kissing me gently. "Thank you." She says, her eyes closed and her forehead leaning against mine. I feel that current that always passes between us, wrapping around us and pulling us closer together.

"You're welcome, Butterfly." I say, softly, kissing cheek in front of her ear while she fingers the key around my neck.

"_My_ man." She says softly, laying her head on my shoulder and nuzzling into my neck.

"Yes, yours, always." I respond. I caress the hand wearing my ring before I tangle my fingers in hers.

"_My_ woman." I breathe, kissing her ring finger, then bringing our entwined hands to my chest.

"_Only_ yours." She whispers. I gaze into the eyes of this woman who has so completely captured my heart and soul. There is nothing I wouldn't do for her. My world is hers; my fortune is hers; my body is hers; my _life_ is hers. She holds the key to my happiness and my very existence, which is ironic since she just presented _me_ with a key. I will wear it forever—to always remind me of the precious gift that I have in this woman, even when we are apart. She is my heart's song and my soul's melody—the remaining notes that connect the two to complete my life's symphony. To say that I love her does not cover what I feel at this moment. To say that she is my breath and my soul sounds too cliché. To say that she completes me sounds too common—but these things are all true. She is the tether that keeps me from floating away into nothingness—delicate as a hair yet strong as iron. She makes me feel, want, need, cry, hope...love. Before her, I was nothing. Without her...I am even less. I look down at her and get lost in those ocean blue eyes, indulging once more in her welcoming kiss as we wrap ourselves around one another, our skin being caressed by a warm afternoon sea breeze.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_****__In flagrante delicto - It's Latin and it translates into "in blazing offense" but it has come to just mean "caught in the act" and is usually referred to catching someone mid-stroke._

_**That "orgasm" moment happened to me many, many years ago which I am still unable to explain. This was the best explanation I could give. Has anyone else ever had this experience? Please share if you have! I would love to hear it. Mine was so long ago that my partner at the time could only exclaim "Fahrvergnügen!" I know it's ridiculous, but at the time, Volkswagen's motto was Fahrvergnügen, which supposedly meant "Driving Pleasure." And right after we came, that's the first thing that came out of his mouth because we couldn't figure out what the hell had happened. We both laughed hysterically and I never looked at Volkswagens the same. Just another look into my twisted life.**_

_**Christian never asked her, but FYI, that necklace cost Ana $800 in 2005 when she was 19. Nobody knows exactly what the alloy is.**_

_**Make sure you check out the Anguilla trip board at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla / There are lots of links there to take you to the islands with our couple!**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs,  
Lynn x**_


	51. Chapter 51: Steele Introspections

_**I'm running behind again on time and things so there may be more mistakes here than I like. Feel free to let me know if you see them...y'all know how I hate typos and bad grammar! **_

_**Still working my way through my reviews but my business is kicking my ass right now so please be patient with my. I will get to you all, I promise!**_

_**A special thank you to my Facebook girls Nessi, Rosie, and Sue for being my ears to listen as of late, my supporters, encouragers, cheering section, fashion guru, translator, collaborator of great ideas...you each know how you have assisted me and I want you to know how important...VERY important...it is to me. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!**_

_**This entire chapter is written in Ana's POV. I wanted to do it just once to see how it flowed.**_

_Chapter 51—Steele Introspections_

_**STEELE**_

I thought my brain was simply going to explode right out of my head. What I am feeling for Christian is scaring me to death. I have all of these crazy emotions and thoughts about what has happened to me—David and Harris and the Mortons and Green Valley...and Christian has told me that bleached-blonde bitch tried to connect with him before we left Seattle. I take in a deep breath as we ride through the beautiful trees and trails that line the beach, but my mind is still a jumbled mess. I catch Christian looking at me a few times as I examine the flora along the trail. I had better put on the happy face before I fall victim to the Spanish Inquisition!

The wading was magnificent—to have this glorious beast between my thighs as I bask in the cool sea water. It was fantastic. I'm told that horses can read the moods of their riders...that they can tell when you are afraid or angry or uncomfortable or unsure. I don't know how true it is, but the moment we emerged from the water—from my calming kindred element—all I could think was that I wanted to be free...free from all of the crazy shit that was floating through my mind and all the plans that had to be put into action when I returned to the states. I am on my first day of a possible 10-day vacation, and all I can think of is the hell waiting for me when I get back to Seattle.

I need to be free—if only for a moment.

Without much prompting from me at all, Jazz breaks into a steady gallop and we are flying down the beach! I snatch my hat off and crush it in my bag hanging on the saddle. I bend my knees and raise my butt, leaning into the stately creature and holding on to her reins. We are moving as one—nearly in flight—coasting down the beach. I know that I can't run her like this for too long, but it feels like she is taking in the same breath as I, feeling the same freedom and having her cares washed away by the fresh Caribbean air. I am only basking in this feeling for a few moments when I catch a glimpse of Christian and his horse out of the corner of my eye...and he does _not_ look happy.

Oh shit, I wasn't thinking. Here we go. Jazz and I enjoy our gallop for a few more moments before I bring her down into a canter, then a pace, then a trot and a walk before having her stop completely. "Easy, Girl." I say, just loud enough for Jazz to hear me. "Good girl." I say stroking her mane.

"Do you want to tell me what that was all about?" Christian barked at me. Actually, no, I don't want to tell you. I needed just a few moments to clear my head and I don't feel like explaining it. He was content to just ask me not to take off like that again without letting him know something. I dismount my horse. I know she could use a little rest. I walk over to some rocks, leading Jazz behind me. This went off just great, didn't it?

"Butterfly, please tell me what's wrong." Christian is begging. He knows something is up, and I promised not to shut him out anymore. We're a team now, remember? After a few meaningless, jumbled words, I hand him the package Al had retrieved for me from my apartment...where it sat for years...and in apartments and dorms before that...for seven years, in fact...waiting for Christian. I wanted to give him this big meaningful speech. Instead, I sit there speechless as he opens the handcrafted box I had found for it once it was the last thing left of my jewelry.

My heart was in my stomach and my stomach was in my throat. I told him the story behind the necklace...that it spoke to me and it knew who it belonged to, but it was up to me to _find_ that man and give it to him. As much as I thought it was David at the time, it most certainly was _not_...it was Christian—dark, mysterious, magical and beautiful, just like the key. The catch was that he had to accept it. I couldn't just give it to him and say, "Here's this pretty little trinket." He surprised me when he gave it back to me and told me to put it on him. I guess I _did_ have to give it to him after all—the proper way.

Once I had fastened the clasp, he nearly snatched my breath out of my body bending me over his lap in a passionate Hollywood kiss and oh...my...God! I couldn't breathe. The next thing I know, I'm wearing this fabulous...and I mean _fabulous_...butterfly-shaped promise ring! He tells me that he doesn't think I'm supposed to wear it on my ring finger—probably because it's not an engagement ring. The _hell _I won't! You just asked me to declare that I am yours—basically proposing to me, but not officially because it's obviously too soon—and then tell me not to wear the ring on my ring finger? Are you insane? We once again sealed our commitment with a kiss then went off in search of the rest of our party and our long past due lunch.

A short way down the beach, we finally get to Gail, Jason, Chuck, and some unknown woman who is talking to Chuck. She looks like a tourist—blonde, very pretty, and young..._too young_. For shame, Chuck!

"Well, hello, Chuck." I say as Christian and I approach the group on our horses. Christian looks a bit displeased by the extra company. "Who do we have here?"

"This is Tiffany." Chuck deadpans. He doesn't seem too happy with his new found company. "Tiffany, these are my bosses—Mr. Grey and Dr. Steele." Okay, he's _definitely_ not happy with his new found company. Chuck never—and I mean _never_—introduces me as Dr. Steele. I was about to extend the usual pleasantries to Tiff here when I, of course, see her ogling my man. Okay, I couldn't blame her. He's all sunkissed and sweaty, looking sexy in a pair of cargo shorts and a wet ass t-shirt sticking to every crease and sinew of his chest; his beautiful, unkempt copper hair looking more red than ever in the Anguillian sun. Thank God those gorgeous panty-twisting gray eyes are hiding behind an _I'm-sexy-and-I-know-it _pair of Raybans. Yeah, I'm on vacation. I guess you can look for a while...just a while...okay, that's long enough!

"Um, Trixie?" I say, and every member in my party snickers. Her prior lustful gaze at Christian turned to a hateful glare when she looked at me.

"My name is Tiffany." She spit in a full-on angry valley girl accent.

"Oh...my God." I couldn't even resist. I was going to tease Chuck about snagging a preschooler on the island, but this is worst. "Well, _Tiffany_," I say, mimicking her valley accent—and it didn't get past her either, "when you're done eye-fucking my boyfriend, you can tell us what brings you to the island." I say in a sickly false pleasant voice.

"I'm here on vacation with my friends." She spits, still 100% valley and completely ignoring the fact that I called her out. I just shake my head at her. I've had all the _valley_ I can take. She has to be 18 or 19 at the very most and even though I know nothing of Chuck's tastes, I know my man is not the slightest bit interested in teenyboppers.

"Throw this one back, Chuck. It's not done yet." I say, leading Jazz around the piece of driftwood that Chuck has turned into a seat.

"Coming from someone who is old enough to be my mother." She snaps. Oh, she's got a little fire in her.

"Only if your mother was five when she had you." I say flatly before turning to Chuck. "She _acts_ like a toddler but I didn't know she actually _was _one." Jazz and I stand there for a while in case Ms. Fire In The Mouth has something else that she wants to say. She just glares at me again but says nothing. What...nothing to say after the _toddler_ crack? That was too easy. When I saw that she had no more witty comebacks, I walk Jazz over to where Gail and Jason have tied their horses for some shade and I dismount. I tie the reins to the post and smooth Jazz's coat. "That's a good girl." While I am calming Jazz, I hear Christian conspicuously tell Chuck, "If your little friend can't behave herself around your employer, you probably need to send her back to the sandbox."

Christian rides up next to me, tying Biscuit to the post as well. "That was interesting." He said, also smoothing the coat of his steed. I look up at him and roll my eyes. Interesting...yeah. Tiffany Teenager would screw you on the beach while I watched if you let her and then has the nerve to think she's old enough to run zingers with me...and that's interesting to you. "She's still watching." He says. I'll just bet she is. I'm not giving her the satisfaction of looking over at her to see. He starts to undo his sandal. "You want to give her something to look at?" I turn to look at him. What the hell does he have up his sleeve? He's still fumbling with his sandal. "I'm trying to give you a head start." He gets one sandal off and starts on the other. Oh my God, Mr. Grey wants to play. "You should be running." He says seductively.

I break into involuntarily loud giggles and sprint towards the water. He is behind me in seconds. He moves silently, like a panther—I didn't even know he was back there until I looked. I did a couple of fake-outs when I hit the water, just barely managing to escape his attempts to grab me. He finally caught me around the waist from behind and hoisted me in the air, causing me to squeal in surprise. With one arm fastened securely around me, he starts to tickle my ribs.

"Christian! Stop!" I giggle trying to choke the words out between my laughter.

"Say please," he says, still tickling my side.

"Please! Please!" I choke.

"Oh, you're so easy." He says, turning me around in his arms and lowering me to the ground underneath him. We lay at the water's edge, the tide coming in and occasionally brushing our feet. "You are so beautiful." He says seductively licking my lips. Oh, what this man does to me. "I find it so hard to control myself around you...and these tiny little tight ass shorts. Damn, woman!" I feel his erection growing slightly against me. Damn, Christian. One day, I'm going to see just how many times you can come before that thing stops rising!

"I've noticed," he begins carefully, "that you didn't wear a shirt or anything to cover your back." I know that he was talking about my brand. Part of me wonders why he's so preoccupied with it, but the other part of me knows that he is aware that all of my clothes cover it—even the back-out clothing—so this is nothing more than concern for my comfort.

"Christian, I've decided that I just don't care anymore. You have made me feel so loved and so beautiful and desirable that I truly realize that these scars are no different than any other scar I've had. I want to thank you for that. For so long, I really let them define me, in a way. I don't feel that way anymore and I never will again. So it doesn't matter if they show or not...I'll wear what I want to wear." He presses his lips against mine passionately then rubs my nose with his.

"Thank God. I am so happy to hear that." He says breathy. "I never wanted anyone near my chest until you, but I never purposely hid it. I didn't allow anyone to _touch_ it, but I didn't take great pains to hide it. Of course, my scars are significantly smaller and I do have hair to camouflage them. People will look...and they will see them...but those scars are just an indication of something you survived. They don't define who you are." I can see his eyes gazing at me through his Raybans.

"Yes," I say softly, touching his face. "I understand that now." He sighs.

"I knew something had changed when you dropped your dress for the Mortons. I could see it in your eyes at that very moment. I don't know what happened to you when you showed it to them, but _something_ happened." He said.

"I don't know what happened either. I don't know if _anything_ happened. All I know is that it just doesn't have the power that it used to have over me." He looks up past my head and kisses me again.

"You absolutely know that there is no other woman in the world for me, right?" He says looking lovingly into my eyes, "especially not a child."

"Yes, Baby," I say softly, holding up my promise ring. "I absolutely know."

He kisses the tip of my nose and rises off of me, holding out his hand and helping me get to my feet. He brushes the sand off of my back and hair before tucking me under his arm and walking me over to the tartan blanket laid out for us next to Gail and Jason.

"Well, that was interesting." Jason says as we sit next to them.

"Is that everyone's thought? That's _interesting?_" I say as I open a canister of fresh fruit and dig in.

"I thought we were going to have another girlfight!" Jason says and Gail punches him in the arm. "Ow! Well, I did. The little tart comes sashaying her ass up to Chuck...didn't dare look at me, thank God."

"She knew better." Gail growled, taking a healthy bite of a tuna salad sandwich. Jason looked over at her then continued talking.

"When the Boss came trotting up, I knew I was granted an indefinite reprieve. I need someone to explain the logic of the female brain to me. She came over to talk to Chuck, but she's been eye-balling every man that goes by."

"That's not something that you need to understand about women Jason, because we don't all do that—only the skanky ones." I reply. He shakes his head. "Oh, men do it, too. As a matter of fact, men are worse than women. Women are usually kind of coy about it. Men are pretty doggish—they'll be sleeping with two women in the same room and not break a sweat about it."

"That's insane." Christian chimes in. "Why would you be sleeping with two women at the same time that could actually be in contact with each other?"

"See, you my dear are an anomaly." I say after I swallow a mouthful of salad. "Even with your _unconventional_ relationships, you have always been monogamous. It has unfortunately been my experience that a lot of young men who are sowing their wild oats, as well as a few older ones that don't know when to quit, look to divide and conquer as many women as they possibly can. They don't care if the women are sisters, best friends, enemies, or play with the same bridge club. If they can get away with it, they will do it; and if one is a girlfriend and the other already knows it, the other woman will cover like nothing is going on."

"Now that's what_ I _never understood." Gail chimes into the conversation. "Why would any self-respecting woman want to sleep with another woman's man?"

"The situation varies." I say, chewing on some more fruit. "I, personally, don't condone it..._ever_. I don't think that there is ever a reason that a woman should be sleeping with another woman's man, but that's my personal opinion. Others feel like it's justified depending on the situation. I don't put anybody in judgment for it unless it's _my _man that they are sleeping with—then, we have a problem. But in my profession, I see it all the time. I have patients that tell me that they are cheating on their spouses or significant others or that they are cheating with someone who is already attached, and they want me to tell them that this is okay. I won't do it.

"I have lost patients because although I am open-minded and I won't _judge _them for extracurricular activities or extramarital affairs, I won't condone it. That's not the kind of doctor that I am. I'm not going to tell you what you want to hear; I'm going to tell you what you _need_. What kind of therapist would I be if I told people that it was okay for them to do destructive, hurtful, amoral things just because that's what they wanted to hear? That would be like sending someone with a broken leg home with a band-aid." I take a healthy swallow of water.

"Without betraying any confidences, what are some of the reasons that _you_ hear people cheat?" Gail asks me. I have everyone's undivided attention, now. Even Chuck has dismissed his toddler, come over and grabbed a sandwich to partake in this conversation. I shrug.

"'My husband or wife doesn't understand me,' 'he or she is always working and doesn't have time for me,' 'he or she is cheating on me so I'm cheating on them,' the list goes on and on." I think of Edward and the times that he left me at home alone—how many opportunities I had to find someone else, but I didn't. "I personally just had the situation where my boyfriend was a hoe. He wasn't talking to anyone about any problems, didn't have any self-esteem issues or anything like that. He was just a hoe. He was a real charmer and he could quickly get into any pair of panties that he wanted—and _did._ He had the women trained to tell me that nothing was going on. For a while, he had me completely convinced that I was paranoid and delusional. That's a whole different discussion.

"The fact is that no matter who is cheating or who is involved, they always somehow or another feel justified. The woman who sleeps with a married man feels justified—either she loves him or he has convinced her that his wife is a nut. Either way, she sees no wrong in what she is doing and even if she did see the wrong in it, she has no consideration whatsoever for the wife because that's not her concern. She doesn't care about the negative Karma that she is putting into the universe for herself. Her only concern is the gratification that she feels from being with this man. She is not the one who vowed in front of God and friends to be faithful to this woman, _he _is. So as far as she's concerned, her responsibility in this situation is completely expunged. Then when she can't find a man of her own or her husband turns around and does the same thing to her, she's crying and asking 'Why.'" I shake my head and pop a grape into my mouth.

"People don't want to hear it, but it is the truth. It is reality. One of my favorite quotes comes from a neuroanatomist named Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor..."

"A neur-what-a-who?" Chuck asks me.

"A doctor who studies the anatomy of the brain after you die. Anyway, she said 'Please take responsibility for the energy that you bring into this space.' Each of us occupies a space in time for a limited amount of time. During that time, we come in contact with other people thereby occupying the space of someone else. In some way, you leave something with each person that you contact—directly or indirectly—and you have to take responsibility for what you leave with that person...in their space. A woman who takes a man's time away from his wife is indirectly affecting that wife's space, and she needs to take responsibility for that." I explain.

"I disagree. She doesn't owe anything to this wife, the husband does. You said it yourself—she didn't make the vow, the husband did." Chuck defends.

"And the day that you come home and find your wife or girlfriend in bed with another man, try that rationalization while you're choking the shit out of him." I deadpan. Chuck's face flushes a bit.

"That's one of the biggest misconceptions of the mistress." I continue. "She holds herself blameless because she doesn't _owe _the wife anything. A lot of times, she feels like the husband owes _her_ over the wife—don't ask me where that logic comes from, but I've seen it more often than not. I personally don't know how _anybody_ manages to get past a cheating spouse or a situation of infidelity. It is such an ultimate act of betrayal that I can't wrap my mind around how you recuperate from something like that. I know that forgiveness is powerful and very possible, especially if you love someone, but I've never been able to understand how you get past the shattered trust. It is completely beyond me and that's why I don't do marriage counseling. I have not yet mastered the ability of looking a man or woman in their eyes and telling them to forgive a lying cheating spouse or significant other for breaking their promises."

The group fell silent for a moment after this revelation. It was Gail that broke the silence.

"You speak from experience." She said. I could see Christian's gaze turn to me in my peripheral. I nod to her and swallow the last of my sandwich.

"Edward. He was a bona fide hoe. After I left him, I wanted him back immediately. After it sunk in, I wanted nothing to do with him. He kept pursuing me, I kept denying him. I thought that if I spoke to him like a human being to tell him why we would never be, he would go away quietly. I was wrong—but I never fully forgave him for what he did to me and I never forgot how he made me feel. Do be mistaken, the person that tells you that they have completely forgiven someone for some horrible thing that they have done is lying to you and they are lying to themselves. We get to a point where we may not hold a grudge or the pain of the act doesn't consume our everyday lives or dictate our actions. However, as much as we like to believe that we can exercise the forgiveness of Christ, we can't.

"That's why the saying goes 'to err is human; to forgive divine,' because only divinity _can _forgive completely. We are humans, we are not divine. We don't not have the ability to offer perfect forgiveness because the pain of what happened will always be there...even if we don't exist or dwell in it. We can get past or get over what happened to us...and to the degree that we are able to put things behind us is how we measure _forgiveness_, which is why smaller crimes or malfeasances are easier to _forgive _because they are easier to overlook. The larger the misconduct, the harder it is to overlook, and the more likely it is that you will not receive what we feeble humans call _forgiveness."_

"You have a lot of wisdom for one so young." Gail says kindly.

"Thank you, Gail." I say with a sad smile. "Some of it is education but unfortunately, a lot of it is experience." Christian pulls me into his arms.

"My girl is pretty remarkable, isn't she?" He says, sweetly.

"Sorry about the toddler, Ana." Chuck says finishing his lunch. "She just kind of showed up and I let her stick around while I waited for you guys. She really did turn out to be quite annoying."

"I really wish you had brought someone with you, now." I said, feeling guilty about the two couples here snuggling on tartan blankets. Chuck threw his hand at me.

"There is a reason why single people don't bring a date to the islands." Chuck says. "You guys are in committed relationships, so this would be something that you would want to share. With the exception of the _toddlers,_ the islands are a smorgasbord of beautiful woman of all different shapes, sizes, and colors. For somebody like me, bringing a date here would be like going to a live concert and listening to your iPod!" We all burst into laughter at his comparison. I guess he's right about that. I just hope he gets the chance to have some fun while we're here.

We gather up the remnants of our lunch and pack the basket and blankets back into the car. It is well into the late afternoon when we get the horses back to the stable. I didn't realize how tired I was until I fell asleep on the drive back to the villa. Hell, it was only three miles! I assumed that the water and the ride—particularly the gallop with Jazz—relaxed me enough that I just needed a nap to rejuvenate. This is actually a good idea since I am no doubt still suffering from jet lag and don't want to be early to bed early to rise for the entire trip. Christian carried me to the master suite bedroom when we got back and I decided that a nice nap was exactly what I needed.

"_Hello, Bitch!" I open my eyes to see whose snarling voice has awakened me. It can't be! You're dead! It can't be!_

"_Did you think you could get away from me that easily? A couple of bullets and I'll be gone from your life forever? You wish! I may be in hell, but I can take you with me!" _

_No! No! This can't be happening! This is my imagination! He's not here...he can't control me like this! _

"_You don't think so? Watch me! I've got you right where I want you. Hell is not so bad if this is how I get to spend eternity." He snarls. I reach out to slap him, but I can't move. I look at my arms, and I am chained to the bed..._that_ bed. Oh my God, please don't let this be happening. _

"_You can't win, Harris. I won't let you win." I say, my voice shaking. _

"_Oh, it looks like I'm winning right now!" He says and I feel the slap land viciously on my cheek. _

"Oh my God! No! No!" I'm screaming and flailing my arms, desperately trying to get this monster away from me.

"Baby! Baby! Stop!" That's not Harris' voice. That's Christian. "Butterfly! Wake up! I'm here, Baby!" He has me in a bear hug, my arms pinned against his body. No Harris. There's no Harris here. Oh, please, no...please, this can't be happening. I finally get a grip on my scars and this bastard is terrorizing me in my sleep. My body goes limp in Christian's arms and I cry into his chest.

* * *

Christian wanted to get my mind off of the terrible nightmare I had about the attack and Harris, so he told me to get dressed in my finest and we went to dinner—just him and me. I did like the idea very much since we had spent all day with the group. I also just felt the need to be alone with my man. So much seemed to be happening at once and even though I know that dreams are largely a product of your subconscious, I never underestimate spiritual importance and power. I don't know if my feng shui is out of balance or something is off with my chi or the planets are not aligned properly or the gods are not listening or I'm surrounded by negative Karma or however you want to label it, but I don't scoff at the power of energy and spirits in your life. No doubt, my ride through the brush at Cove Bay and the negative thoughts of all of the people who hurt me invited this parasite into my dreams. I just don't know what to do about it right now.

Christian is clinging to me like plastic wrap. He won't let me out of his sight. He has kept me protectively under his arm close to him all night, covering as much of my body with his as possible. He would protect me from the air if he could. I know that he feels helpless to protect me from the ghosts that haunt me in my sleep, especially since I told him that the ghost was Robert Harris, but it could also have something to do with my attire for the evening. I am wearing a Michael Kors crimson draped dress with a cowl neckline and capped sleeves. It has ruching around the hips and meet in the front just under my abdomen and the dress fits me like a second skin. I accessorized with Christian Louboutin Very Riche Swarovski embellished pumps and a matching gold Swaroski clutch. I find that ever since I have been given the beautiful new nickname that I am _obsessed_ with everything butterfly! So I am wearing my hair in a messy bun and swoop bang with two embellished Swarovski butterfly hair combs. I complete the ensemble with my butterfly jewelry that Christian bought for me (my third time wearing it in a week and it compliments my promise ring very nicely). I only needed a small amount of concealer to cover the bruising around my eye thanks to Gail's miracle tea.

Christian arranged for the shuttle to take us to Da'Vida, a beautiful five-star restaurant on Crocus Bay. We were almost immediately the center of attention when we entered the restaurant. It was no secret that you did not come to Da'Vida if you couldn't afford it, but apparently Christian and I may have been a tad overdressed for an island dining experience—even a_ five-star_ island dining experience. Christian is looking edible in his Alfani gray sharkskin slim fit pants and Arrow New York black dress shirt with Stacey Adams Valencia sandals. Men and women alike were silenced as we were led through the restaurant to our table. Oh, well...don't hate us because we're beautiful...

The atmosphere of the restaurant was very welcoming. Wind chimes sang from beautiful wooden beams, the rich smell of which complimented the soft music coming from a live band. I am, of course, drawn to the soothing water wall—a floor-to-ceiling stone creation where water cascades down the stones and are collected into the pool at the foot of the fountain. Ambient light cast a yellow-orange hue into the warm setting—like a sunset. You can hear the waves from the beach as you enter and you can choose to go to the bar on your left furnished with sofas and comfortable chairs for lounging and socializing, or to the elegant dining area on your right, dimly lit and accented by candlelight.

Christian and I feasted on Asian shrimp dumplings and tropical seafood chowder as appetizers. The entire time, he gazed at me like he wanted to take me on the table right there and then. He kissed my hand several times, twirling the ring he had placed there earlier that day. I can tell that he is so proud to see it on my finger. It solidifies for him that my heart is his and no one else's. I love being tagged as Christian's. I love that he feels that possessiveness over me that makes me feel desired and cherished. I love that he would protect me from the world if he could. I know that I made the right choice in loving this man, not that I had an option...my heart made the decision for me.

We gazed longingly and lovingly into each others' eyes while playing with each others' hands and fingers and sipping delicious aged Caribbean rum from sifters. Since my alcohol tolerance is pretty low, I was careful to only take a small amount of the delicious libation. By the time our entries were served, I could swear that everyone in the restaurant was captivated by us. I tried not to pay too much attention, but it's hard not to notice a room full of people attempting to go unnoticed while stealing glances in your direction. Christian and I shared half servings of coconut crusted scallops, Little Bay pan seared snapper, grouper, Katouche crayfish tails, blackened Fiji shrimp, and grilled vegetable salad with goat cheese fritters. The food was utterly divine. We fed each other from various plates until we had gotten our fill of the tastes of the sea.

Christian led me to a clearing on the floor where we made our own makeshift dancing space while the waitstaff cleared our entries. The band played a smooth island sound with calypso undertones while Christian and I swayed softly in each other's arms.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?" He said, one arm protectively around my waist, the other clasping my hand and holding it close to my chest.

"Several times, but don't let that stop you." I coo, matching the sexy, coy smile he is giving me.

"I just want to hold you in my arms and never let you go. Protect you and shield you from all of the bad in the world." His eyes whisper promises to my heart.

"I would love nothing better, Mr. Grey, but we live in the real world and we both know that's not going to happen...though it's a wonderful thought." I tiptoe and kiss him tenderly on the lips. He put his forehead on mine and closed his eyes.

"I love you, Anastasia Rose Steele. I'll never let anything happen to you again." I know he is still feeling the guilt of what happened last weekend...the kidnapping and the beating. This is complicated by the fact that I have now had a nightmare about Harris. There's really nothing he could do to prevent that. If anything, it was _my _fault for foolishly leaving security behind when I knew that a psychopath was out to get me.

"I love you, too, Christian Trevelyan Grey...and I believe you." I know he needed to hear it. He needed to know that I totally understand that he will do everything in his power to protect me and to keep me safe, and that makes me love him more.

"Thank you." He whispers pulling me closer to him and bringing his lips to my cheek where they rested the entire time we danced. I really do feel safe and loved when I am in his arms. I lean into his lips as he repeatedly places tender kisses on my cheek. Both arms now move around me and he splays his hands over my back, pulling me closer into him. "My Ana." He whispers into my ear and I gasp for the closeness and the warmth, his breath and his words sending shivers down my back as I slide my fingers into his hair. I feel like I am literally floating on a cloud as the summer beach breeze blows through the building and we glide softly in our own world to a smooth calypso melody.

* * *

"Dinner was wonderful, Christian. Thank you."

"Anything for my girl." He says as he tips the shuttle driver and closes the car door once I get out. We realize that we are the first to return from our evening out as Christian gave the staff the night off so that we could dine together.

"Would you like some wine, Ms. Steele?" Christian asks.

"Yes, Mr. Grey, I would. Thank you." I smile at him as he goes to the kitchen for wine. I take off my shoes and leave them in the great room with my clutch. I walk out the sliding doors and sit on the wide chaise near the pool, leaving the doors open so that Christian will know where I went. The silence of the night is very comforting and I lay back on the chaise like those women in the roman art sculptures from my art history class. I am living in the lap of luxury, vacationing where the rich and famous go...in the company of the most gorgeous and wonderful man on God's green earth.

"There you are." Speaking of whom... He brings me a glass of sparkling champagne. I never know what we are drinking here. I only know that imported wines cost a pretty penny here on the island, so you must be careful not to waste any. We take a few sips in silence. I know him well and he knows me. He's thinking about my dream. He pulls my feet onto his lap and massages them deeply, first the pads and toes, then the heel, and finally the instep. The massage is not sensual, it's relaxing...although any touch from Christian has the potential to make me want him. He moves up to my legs and massages my calfs, paying attention to any tightness there. He moves his hands up to my thighs outside of my dress and quickly slides me across his lap.

"I just want to touch you...and kiss you...nothing more. Can I do that?" He asks, his arm around me, his free hand caressing various parts of my body, his lips brushing against mine. Surprisingly, that's exactly what I want...for him to touch me, hold me, and kiss me.

"Yes, Christian, please." I whisper, my hand on his cheek beckoning him to make good on his promise. He closes his lips over mine, sensuously molding my lips before his tongues begs entrance. I welcome the skilled, wet intruder that has brought my body so much pleasure in so many ways, and is now caressing my mind in a way I haven't felt before. His hands travel everywhere, exploring and kneeding and discovering my body in different ways, as if there is any part of my body that he doesn't know quite well and very intimately. Somehow in our exchange, Christian has managed to get his shirt open and pulled from his pants.

"Touch me, Baby...please." He breathes. My hand still on his cheek, I move it slowly and methodically down his face to his neck and then to his chest where I run my fingers deeply through the hair there, gently scratching the skin underneath. He lets out a fast gasp of air and sucks it in again. His lips are slack and his eyes are closed, his face registering complete ecstasy. I move my hand to his nipple and tease it gently, feeling it stiffen under my touch. He hisses as if I am directly touching his erection, which coincidentally is growing under me now. I wiggle a bit to acknowledge its presence and he grabs my hips stopping the gyration.

"Ah! No, Baby. No." Huh? "I just want to touch you...to feel you touch me...please."

"But...I want you, Christian." I mewl softly. He groans in his chest.

"I want you, too, Butterfly...so much, but tonight, I just need us to touch each other. Can you do that?" Oh, this will be torture. My body craves this man on a regular basis and tonight has been an absolutely perfectly perfect night—the date and the romance, the attention and the emotion. As I sit on his lap, I think about dancing at Da'Vida—making a dancefloor where there was none so that we could share that moment in each others' arms. Our love spread through the restaurant so that other couples eventually joined us, getting lost in each other the same way Christian and I did. We could finish this night with him buried inside me, both of us chasing our release...but he needs a different kind of connection. I don't know why, but he needs to _feel_ me in a different way tonight. It will be hell denying myself the benefit of his sexual symphony, but I can do this. I can give him this connection that he needs and enjoy his closeness at the same time. I take a deep breath and steady myself—coaching my libido to please, please take the night off.

"Yes, Baby. I can do that." I whisper, trying to find strength in my own words because I want this man...so much...but I will be strong tonight and seek the connection that he is looking for. He covers my mouth again with his and my hands travel to his hard muscular back. He moans in my mouth as I run my hands up and down his rhomboids. I thought he would expire completely when I gently dug my fingers in and pulled my nails across his back.

"Ah! Butterfly!" He breathed into my mouth, and rewarded me by taking a healthy handful of my ass and squeezing hard.

"Hah! Ah!" The sound was involuntarily. My libido is beginning to win but I push her back down again. It's not time for you tonight, Sister...maybe tomorrow. I could almost feel my body pout in protest. I grab onto his sweaty back and sink into his delicious kiss, moaning into his mouth as he moans into mine. I didn't get to release that night, but I can't deny the benefits of a full-on, no holds barred, make-out session with Christian Grey.

* * *

I wake the next morning completely naked and tied up in Christian Grey. We agreed to sleep naked because we needed the skin to skin contact after the passionate touching and the borderline sexual insanity that we were suffering by the end of the night. It was magical, though. Just being touched my him and simply allowing him to explore my body while I explored his. I never knew his legs were so defined...I mean, I knew, but I _didn't_ know. They're like chiseled stone with a coating of velvety skin. The hills and valleys on his exquisite chest and back...and watching him roll his six-pack while he was trying to control his nature—it was magnificent. I sigh my contentment recalling the whole experience and I sink my body into his.

"What are you thinking about?" He mewls in my ear.

"Touching you last night. How much I enjoyed it." I answer honestly. He moans.

"You make me feel so good." He says, kissing my shoulder and pulling me into him. I don't know if we are continuing our restraint from last night, but the steely erection that is beating a tattoo against my back is beckoning me in every single way.

"Why didn't you want to make love last night?" I ask. He kisses my shoulder again, gently sinking his teeth into my wing and causing me to moan involuntarily. Shit, Man. You have to stop that!

"I needed to just..._feel_ you. I needed to have you close to me, to just feel your body with no other distractions. I didn't know if I could do it. I had no idea it would be so hard for you, too." He says. He can always read my body well and I know that he was aware how badly I wanted him last night.

"It was wonderful." I admit. "Difficult, but wonderful...getting to feel you, to touch you, and having you touch me...'

"I need to touch you now, Butterfly." He interrupts me as his hands reach around me and squeeze my nipple, the jolt of desire going straight from my breasts to my core. I am instantly hot and wet for him, and if he expects me to hold out again like I did last night, he is going to be disappointed.

"Oh, Christian, please..." I moan, pressing my breasts further into his hands.

"What is it, Baby? What do you want?" Oh, to hell with this.

"You! Inside me...I need you, now!" I almost wail. I don't know how he does it, but somehow I am now on top of him, pressed hard against his chest and straddling him. He is kissing me deeply and passionately and I feel his unyielding erection sliding inside my folds and relentlessly teasing my sex. I moan hard into his mouth.

"Christian, please!" I squeak when he pulls his lips from mine. My hands are resting on his pecks, my body pulled close to him and held in place by his strong arms.

"Keep your chest on mine. Don't sit up." He says, his voice a low, baritone whisper thick with lust and desire.

"Okay," I breathe, barely able to contain myself. He reaches around me and positions himself at my opening. Simultaneously rocking his hips forward and pushing me down onto him, he enters me easily sliding into my super wet, hot center and filling me completely. We both cry out at the contact.

"Are you okay?" He croaks, his voice betraying his desire.

"Yes! Yes!" I breath, afraid if I move too quickly in any direction, I'm going to come immediately.

"Don't. Move." He orders me and I hear it in his voice. The Dom is there. Again it shoots right to my center and my legs start to tremble.

"Yes Sir." I whimper. I feel his erection jump inside me at the address.

"Don't. Come." He continues. Oh, hell. I take a deep breath and again, close my eyes, try to steel myself and keep my libido at bay.

"Yes Sir." I whisper.

"Open your eyes." He commands. My eyes shoot open and I look up into lust-filled storm gray nearly black dilated pupils. "Don't close your eyes. Look at me."

"Yes Sir." I'm going to implode from the anticipation. He opens his legs wide, causing mine to open as well—_very_ wide. He grabs my butt with both hands and while his arms still hold me against him, he starts a deliberate, grinding, burning rhythm—in and out, in and out, deep and hard. It feels so good that I can barely breathe. The way my legs are wrapped around his, I couldn't really move if I wanted to. The way he is holding me against his body doesn't give me much purchase either. The way he has me positioned so that my legs are open wide and his erection is impaling me, I am completely at his mercy...and it is glorious! His hands are digging into my ass cheeks and he is grinding into me viciously, pushing me down onto his pelvis and making me absorb all of the pleasure since I am unable to move.

"Sir..." I whimper. He's going to make me come. I can't stop it.

"Quiet!" He growls as he continues to punish my throbbing pussy. He groans as he feels the quiver begin and starts to concentrate his movements. He's _trying _to make me come.

"Ah! Sir...I..." my voice is so high, I don't recognize it. This is torture...fabulous torture. I can't speak, I can't close my eyes, I can't move, and I can't come. My legs start to tremble violently.

"If you come, I'm going to spank you, Anastasia." Okay, is that supposed to make me _not _come!? Have you met me!? I squeeze my hands on his chest, digging my nails into his pecks attempting to regain some control over myself.

"Ow, damn!" He says, slamming himself into me harder for my transgression. He brings his hand up to my mouth and forces his middle finger inside. "Sssuck it!" he demands while still impaling my nether regions. I suck his finger hard trying to distract myself from the hot, hard fuck he's giving me and the fact that I am about to come any minute. It's not helping. It's only making me think of sucking his dick...which is making me hotter.

"Open!" He breathes, his own imminent release heavy in his voice. I release his finger and he moves his hand back to my ass, now torturing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his newly wet finger.

"Ah, yes." He says as he feels my body respond. "How much longer can you hold out, Anastasia?" He says, still masterfully holding me in place while his dick and his hand execute erotic torment. "I feel you squeezing my dick, Baby. It feels so good." He says as he grinds his pelvis into me.

"Haaahaaah. Oh God! Ooooh...!" I can't take much more of this.

"You look so sexy trying not to come. Your eyes are begging me to let you release." His voice is growling deeper. He is racing to make me come before he does. There is no way that I'm going to win this. I can already feel the burning and tingling starting in my toes and my pelvis. He knows that I am trying to resist, so his wet finger breaks the barrier and slips past my sensitive rosebud into my ass. Combined with the punishing pounding of his throbbing dick, I am seconds away from detonation!

"Uuuuugghaaahh!" I cry, signaling to all body parts that there will no longer be any fighting from this moment forward. In T minus 10...9...

I close my eyes as the pleasure becomes too much for me to bear and my body starts to stiffen.

8...7...6...

The burning is wrapping around my hips following the trail of his fingers as he squeezes tightly and I hear the primal grunting sounds of his pending orgasm.

5...4...3..

"Open your eyes!" He growls in a voice I don't recognize. My eyes shoot open in shock at the sound of the stranger about to wreak total havoc on my pussy. As soon as I see the hunger in his eyes, the veins tightening in his forehead and neck indicating his imminent release, the party is over.

We have lift-off!

I howl in pleasure as a highly intense orgasm rips through my body. "Aide moi!" I cry as my entire body goes stiff against him and my pussy clenches violently while my legs tremble.

"Gah, yes!" Christian groans as he buries himself in me a few more times then forcefully finds his release.

"Aaaaaahaaahaahaha shit!" He is squeezing my ass and pressing me hard into him as his hips raise us both off the bed. I feel his hot cum spill into me and it has an almost dizzying effect on me. "Baby...fuck, baby!" He cries as he is pumping into me in midair. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He grunts as we both jerk out the rest of our release. I collapse on his chest as he continues to stroke, grunting and coming for quite some time. His hips finally fall to the bed as he fights to catch his breath.

"Fuck, that was intense!" He pants.

"It was building all night." I say, exhausted.

"You came." He admonished.

"I know." I breathe. "I couldn't help it. I don't know how I could resist."

"I owe you a spanking."

"I know." I couldn't fight right now if I wanted to.

"I think we are both too sated right now to even enjoy it." He laughs.

"I think you're right." I concur.

"I will reserve my spanking for later. Agreed?"

"Agreed...although I don't think you play fair." I accuse. He raises my head to look at me.

"What do you mean?" He says, looking into my eyes.

"I had no chance of _not_ coming. You pulled out a new position, new moves, and you were relentless—after you worked me up last night and then made me wait. I didn't stand a chance." I inform him.

"That's the whole idea, Ms. Steele, to push you to your very limits to see how long you can hold out."

"Yes, but you pushed me _past_ my limit." I point out. "I wasn't even _prepared_ for the possibility of denial until you were inside me telling me not to come." I argue my point with logic and not malice. I mean, honestly, how can you truly argue with someone for making you have an orgasm that threatens to explode your head?

"I seem to remember a certain minx who shall remain nameless bringing _me_ to my sexual brink many times before I was allowed to release." He says, reminding me of our TPE two weeks ago.

"You are correct, Mr. Grey. But if you remember, I gave _you_ a sexual safe word." Realization dawns on his face. "You just launched a surprise attack on me with delectable sexual prowess and exploited my undeniable desire for you, unleashing sensuous hell on me and my burning, hot, horny body...and then told me not to come." He squirms underneath me.

"I just came hard as fuck, but the way you just described that was so fucking hot!" He growls. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Exactly...and that was just the description. Imagine being subjected to it!" I finish. He nods.

"Point taken, Butterfly. I'll compromise. You have a spanking coming...but you have to ask for it." I can deal with that.

"You've got yourself a deal."

* * *

We are taking breakfast on the patio again. It's later than yesterday since we all went out last night and slept in...or _fucked_ in...a little this morning. I stick to regular orange juice this morning as Gail comes floating out of the villa wearing indigo goddess dress that crisscrosses over her breasts. She actually looks kind of hot in it. Did someone get laid last night?

"Good morning, Ana." She chimes as she takes a seat at the table and pours herself some orange juice from the carafe.

"Well, good morning yourself! You're in a good mood." I smile at her and she blushes.

"I don't know what you mean." She says, coyly. I briefly examine her closely.

"Oh you know exactly what I mean." I say knowingly. "You're glowing like a Christmas tree, and I certainly don't remember hearing you and Jason enter last night." She scoffed playfully at me.

"That would be because you were a bit distracted at the pool last evening, young lady!" She announced. Oh my god, they saw us. Now, _I'm _blushing.

"Well, it was very PG, thank you very much!" I defend.

"Just barely!" She clarifies. "If you two are that passionate at the pool...fully dressed...I don't know how you manage to keep your hands off of each other." I laugh loudly.

"We don't!" I exclaim. "All he has to do is walk into a room and I'm a useless mound of goo!" I say, recalling our delightful morning session. Gail giggles at me.

"I've learned to control it as of late around Jason. After all, we do have the same employer, but it's not easy." She says, her voice husky. I giggle a bit, thinking of the times that I have seen her and Jason steal glances at one another when they think no one is looking. I think it's wonderful the way that they look at each other and they work so well together in their separate capacities.

"So, where are the fellas this morning?" I ask. I know Christian should be down any minute and I have no idea where Chuck and Jason are.

"Jason was still getting dressed when I came to breakfast and I think Chuck may have had a bit too much fun last night. Mr. Grey is not going to be happy about that." She says.

"What do you mean? What happened?" I asked.

Well, Jason and I heard him come in last night and it sounded like he was stumbling. I could be wrong..." She says.

"Oh, God. I hope you are. Christian will not be pleased with that at all if you're not." I say, drinking some more of my orange juice.

"No he wouldn't. I realize that yesterday was his day off, but in his line of work, he has to be ready to function at all times. And I would not call 'hung over' ready to function and neither would Mr. Grey!"

"Indeed." I agree. At that moment, Gail gasped and her hand flew to her chest. I thought something was wrong with her. I was about to ask if she was okay when I caught a flicker of brilliant yellow and the unmistakable rainbow reflection of carats. My hand flew up to my chest, mimicking the action she had performed moments before. We are both in a state of shock as we simultaneously point at each other and exclaim,

"Is that what I think it is!?"

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Rhomboids are muscles along the back. I didn't know so someone else might not know either. **_

"_**Aide moi!"—"Help me!"**_

_**Make sure that you check out the pictures of the trip at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla /**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs!  
Lynn X**_


	52. Chapter 52: Grey Reflections

**_Bronze O'Clock is early today...I have plans!_**

**_I loved the fact that people were sharing their super-sex moments with me - so, so hot. "Let me tell you what happened to me..." You people are some hot, sexy beasts! Vixens, I say! Vixens! Thanks for letting me in, it was fantastic! _**

**_To Mere - Thanks so much for joining me. First, thanks for your review. It never ceases to amaze me when someone tells me that they read this whole story in two days! WOW! Second, you have some fucking _great _ideas! I'm sitting here reading the list for Book 2 and I'm like "Yeah, I've got that planned; yeah, I already wrote that; Ooo, that's good; Wow, that's great; Oh yeah, love that!" So if you see some of your suggestions in Book 2, don't be surprised. ;-)_**

**_Of course, a heartfelt thank you to my "guest" reviewers including Carol, CG GIrl, cm (Nah, Chuck didn't like the teenybopper), Dot (Kate and Ana...hmmm), Fifty Brilliants, Gwen (Christian and the silver balls...hmmm), katmck, Jaimini (good God, girl - that was hot!), JN, Laney, Leah, Marissa (CG is not our everyday guy, now is he? lol), michelle b (thank you for the well wishes!), OTB (I'm so jealous of you on vacation!), Sonnie, Tempress (I haven't yet decided if Chuck will live to regret his "digging" moment yet), Teresaromance (a rating of 50 on a scale of 1 to 10! Thank you, my darling!), Tj (ALWAYS time for an orgasm), and all of those reviewers who left no name but were still kind enough to leave encouragement. I appreciate your support and input._**

**__****_________I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too________._**

**___So the last chapter was all in Ana's POV. Here's one all in Christian's POV. It was harder to do than I thought it would be..._**

_Chapter 52—Grey Reflections_

_**GREY**_

I get to the back patio door just in time to hear what sounds like two bickering women. What the hell is going on?

"Wait a minute! We can't both talk at the same time." I hear Butterfly say. "Tell me, what is this?" I peak around the corner just in time to see Gail hold up her left hand. I really have to stop eavesdropping on these women.

"Jason's asked me to marry him." Gail answers with a girlie giggle. Butterfly gasps and grabs Gail's hand. Shit! Did this just diminish my promise ring in Butterfly's eyes? I sure hope not. Butterfly carefully examines the yellow gold and diamond creation before asking, "What is that, a carat?"

"One and a quarter." Gail corrects her. Butterfly smiles openly at Gail and sighs heavily. I can tell that she is genuinely happy for Gail.

"Gail, it is beyond beautiful." She says holding Gail's hand. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you, Ana. You're the first person to know." Gail squeals happily. Butterfly and me, that is.

"Well, I am very honored!" Butterfly says bowing slightly in her chair. Gail now reaches for Butterfly's hand. Uh-oh, moment of truth. I make sure they can't easily see me.

"So...have I jumped the gun in my assumption, or is there a specific meaning behind that very beautiful butterfly on your left hand?" Gail asked.

"Well, yes and no." Butterfly responds. Huh!? "You may have jumped the gun just a bit...but not too much. It's a promise ring." I see Butterfly extending her hand so that Gail could get a better look at it.

"Oh Ana, it's exquisite. I know Mr. Grey...this is platinum and diamonds!" She says.

"It is." Butterfly confirms, proudly. "We agree that announcing an engagement this soon into the game seems like an unwise decision for both of us, but we are certain—even now—that this is forever. So we exchanged gifts to solidify our commitment." It sounds so wonderful coming from her lips. I'm glad to know that Gail's happy moment didn't dampen Butterfly's news.

"So you two actually _planned_ to do this." Gail says.

"Actually, no, we didn't. The gift that I gave him, I had in my possession for something like seven years. I just felt like this was the time and he was the man that deserved it. My ring, he just had it commissioned a couple of days ago with no advance knowledge of my intentions. We exchanged commitment symbols yesterday on the beach."

"Yesterday? How did I not see it?" Gail asks.

"I don't know, but it was there...maybe you were a bit distracted." Butterfly says, pointing to Gail's ring. Gail laughs.

"Maybe...and then that little tart had the nerve to pick that day to try to sway Mr. Grey. Not that there's _ever_ a good day to do that but oh boy, was her timing awful!" Gail jests.

"Truer words have never been spoken, M'lady!" Butterfly laughs. "I can't help but wonder if I'm going to be beating them off with a stick for the rest of my life. I mean, I can't be upset that they look at him—let's face it, he's gorgeous—but these women are just plain disrespectful. It's insane, Gail. They get caught in the stare and when you bring it to their attention, they get angry because you broke their concentration! They don't even have enough sense to feel ashamed! Not to be vulgar, but I could be standing there _sexing_ him and they would still be staring at him." Wow! Very candid, Ms. Steele! Gail gasps.

"Oh, Ana, it can't be _that_ bad." She exclaims.

"Oh, but it _is_ that bad. When he was in the hospital, the nurse looked at him and was stupified! She was completely struck dumb...not even stutter-dumb, just _dumb_. When my presence was brought to her attention, she was actually offended that I dare interrupt her 'Yummy Mr. Grey' gawking time."

"You are not serious!" Gail says in disbelief.

"_Very _serious. It's actually really sad, but very true." Butterfly says, pouring a cup of coffee. "Supposedly, she was reprimanded, but when I came back eight days later, she was _my_ nurse!"

"Oh my God, what did you do?"

"Nothing. Christian kicked her out."

"Go, Mr. Grey!" Gail exclaims. I guess now would be a good time to announce my arrival. I did a fist pump from behind the patio doors accepting my unexpected praise from Gail.

"Christian Trevelyan Grey, are you eavesdropping on us?" Butterfly demands.

"If I were eavesdropping, you wouldn't have seen my fist." I say, laughing, emerging from my hiding place. "I just didn't want to interrupt the conversation." I bend down to kiss her.

"Mmm-hmm," She answers skeptically allowing me a chaste peck before I take a seat.

"Is Jason hiding back there, too?" Gail asks.

"No, I haven't seen him." I respond. Just then Taylor and Davenport emerge laughing at some private joke.

"Would you like to share with the rest of us?" Butterfly says, acting affronted.

"Actually, no," Davenport replies. "It's not something that should be said in front of ladies." He says clearly. I follow the strange glare on his face to Butterfly's, and she examining him very closely. I look from Davenport to Butterfly waiting for someone to let me in on it when Davenport says, "Earth to Ana, are you okay?" Turns out he's just as baffled as I am by her behavior. Butterfly shakes her head as if she is trying to rid herself of a loose thought.

"I'm sorry...daydreaming." She says. For some reason, I don't think that's completely true. She didn't look far away or lost in thought. She looked like she was concentrating. I may need to ask her about that later. "So Mr. Grey, do we have anything on the agenda for today?"

"No, nothing in particular today. I thought we might catch a beach walk so you will need your bathing suits." I say just as the chef staff is bringing out breakfast.

"Oh really?" She asks. "So I may actually be able to catch some sun today." I throw a knowing look at her. I stopped her from catching sun yesterday in that tiny little bikini she was wearing. She looked so hot, I just had to be inside her. Apparently reading my facial expression, Taylor clears his throat to break the conversation. Butterfly just smirks and shakes her head.

"I hear congratulations are in order, Jason." Butterfly says. I have to act like I don't know as I heard the news while eavesdropping, which I have decided this moment to stop doing...unless it's utterly necessary.

"Oh?" I say faking ignorance of the matter and looking from Butterfly to Taylor. I look over at Taylor who looks at Gail who then announces, "Mr. Taylor has asked me to marry him." I throw a look across the table at Taylor.

"You sneaky bastard." I say playfully, extending a hand to Taylor.

"Thanks, Boss." Taylor says, accepting my hand and shaking vigorously. Davenport extends his hand as well.

"You son of a bitch." he says to Taylor, who laughs heartily and shakes his hand. Gail and Butterfly are just looking at each other, completely confused. I guess they are trying to figure out the banter between the men. I don't have time to explain it.

"Don't try to figure it out, Honey. You'll hurt yourself." Gail says to Butterfly before taking a bite of her toast. Butterfly just shakes herhead.

"So you're going to make an honest man out of him...when's the big day?" I ask before taking a sip of my coffee.

"Um...Friday." Taylor says calmly. I had to turn away from the table to keep from spraying coffee all over Gail. You could catch flies in Davenport's mouth and Butterfly is choking on pancakes. She and I prove once again that we are perfectly in sync with one another as we manage to compose ourselves at the exact same time and exclaim,

"_WHAT!?"_

Gail looks a little shocked, but probably not as shocked as us. "Well, there's no reason to wait. I mean neither of us are really particularly sentimental about the wedding. We're more sentimental about the _marriage_!" Gail says sweetly as she gives Taylor's hand a squeeze.

"Well, yeah, but..." Butterfly sighs, whining like a little girl. "What about the wardrobe and the flowers and the bridal shower? Do you even have a white dress?" Gail laughed.

"Ana, dear, I'm hardly a virgin bride." She chuckles.

"Well...I...know...but...look! My friend is getting married and we don't have a dress and we didn't get to plan anything, and...and...I feel slighted!" She spits. I wonder if she realizes how ridiculous that sounds? She's acting like someone just stole her cookie! This time Taylor lets out a laugh.

"Well, You Highness, the next time we get married, we'll be sure to run it past you first." She folded her arms and sat back in her chair.

"It's not funny, Jason! Stop teasing me." She turns to Gail. "Okay, we don't have much time. There's a million things to do." She gulps down the remainder of her orange juice as Gail takes the last bite of her breakfast. Butterfly has hardly eaten any of hers. "I have a dress that will work wonderfully. Come on, you should try it on."

"Ana," Gail protests. "There's no way I'm going to fit into one of your dresses. What are you, a size six?"

"Four, but don't worry, it's a maxi, and since you're..." Butterfly pulls her from her seat and examines her closely, "..5'9" it will hit you about mid-calf." Gail looks from Taylor back to Ana.

"How did you do that?" She says, surprised. She looks at me. "How did she do that?"

"It a gift." I say taking a fork full of eggs. Butterfly begins to drag her away.

"You'll need jewelry. Do you have any pearls? No, wait, you can't wear pearls with this dress. Do you have any diamonds? Don't worry about it, you can wear mine. What about shoes? Do you have any white shoes? Or sparkly shoes? We may have to go shopping. You should definitely tan before then. It's a good thing we're doing beach walk today, but don't burn. Just tan..." Butterfly is talking a mile a minute. I don't think she took a breath.

"Um...Butterfly?" I call out to her before she clears the door. She turns around to face me. "That's all you're going to eat?" Butterfly narrows her eyes at me. She defiantly walks back to the table and takes a full-sized, thick pancake from the plate, rolls it up like a burrito and effortlessly slips the whole thing in her mouth before cocking her head sarcastically at me and folding her arms. No gagging, no choking, no chipmunks cheeks...just...gone. Now I know her mouth is full, but looking at her now and the way that she just sucked that pancake in her mouth, you would have no idea.

...And there are three awestruck men sitting at the table now.

Without a word (or a chew), she does a near perfect military about-face and walks into the villa with Gail. The three of us sit silently for a few moments before Taylor says, "She didn't just do that, did she? Did she really just do that?" I finally tear my gaze from the patio doors that Butterfly just cleared and looked at Taylor, his eyes saying everything the three of us are thinking but only _I_ know.

"Don't you say it!" I threaten.

"I wouldn't dare!" He defends quickly.

"I feel dirty." Davenport says dropping his head. I want to be mad at him for saying that, but I can't because he sounded so defeated—like someone had taken complete sexual advantage of him. I just cracked up.

"We are not having this conversation." I say between my chuckles.

"No Sir." Both gentlemen say simultaneously. I look at them sarcastically and continue with my breakfast.

"Taylor, why so quickly? You don't want to take the time to plan the wedding?" I ask.

"Why wait? We're on this beautiful island, it's convenient, we want to get married...it's perfect." He responds.

"You don't want to take the time to think about this decision? It seems kind of sudden."

"What is there to think about?" He voice is becoming defensive. "And what do you mean by 'sudden?' We've been dating for years."

"Taylor, you're in this romantic setting. You've never mentioned anything about marrying Mrs. Jones before now..."

"Oh..._now_ she's Mrs. Jones. She's been _Gail_ at least as long as 'Butterfly' has been around, but now she's _Mrs. Jones_." He says curtly.

"Taylor...careful." I warn.

"Oh, I see. We can talk about _my _girlfriend, but we can't talk about yours." He spit.

"She's not just your girlfriend, Taylor. You are _both_ my employees. I just want you to be sure because marriage can complicate things if it turns out to be the wrong decision." I state. Oh, now he's on fire.

"What?"' He barks. "_Complicate_ things? Are you kidding me?"

"Watch your tone!" I spit.

"No! I will not! This is my _life_ you're talking about, and the woman that I love! And from what I'm hearing, it's okay if I fuck her but not if I marry her!"

"Taylor!" I yell! "That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Well, exactly what did you mean..._Sir?"_ I don't think I ever heard him spit that word with that much venom in my entire life. Davenport sits silently waiting for one of us to make another move, but the ball is actually in my court. I think we are both too angry and I better diffuse this situation.

"We should probably calm down and talk about this at another time." I say, flatly.

"You're right about one thing...we should calm down." He says impassively. "But we won't be talking about this." I glare at him. "There are a lot of things you can tell me, Sir. You can tell me where to be, when I need to be there, who to watch, what to drive, who to follow, and in some cases, what to do. One thing you _can't_ tell me is who to marry, and I am marrying _Mrs. _Gail Jones. If you don't like it, don't be there. I really don't care." He stands from the table pushing his chair back so hard that it falls on the floor. He leaves it there as he storms back into the Villa. Davenport followed him two seconds after he cleared the door. No way he wanted to be outside alone with me.

Nice going, Grey. What the fuck is my problem? Taylor is right—they've been together for years. Why shouldn't they get married? First, I'm afraid that Gail's engagement will overshadow mine and Butterfly's commitment exchange and now I basically tell my head of security that he shouldn't marry my housekeeper. What is wrong with me? I stand and walk to the end of the patio, looking at the beach slightly off in the distance. What does it mean that I would take _any _offense whatsoever to Gail and Taylor getting married? They are both very good people. And what does it mean that I called Gail _Mrs. Jones_ while we were having this conversation? I don't know what the issue is. I don't know why I did that. Why wouldn't I want them to be happy? I'm happy, but I don't want anyone else to be happy? Could I really be that big of an asshole?

"Christian." Butterfly's uncertain voice breaks me from my self-interrogation. I turn around to face her questioning eyes. "What's going on?"

I sigh heavily. "Sit." I say and we both take a seat at the table. "After you left, I questioned Taylor concerning his certainty about marrying Gail." Her face fell.

"Don't sugarcoat it, Grey. What did you say to him? He's furious!" She demands. I glare at her.

"What did he do?" I ask.

"Well, he came to our suite and snatched Gail away without a word. There's steam coming off of that man's head and I know that I left him here with you. So what did you say?" She repeated.

"I just told him that the decision was very sudden and I wanted him to think about it." I reply. She narrows her eyes at me.

"Is that all that you said?" She asks skeptically. "Is that _exactly _how you said it?" Good grief, this woman knows me well. I run my hand through my hair.

"I told him that I wanted him to think about it, that they were both my employees and that marriage can complicate things if it turns out to be the wrong decision." I say.

"Oh my God, Christian, you didn't." She says in horror.

"Yes, I did. I have a right to be concerned about this." I say, trying to defend myself.

"That's not concern. You're trying to exercise your authority as his employer over his personal life! You just turned their engagement into an executive decision. Don't you see that?" Oh good God, it's not _that _horrible...is it?

"I did no such thing." I don't even sound convincing to myself. "I could lose one or both of them if this turns sour and I don't want to see that happen."

"It could have turned sour way before now, Christian. They've been dating for years and you didn't have a problem with it until now?" God, she sounds like Taylor now. "Do you not _want_ Jason to marry Gail?"

"That's not it at all." At least I think that's not it.

"Do you have problem with them being together?" She continues her interrogation.

"Of course not."

"Then what is it? What happened between the handshake with the crazy-backward man jargon and now that made this an issue?" I don't _know_ what happened. All I know is that when it sunk in that they were getting married, something felt very wrong. I felt a chill down inside of me where I should have been happy for two of my longest-standing most faithful employees and—dare I say it—friends. I felt like a total shit.

"Did you say something else to him? Something has _really _set him off." She asks.

"The only other thing that I said was that we were on a romantic island and I didn't say this but I did insinuate that he might have been jumping the gun because of the romantic atmosphere. I had told him that it _did _seem sudden to me because he had never talked about marrying Mrs. Jones before and now..."

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoawhoawhoawhoa!" She cut me off. "Did you _say _that? Did you say _Mrs. Jones?"_ Okay, what am I missing that's so wrong about calling her Mrs. Jones?

"Okay, that's the same reaction that Taylor had! I've called this woman Mrs. Jones for years. _Years!_ And nobody had a problem with it. Now, in this context, it's a problem. Somebody _really_ needs to tell me why."

"Oh my God." She groaned again with her head down. I'm beginning to lose my patience.

"Anastasia, just spit it out!" Her head shoots up and she glares at me. Bad choice, Grey.

"Hey! Don't take that tone with me, Grey! _You_ fucked up!" She spit pointing at me like an errant child. At that moment I knew that not only was I dealing with Dr. Steele, I was dealing with an _angry_ Dr. Steele. "You have fucked up in ways that you can't even fathom. Do you know anything about _Mr. _Jones?" She asked. I couldn't let on that I knew the whole story because that would have meant I had to admit to eavesdropping. I'm batting a thousand today.

"I know that he died in a car accident." I say truthfully.

"Well, there's a whole lot more to that story, and I don't doubt that Jason knows it. In the process of you trying to make whatever point you were trying to make, you have aggravated an already sensitive situation by calling her _Mrs. Jones_ to the man who plans on marrying her in five days. You haven't called her Mrs. Jones in, what, a month or so?" I nod. "And now...at _this_ moment...you remind him that she actually _is_ Mrs. Jones, because they weren't divorced—he _died—_and if she could have her way, they would still be married right now."

"Well, don't you think that was reason enough for pause?" I ask. If she's still holding a torch for her dead husband...

"Is that why you called her Mrs. Jones? Is that the point you were trying to make? Are you _really _that blind or are you just making this up as you go along?" Fuck, I'm arguing with the shrink. I'm not going to win this one. Plus, it _does _feel like I'm making this up as I go along.

"She lost her husband and her baby in that accident—her first love. If she didn't still feel something of that loss, feel something for them, I would think something was seriously wrong with her." Butterfly scolds. Oh fuck, I didn't think about the baby when I put my foot in my mouth.

"She lost a baby." I said so that it sounded like more of a question than a statement.

"Yes, and now I've betrayed her confidence." Butterfly's hand flies to her forehead again. I take her hand from her forehead.

"I swear I won't say a word." I assure her.

"I know that you won't Christian, but I still betrayed her confidence. I just don't do that, but you can be so insufferable sometimes!" She shakes her hands and sighs. "She has learned to live with it which is all you can ask, but you _never_ get over that. First of all, you hardly _ever _get over your first love. Mine cheated on me incessantly and I _still_ wanted him back. Mr. Jones was ripped from her in a cruel and untimely manner along with her baby that she didn't even get a chance to hold. I'm sure Jason knows all about this, and you took that situation and cheapened it to try to make some point about how they shouldn't get married and you can't even tell me why. You're trying to use her ability to love against them. You're lucky he didn't hit you!" She spit. Taylor wouldn't hit me...I think.

"I see that this is making everyone emotional and I understand why, but Taylor wouldn't hit me." I declare.

"No, Taylor—head of personal security for and employee of Christian Grey—he wouldn't hit you. Jason—fiance of Gail Jones who had to sit and listen to you insult the woman that he loves and their relationship—he would knock you senseless!" At that moment, I realized why Davenport stayed at the table until Taylor left when, at any other time, my employees know to leave when a personal conversation ensues. I have managed to piss everybody off. "Where exactly is this coming from, Christian? I know you to be a hardnose—even skeptical and cynical—but this is too far even for you. What's going on?"

At that moment, I hear a commotion in the stairway just off the great room. From where we are sitting, I can just see the curve of the staircase and Gail and Taylor having a heated conversation. Oh no, don't tell me I've caused a fight between them. "Let me go, Jason. This is ridiculous and I won't have it!" She is warm. I want her to stop struggling on the stairs. If he lets her go at just the wrong time, she going to fall.

"Gail, Baby, please." Taylor tries to comfort her. "You're going to hurt yourself. Please calm down."

"Calm down my ass!" Ooooooh, I don't think I've ever heard that woman curse in my life. "He has no right, Jason. _No right!_" She is screaming! Butterfly sighs heavily and drops her head into her hands with a pronounced "oh fuck."

"Christian, you have hurt this woman." She says, her mouth partially covered. "You remember that no matter what she says right now, do you understand me?" I look from her to a struggling Gail trying to get out of Taylor's grasp. I close my eyes and nod. She turns around and faces them. "Please let her go, Jason." She says in a controlled voice loud enough for him to hear. They freeze on the stairs at the sound of Butterfly's voice and Jason quickly releases Gail who storms out to the patio.

"Do I need to tender my resignation, Mr. Grey?" She is nearly screaming.

"No, of course not." I respond, already feeling chastised.

"How dare you tell him it could be a mistake to marry me!" She barks. Butterfly's hand flies to her forehead and she groans almost painfully.

"Ugh!" She groans while shaking her head. "My God, Christian." She says almost inaudibly.

"Butter..." She puts her hand up in my face.

"Don't talk to me! Talk to her!" She snaps, pointing at Gail. She rises from the table and begins pacing on the other side of the patio, still within earshot. I turn to Gail who clearly has steam coming out of her ears.

"When did you become the expert on relationships? I'd really like to know!" Gail barks folding her arms and shifting her stance. "I understand that you have fallen in love with a wonderful girl, but before that your track record was _shit_! Where do you get off trying to dictate what's right for us? How could you possibly think that you could say anything—_anything at all—_about what we choose to do!? You with your trail of brunette Betty-Boo-Bucketheads parading through our lives all of these years—you now have the audacity to suggest that our getting married might be the 'wrong decision?'" She does the finger quotes to indicate that she knows this is exactly what I said.

"Gail, I'm sorry." I say, trying to show some contrition, but she is unreachable.

"No, it's _Mrs. Jones, _remember?" She spits. For some reason, I feel daggers in my chest when she says that. I would never hurt Gail. I really didn't mean to do any of this.

"Okay, Mrs. Jones. I'm an idiot. I am very sorry. I had no right to say those things. It was cruel and insensitive of me and right now, I have no idea where they came from. I have the utmost respect for you and as I value you as an employee and a person, I am positive that any man should consider himself fortunate to have you." Although I observed that Taylor could see and was shocked by my sincerity, my tone still sounded too clinical to me. "Mrs. Jones...Gail...I'm sorry." I add, my voice considerably softer.

Gail just stares at me for a bit. I don't know if she wants to hit me or run away screaming. After she looks over at Ana and back at me, she takes option two—though there was no screaming, but a lot of weeping. Taylor's eye narrow at me before he goes off behind his fiancee. I really, really fucked up this time...really, really fucked up. Outside of Butterfly and my family, these are the two people that I trust most in the world, and I have managed to piss them off to the highest level. Ana walks over to me but doesn't say anything.

"I supposed you're pissed at me, too." I say defeated.

"No, Christian, I'm not pissed. I'm disappointed. It's not the first time I've been disappointed in you and it's not a feeling that I like." She says, a little sharply. I don't even want to think about all the times that I've disappointed her.

"What just happened?" I ask her. She's the psychologist, maybe she can explain this to me. "I said that I was sorry. I don't expect it to instantly wipe the slate clean, but she ran from the room in tears. I don't follow."

"She has to sort all of this out. She's feeling angry, hurt, betrayed and disappointed. I don't think you understand the impact that you have on people when you go from one extreme to the other in a matter of moments. No one can keep up with you. Although I don't doubt that gives you an incredible edge in business, it's shit when it comes down to personal relationships. One moment you're trying to convince Jason not to marry her and the next moment, you're contrite, remorseful, and repentant. She's full of fire and no doubt ready to quit because as your employee she crossed a line talking about your array of brunette bimbos while I was still in earshot...but as a woman, she went easy on you. No doubt when you are penitent and regretful, she now sees the line that she has crossed. So now, she's like a shaken soda bottle ready to explode." She explained that so clearly. I sigh heavily.

"Why, why, _why_ do I keep hurting the people that mean the most to me?" I say shaking my head. She walks over to me and puts her hands in my hair. I almost swat her hand away again, but I learned my lesson from the last time I did that. She noticed the impulse and used her other hand to gently brush the hair out of my face.

"Because you're just learning to feel, and it's new for you. It's confusing and foreign and scary, and with all my education, it's something that I couldn't even imagine. You need to understand this and think before you speak and act. You also need to let those people that mean so much to you _know_ that you are fighting with this or you are going to be introduced to another new emotion—complete and utter heartbreak." I look into her unassuming blue eyes and lean into her touch. I need the comfort right now.

"I've felt that pain, Butterfly, both of the times that I thought I lost you." I say just above a whisper. She climbs into my lap.

"But you _didn't _ lose me, so you _haven't_ felt that pain. You only felt a hint of it. The second time, you held hope that you would get me back or you never would have found me. What if there was no hope? What if I and your unborn child had died in a car accident?" My chest clinches with an almost unbearable pain when she says that. Butterfly and my unborn baby. I could imagine us buying a house somewhere. She would have picked it out and had it decorated. We would have already been decorating the nursery for our new son or daughter...then one rainy or snowy night, I have it all snatched away from me. My happiness right there in my grasp—Mrs. Anastasia Grey and a bundle of love that we created—and then it's gone in an instant.

"No!" I squeak and I don't recognize me own voice. I pull her tightly to me and bury my face in her chest. I can't lose her, not now...not ever. She can't die. I rub my hand over her stomach as if it already carried life inside...our child. Losing her and our child. It seemed like every part of me hurt at the thought.

"Christian!" I hear the shock and concern in her voice as she looks down at me. "Ssshhhhh." She is running her fingers through my hair, and I start to calm. It isn't until now that I realize that I had been crying...sobbing is more like it...and I didn't know. I just wrapped my arms around her until the shaking stopped. Just the thought of something happening to Butterfly—to our unborn child when that day comes—it felt like a vice was squeezing my whole body and I couldn't breathe.

"H-hard limit. Hard limit, Ana." I squeaked, my face still buried in her chest.

"Okay. We'll talk about it later." She says.

"No! No! Hard limit!" I'm not where I can talk about Butterfly dying at all. I don't know if I ever will be, but I'm not there now.

"Okay, okay. I understand." She says cradling my head in her arms. I take deep breaths trying to calm myself, relaxing in the comfort that she is here now...not dead, here in my arms, warm and safe.

* * *

I open my eyes and the morning sun is blazing. I try to stretch, but Butterfly in curled into my lap sleeping peacefully. I look at the table and the breakfast dishes have been cleared and have been replaced with a sweating pitcher of ice water and two glasses. How long have we been sleeping in this blazing sun? I look at my watch...10:30. An hour maybe, I look at Butterfly's exposed skin. She has definitely caught some sun. but she hasn't burned yet.

"Butterfly?" I gently rouse her. "Butterfly?"

"Hmmm?" She says sleepily.

"Wake up, Baby." I say rubbing her arms. She groans in protest and then makes to stretch her legs.

"Whoa! Where are we?" She says sleepily as she realizes we are not in bed.

"We're on the patio. We fell asleep." She looks around and realizes that we did, in fact, fall asleep in one of the chairs on the patio. She stood up and stretched and immediately checked her skin. "You haven't burned, Baby, but I think you may need a little moisturizer." I say, stretching my back.

"I think you're right." She says, getting in one last stretch while I pour us each a glass of water. She drinks it down quickly then says, "I'm going to go and see where everyone is. This is going to be a difficult week if we all hide out from each other." I nod and Butterfly disappears into the villa. I scratch my scalp and go inside. I've been in the open sun long enough. The villa is graveyard quiet. I walk straight to the elevator and push the button. Exiting at the master suite, I almost felt a sense of freedom. No one will come up here except for Butterfly. I go into the sitting room and pick up my Blackberry charging on a side table. I haven't been in touch with anyone since late Friday evening and there are a zillion emails on this thing. I forward many of them to Ros as they are things that need attention for GEH. Butterfly makes her way into the suite. Her face looks a little solemn.

"What is it?" I say as she drops on the bed.

"Gail and Jason are gone for the day." She says.

"Gone for the day?" I ask. What the hell does that mean? Technically, they are both still on duty. As if she were reading my thoughts, she said, "Chuck's message to me was—and I quote—'I am taking the day off and spending it with my fiancee. She wants to go shopping and try to forget what has happened this day. This should be one of the happiest times of her life and it's been ruined because of a selfish bastard who is only just finding out what love is. You are on Grey today and if he wants to fire me, he can. Just let me know.'" I sigh heavily and have to keep myself from launching my blackberry across the room. I look over at Butterfly who is lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, her hands behind her head.

Is she mad at me, too? She said that she wasn't, but I can't tell. I need to touch her, not fuck her, just touch her. I go to the en suite and find her lemongrass body lotion. She looks at me questioning when I crawl on the bed and lay her arm across my lap.

"How do I fix this?" I ask as I apply lotion to her arm and hand.

"You have to grovel." She says, closing her eyes and enjoying the massage as I move across her chest to her other arm.

"Um, Ms. Steele. I think you know that Mr. Grey does _not_ grovel." She opens her eyes and looks at me.

"You have insulted—_deeply _insulted—two of your most trusted employees. Jason did not ask you if he could have the day off. He did not send a message and wait for a response. He _left_. And Gail, who is also your employee, didn't even leave you a message. Those two could find a flight back to Seattle, go to Escala, pack their shit and leave you cold and not blink an eye. They don't give a fuck about you right now, Christian." There's something she's not telling me. It's all in her language and demeanor.

"There's something else...what is it?" She looks at me for a moment and doesn't answer. "Anastasia, what is it?" I ask, a little demanding, a little desperate. She sighs and sits up.

"Jason found out the hard way just how far in advance you have to book a suite here. They were going to just leave, but Jason is determined to go through with the island wedding that he promised Gail when they got engaged. This meant that he needed to find out what was the fastest time that they could get married. His next plan was to apply for the license tomorrow and get married tomorrow. He would pay for two witnesses if I and Chuck were not available, but after very little research, he discovered that the license takes two days to process. So they couldn't get married before Wednesday.

"Gail agreed to wait that long but only if she didn't have to stay here. So Jason went about trying to find them a hotel. As you know, it was impossible. He even went so far as to try to find someplace on St. Martin. So they have begrudgingly agreed to stay here until Wednesday so that they can get married. However, because they would rather spend their wedding night _on a plane_ than to spend it here with you, Jason is making arrangements _tomorrow_ for them to fly out of here after they say 'I do' on Wednesday. They know that the flight will most likely cost them two weeks salary each, and they don't care. So, Mr. Grey, although you may not be accustomed to grovelling, if you want any hope of keeping these people in your life, you fucking well better learn." I move behind her and put lotion on her shoulders and back.

"So how does one do this grovelling?" I ask. She turns to look at me while I am finishing her shoulders and back.

"You want me to _teach_ you how to grovel?" She says incredulously.

"Well, yes. Can you do it?" I ask. She laughs at me.

"Well, hell, you have to feel it. You have to be sincere."

"Well then I'm screwed!" I exclaim. "I'm just learning about all of this feeling shit and unless it's you, I usually get it wrong!" She throws her hands up.

"Wait here." She leaves for a moment and comes back with her iPod. She puts the earbuds in my ears and starts searching for something on YouTube. After a few moments, I hear James Brown lamenting in my ears.

"What the hell is this?" I ask her.

"That's grovelling." She says.

"You want me to sing to them?" I ask incredulously.

"No, I want you to listen to that song. That's grovelling at its very best!" She replies. All I see in my mind's eye is James Brown falling down onstage, his backup crew coming to pick him up and throwing a cape over his shoulders. I fail to see how this is supposed to help me. "The woman that he loves is about to leave him. He can't do anything but cry and beg her not to go. You can hardly hear him singing over the cheering of the crowd because they get it...they feel what he's singing. They know the words to the song, but..." She hands me her iPod and sure enough, there's a young James Brown—his face is contorted and he looks like he's crying. His head is thrown back and he drops to his knees in mournful lament. "They feel what he is portraying. He doesn't even sing the whole song in this performance—it's just six minutes of 'please,' and the crowd is going wild."

I can get a better idea of what she means by watching the YouTube video, but I sill don't think I can do this.

"I'm not that good of a performer, Butterfly." I respond.

"Well, that's good because you can't perform this, you have to mean it." I sigh in frustration. "Christian, you're going to lose these people and they are not going to look back. You have really crossed the line this time, like never before, and it's going to take a huge gesture that not even your billions can buy to sway them back to your side." I still must have had a look of utter confusion on my face because she got down on her knees in front of me.

"Do you remember how you felt when I talked about losing me and your unborn baby?" She began. What the hell?

"I told you that this was a hard limit! Why would you bring this up again?" I snap.

"Christian, you just need to listen and let me finish my thought..." She began.

"No! They are not the same thing! I accept that I crossed the line with Taylor and Gail, but they are _not_ the same thing. How could you do that, Anastasia? How could you use something that I clearly told you was a hard limit just to try to make a point?" One of the basics rules of my lifestyle and she's breaking it.

"Because there is a difference between a hard limit and something that is just difficult and painful, and I don't think this is a hard limit for you! I think you're just using that term so that you don't have to face it. If I really felt like this was a hard limit for you, you would never hear about it from me again!" She said strongly before taking a deep breath and letting it out. "You don't want to talk about it...fine. We won't talk about it. I'm not going to fight with you, Christian, because this is not _my_ fight. You asked for help, I tried to help you. You can't grasp it and I understand that. You're stumbling over new feelings and you don't know what to do with them, but you are about to lose two of your closest friends—whether you admit it or not—and apparently, there's nothing that you can do about it." She turns around and walks out of the room. Great! Now she _must _be mad at me, too.

There was nothing in the room to throw and I don't want to damage someone's villa so I think the best thing for me to do right now is exercise. I would normally go for a run with Taylor...but he's mad at me, too. So I just go to the gym on the third floor. I set the treadmill for a punishing pace and almost began to feel the burn immediately from all of those days that I fobbed off working out. This is what I need...to run and try to figure this shit out. I am pounding on the treadmill for quite some time before any answers come to me.

They have been with me for so many years. I have always feared that their relationship would go sour and they wouldn't want to be around one another anymore, meaning that someone would have to resign. I have always feared losing one of them. Now I might lose them both.

Listen to yourself, Grey. Listen to what you're saying. You don't _lose_. People may leave but you don't lose.

And that's the thinking that got me here in the first place...but why does she keep trying to get me to think about losing _her_? I understand how she's relating it to Gail's situation, but I don't see how it relates to their situation as a couple and my concerns about the marriage failing. I just can't connect the two. I'm pounding the treadmill more when a question comes out of nowhere, though it's been swimming in my head all day...

What's your problem, Grey?

I'm an emotionally cut off man who has recently had a bombshell of a woman introduced into my life who has completely turned it upside down and I don't know what to do with myself.

What's your problem, Grey?

I've opened up myself up to all of these different people and all of these different feelings that I don't know how to handle or express.

What's your problem, Grey?

I'm still fighting with the intimacy of having people around me, this close to me, in my personal space mentally and physically when that space previously was only occupied by very few...if anybody. Nobody knows how I function. Nobody knows how I work. Nobody knows what makes me tick except for those people that are closest to me. Taylor and I are like a well-oiled machine. Gail knows all of my preferences and how I operate from day to day. Losing that would be devastating. It takes years to train someone to that level of perfection.

Losing that would be devastating...

Losing that would be devastating...

"Fuck!" I say, as I turn off the treadmill and sit on the bench press bench. I don't so much hate when _she's right._..I just hate when _I'm wrong_. And still...

What's your problem, Grey?

Well, it's obvious that I don't want to lose them, so I'm going to do what I can to keep from losing them...but losing them was always a risk if they broke up. I knew this and I never said anything. So...

What's your problem _now, _Grey?

Now, they want to get married. If they get married, they're clearly not breaking up, and neither of them mentioned anything about leaving after they were married...until I put my foot in my mouth. So, in the big scheme of things, as long as I let them keep their apartment, their getting married would actually work out _better_ for me in terms of them staying on. I mean, no fear of them breaking up and going their separate ways if after all of these years they now want to make it official. This is not rocket science...why didn't this come to me sooner?

Didn't it?

I saw the way that they looked at each other yesterday. I saw the way that they were looking at each other today. I watched him when she talked about her feelings for him...he is completely smitten. I listened to Butterfly tell Gail about the way he looks at her. I've seen this, too...well before now. I _knew _that there was no issue with their feelings for each other or concerns about the longevity of their relationship or a potential marriage so...

What the hell is your problem with them getting married, Grey?

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" More and more, I realize how much of an asshole I really am. I go to the master suite to sit in the jacuzzi for a few minutes since I have given my muscles the workout from hell. I don't know how I allowed so much time to pass or why I was trying to kill myself on that damn treadmill. I took some ibuprofen and sat in the jacuzzi for a little longer than I should have, still pondering the fucked-upedness of this whole situation.

It's about 3:00 when I have emerged from the jacuzzi, my tightened muscles feeling much better than when I left the workout room. I put on some shorts and went in search of Butterfly. I found her doing laps in the pool. I watched her for a moment from a perfect vantage point of the second floor balcony. Her body moves so fluently across the pool and she looks just luscious in a two-piece blue halter bathing suit with boy shorts. It looks like one of those bikinis that the pin-up girls in the 40's used to wear. I am so glad that I brought her to Anguilla if for no other reason but to see her in these divine bathing suits. When she finishes her laps and decides to rest on the side of the pool, I leave the balcony and join her at the pool's edge.

Her feet are still in the pool as she wrings the water out of her hair. I sit next to her and put my feet in the pool.

"I'm sorry." I say contritely.

"You don't owe me an apology, Christian." She says softly.

"Yes, I do. I accused you of something that you didn't do. Respecting hard limits is detrimentally important to me, and even though I don't fully participate in the lifestyle anymore, it's still something that I take very seriously. Disregarding a hard limit in a D/s relationship is cause for termination of a contract, so imagine the impact that it could have on us. For me to insinuate that's what you were doing to avoid talking about a difficult topic—_very_ difficult, mind you, but just a difficult topic—was very insensitive of me and I'm sorry. It seems like I'm doing a lot of that today." Butterfly looks at me in awe.

"Apology accepted." She says, still awestruck. "Boy, that must have been some run."

"You saw me?" I didn't even know she knew I was on the treadmill.

"Yeah. I came looking for you after I hadn't heard from you for a while. The fact that you didn't know that I was there confirms that you were _really_ gone and I was right not to disturb you." She says, drying the excess water from her hair.

"So you decided to do some laps?" She's a very good swimmer. I didn't know.

"Well, I have to keep my girlish figure and I haven't been to the gym since before...well, you know." She drops her head. "I didn't want to disturb your run so I thought I would take advantage of this lovely pool." She is toying with something on a heavy silver link chain around her neck. It takes a moment for me to notice that it's a ring..._my _ring!

"Why is your ring on that chain?" I ask, controlling my voice and trying not to sound panicked.

"So that I wouldn't lose it in the pool. If it's not in my sight, I get nervous and if I lose it in the water, call the ambulance!" She says, instantly lightening up my mood. Keep calm, Grey. I put my arm around her waist and kiss her neck.

"Can you tell me when the day will come when I will _stop _being an asshole?" I say, laying my head on her shoulder.

"Probably never, but what's this about?" She says. I sigh.

"I wanted it to be _us_. I want us to move at the right pace...everything on our time, when it's right for us. I want to make sure everything is perfect, that when we are ready to take that step we know everything that there is to know about each other—or at least the really important stuff—that everything is right for _us_...the timing, where we are in our lives, everything. I don't want to rush anything. I want us to enjoy our courtship and then our engagement and then our wedding and then our marriage...but when I looked at them and the love in their eyes and how they looked at each other, I saw us. I wanted it to be us and I resented the fact that it wasn't."

"But you know that I love you, Christian." She protests. "When the time is right, it _will _be us."

"I know you do, Butterfly, and please don't take this as a reflection on our relationship. This is just me being a jealous asshole—wanting all of the happiness in the world for myself." I run my hands through my hair again. "I'm still new at this, you know. My mind can't comprehend that there's enough happiness in the world for everyone. I've seen so much heartache and pain that I keep thinking that there's a limited supply of peace and joy and I don't want everybody to take it before I get mine."

"You do realize how ridiculous that is, right?" She says, kind of laughing at me.

"It's not that ridiculous." I defend.

"Oh yes, Mr. Grey, it is." She corrected me. "Luckily, your girlfriend is a therapist and I understand why you feel that way, but the whole world doesn't think like I do. Except when I was dealing with those idiots in group therapy who didn't know what the hell they wanted, I'm a damn good therapist and I know it. I am a good therapist because I have an uncanny ability to put myself in other people's shoes. You are just being introduced to empathy...I'm _swimming _in it." She's right. Before now, empathy was something to which I could barely relate if at all. I couldn't have given less than a damn about how the next man felt, as long as I got mine.

"People cannot read your mind, Christian. They can only go by your actions and what you tell them. You don't have a full staff in your home. This is not GEH. If that were the case, then it would be understandable for you to have such a formal relationship with those people who share your home. However, these people know you more intimately than even your parents. They know all of your idiosyncrasies, how you function from day to day. Hell, Christian, they even know how you _fuck_! You can keep that 'staff-separation' line with Chuck...and Ben... Williams, whatever his first name is, but just like you'll _never _be able to draw that line with Al, you can't keep that line with Gail and Jason anymore. Three people on your staff that I am certain cannot be replaced are Gail, Jason, and Welch—Welch because he is invaluable to you and Gail and Jason because they are your _friends!_ They are your second skin. You need to admit that and you need to understand that when people are valuable to you, you can't just assume that they already know it." This is beginning to be a bit more than I can chew. "What made you realize what the problem was?"

"I finally understood what you were trying to tell me when you told me to imagine losing you and my baby." I responded. "Of course, the feeling would be nowhere _near _the same as losing you—I don't know if I could go on living—but I would be pretty handicapped without Gail and Jason." She leans back and looks at me strangely.

"What did you just say?" She asked. What did I say now?

"I said I'd be pretty handicapped without Gail and Jason." Which I would...did I say something wrong. She just smiled at me.

"Yes you would. Now I think you should tell _them _that...and make sure that they believe you." She replied.

"Do you believe me?" I asked hopeful.

"Well, yes, but I'm a sure thing." She says with a coy smile.

"Oh, are you?" I say seductively.

"Yes, I am." She responds before I close my lips over hers.

* * *

A/N: So, do you think Christian is capable of groveling to win his newest "friends" back to his side? I read someone's fanfic...I can't remember which right now...but they said that there is a definite line between employer and employee and it should not be crossed. Do you feel this way about CG, Gail and Jason? If that is the case, should he even brother begging them to stay?

Be sure to check out the pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla /

Please review!

Love and handcuffs,  
Lynn x


	53. Chapter 53:More Fences To Mend

**_I received different views about the crossing employer/employee "line" this week. Some were in favor of crossing the line and some were against it. I would say that once you take your housekeeper on a trip with no intention of her being a housekeeper and every intention of her being moral support for your girl, you've already crossed that line. Ana has blurred more lines for this man than he cares to admit. At this point in the story, it is well too late to talk about crossing that line. That line was cracked and thrown in the trash when Davenport became "Chuck" and Ana became "Your Highness."_**

**_That line was destroyed the many times that Christian "fired" Taylor (because Taylor knew he was joking), when Taylor calls him "Boss," (I indicated that Christian knows that Taylor reverts from "Sir" to "Boss" as a term of endearment), and that "line" was destroyed and flying across Puget Sound when they were in Taylor's office CLUTCHING EACH OTHER trying not to laugh too loud when Ana was whipping Elena's ass wearing nothing but Christian's shirt. He sent his mother to comfort Gail when Ana was missing. So even though Christian may have brought it up the night before they left for Anguilla when he was talking about dinner, with Taylor and Gail...that line is non-existent and has been for a quite a while._**

**_Thank you to Carol, CG Girl, FlipFlopGirls, Jaimini (yeah, you're courting controversy and a bonus chapter, too, huh? Couldn't hurt, right? lol, gotta love you!), JN, Laney, Leah, Mere , michelle b, Raynedears (the whole thing in a week? Impressive! Thanks for joining me!), Tempress (re-educated...SO true!), Teresaromance, Tj (you are right on the money with you description of CG's feelings and situation), x-cm-x-sn-x-hp-x, and all of my guests that I couldn't PM. I appreciate your reviews, encouragement, suggestions, jokes, and input!_**

**_I tested my hand at one POV per chapter...I don't like it. It won't happen again._**

_******I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.**_

_******So...will CG grovel? Is he any good at it? Will his long-term employee and - dare I say - friends forgive him for being a first-class ass? Let's find out!**_

_Chapter 53—More Fences To Mend_

GREY

As much as didn't I want to do it, I had to put a raincheck on private time with my _sure thing _Butterfly. I made it my priority to find Jason and Gail that evening and fix this whole messy situation. I couldn't let it go on one more minute. Either Jason didn't know or simply didn't care that the tracking software was active on his phone. Davenport reluctantly located him on the island and was told that, with threat of unemployment, Jason had better not discover that I was on my way to his location before I got there. To be sure that he followed directions, I made him drive Ana and me to the location.

He and Gail were at an Anguilla nightspot called _The Pumphouse. _It looked like three refurbished barns lined up next to one another. One was a Heineken warehouse, so we knew which beer was being served inside. It was nearly full to the walls for a Sunday night, mostly tourists and a handful of locals. Some guy who I later found out was named Omari Banks was playing live reggae music. I want to say that he was the same guy that was playing at DaVida's last night, but I'm not sure. The place had a real island feel and it seemed friendly enough.

Ana and I entered and I immediately spotted Jason and Gail on the dance floor. They look so happy together, not a care in the world. Jason was looking at Gail with adoring eyes as she laughed and flowed smoothly around the dance floor in his arms, her blue print sarong dress swaying freely around her knees. Her sunkissed blonde hair, normally pulled into a ponytail or a bun, is cascading down her shoulders making her look ten years younger. I feel that pang of jealousy again that reminds me why I am here, but I want to turn around and leave instead of ruining their evening. Butterfly must have read my mind as she squeezed my hand and said, "I'll try to soften Jason up. You talk to Gail." I took a deep breath and nodded. She kissed me on the cheek and went over to the couple.

Their joyful and carefree expressions fell when they saw her, no doubt because they knew that I was here with her. They stopped dancing but continued to hold each other close as Butterfly said a few words to them and pointed in my direction. They both followed her gesture and looked at me. She said something else before Jason nodded and released Gail who marched off to her right to a table. Jason took Butterfly in his arms...and again I'm jealous. I'll _never _be able to see her in the arms of another man..._any _other man...except Ray...and maybe Al. I digress. I walk over to the table where Gail sits, her legs and arms crossed in an obviously defiant and protective position.

"May I sit?" I ask. She hesitated before gesturing to the seat across from her. I remind myself why I am here. I have to fix this. I have to talk to these people like my friends and not my employees.

"I'm a real idiot." I say with no preamble. "You mean a lot to me. I don't want to lose you. Can you ever forgive me?" Her face remains impassive. After several moments, she finally says, "Why? Just tell me why."

"Because I was jealous..._am_ jealous. I want what you and Jason have for me and Ana. I want it right now but I know it's too soon. I didn't know how to handle the feelings—this is all still really new to me. I know that's no excuse for hurting you. I didn't know how to say what I meant...but I didn't mean what I said."

"Do you know how to say it now?" She says. I sigh.

"I'll try, but if I come off sounding like an insensitive idiot, please don't hate me!" I say. Gail nods. "I don't think it's a mistake for the two of you to get married, but I _am_ afraid that if things don't work out for some reason, I might lose one or both of you. Secretly, I've been concerned about something like that happening for quite some time." I say without lifting my head.

"Why didn't you say this before now? It would have made all of this much easier to understand." She asks.

"Because I don't know how to say these things. Before Ana, if the two of you had broken up, I would have told Taylor to go get a piece of ass and I would have told you to get a glass of wine, have a good cry, and go talk to somebody." I say. She gasps.

"So you would have told Jason to go get laid, but not me." She says a little affronted.

"Well, yeah, that's just what guys do, but don't you see the problem with either one of those? Because I sure do." I say puzzled. Surely this couldn't be getting past Gail's level of comprehension.

"Of course, I see the problem with it." She says. "I just don't understand what was so hard about you saying this before." I run my hand through my hair.

"How do you tell someone that you don't want _them_ to be happy because you're afraid that it will mean that _you_ won't be happy?" She looks at me at first then just shakes her head.

"You poor man." She says, almost with a chuckle.

"Don't pity me. What I did was wrong and I know it." I respond.

"That's why I pity you." She begins. "You're afraid that you were going to lose me or Jason if we ever broke up, yet when we tell you that we're going to _solidify _our commitment, you do something that could possibly cause you to lose us both. What's more is that you didn't know it was wrong until it was almost too late. What finally turned the light on for you? Was it Ana?"

"Partially," I sigh, "but even she couldn't do it. About two hours on the treadmill turned the light on." She looks at me and frowns.

"I don't know what to say about that, Mr. Grey." She says. That feels funny in this context.

"Can you call me Christian?" I ask, as I gesture for the waitress. Her eyes get big like marbles.

"Who _are_ you!?" She asked, completely shocked and almost appalled.

"I am someone who realizes that for the past several years, you have been more to me than just a housekeeper and a cook and I've been too caught up in my own bullshit to notice." I respond. I turn to the drooling waitress and ask, "May I have a beer, please and whatever the lady wants?" I immediately turn my attention back to Gail so as not to encourage the teenager (or at least she looked like one) standing next to me.

"Beer please!" Gail barked. I could see the waitress flinch and Gail actually glared at her until she left the table.

"What was that all about?" I ask.

"Well, first of all, you have a woman who happens to be on the floor with my fiance. I like her very much, so while you are in my presence, I will swat the flies away. Second of all, you're sitting at the table with me, clearly making eye contact with me. She didn't know that we weren't 'together,' so why was she standing there gawking at you like that? Now I know what Ana was talking about." She sneers.

"Oh?" I say, again pretending not to have heard their conversation. "What was Ana talking about?"

"Girl talk." She says dismissively. "Back to you..." Before she could get her words out, the teenager was back with our beers and two glasses. That was fast.

"Do you do tabs here?" I ask.

"No Sir, we don't." She responds, apologetically. I pull out a 100-dollar-bill.

"Can you run one with this?" I ask handing it to her.

"I don't think it will be a problem, Sir." She says, taking the money and leaving the table. I turn back to Gail.

"Back to me...you were saying?" I say, drinking my beer, straight from the bottle. She pours her beer into her glass.

"I have never said anything about your..._relations_...before this morning, but I am now. I am not one to judge. I have watched you for years change women like you change socks. Some stay around for a month, some stay for a few months. The last one was...a week, I think? I clean that room...I know what goes on in there, but I never judged. I don't know what kind of person needs that kind of 'motivation' or why. I know it had something to do that contemptuous woman, but I didn't know what.

"I only recently—over the last few months—got a picture of what the whole concept could possibly be because I didn't dare ask. These women only came over on weekends which I was _very _happy to disappear because when I did encounter them, they were horribly rude. The youngest ones would call me things like _Aunt Bee, Mrs. Roper, Mrs. Garrett, Mrs. Cunningham, Endora._ Half of them weren't old enough to even know who these people were, but they knew them enough to be able to use them as insults." I didn't want to tell her that _I_ didn't know who some of those people were, but since I did like to watch reruns of _Three's __Company _when I was a kid and I knew who _Mrs. Roper_ was, I got the thrust of the conversation.

"I never complained because I knew it just meant that you would get rid of that one and bring in another one, who would most likely be worse than the one you had just dismissed. There were times when I accidentally saw things that I didn't really want or need to see. You often carried girls out of that room and they were damn-near unconscious. I accidentally walked in on one of them in the shower and her back was striped like a damn tiger. I was horrified! I was sure she wouldn't come back after that, but like clockwork she was back the next Friday night. And the way they were dismissed, it was 'now you see me, now you don't.' You never even seemed to mourn the loss. You just kept going until the next one showed up.

"It wasn't until Ana arrived that I realized that there was never an emotional connection for you..._ever_! I thought at the very least that these girls came around because you liked them in the beginning even if you quickly lost interest, but I saw the way that woman changed you from Day 1. She's standing in the great room in nothing but your shirt apologizing to me because Jason was there. I immediately knew that something was different..._immediately_! I was happy and afraid at the same time because I didn't know what she would bring out in you. It's been a roller-coaster ride, that's for sure, but I would take this roller-coaster ride with the blonde bimbo blood on the marble and the impromptu dinner parties and the emergency room visits and the kidnapping _any day...repeatedly..._to having to deal with just one of those brunette basket boneheads that I've been subjected to all of these years.

"With that history, I am more than appalled that you had anything whatsoever to say about me or that you had any insinuation at all about my feelings for Jason _or _for Douglas. You were so far out of line, you couldn't even _see _the line. I don't know what kind of mechanics are at work in your head that you had to cause yourself some discomfort to be able to come to a logical conclusion about this, but Mr. Grey—Christian—you need to fix that! I know that you are dealing with some emotions that you cannot identify, but if that's the case you need to make that clear _before_ you do irreparable damage to relationships that you claim to hold dear, because I'm here to tell you that if I had to leave this island on a _rowboat, _I was getting the hell out of here!"

_Well!_ That was a mouthful, but I had to let her get it out and I somehow feel like this is not the end. I would normally never allow staff to talk to me this way, but again, I'm trying to salvage a friendship here.

"I will work on trying to communicate my thoughts better in the future if you remember this conversation—that I may not say the right thing, that I may even say something hurtful because I don't know what to say yet. I am expecting you, Ana, and Jason to tell me when I am headed in the wrong direction, but don't expect me to be perfect and don't expect me to _stop_ being Christian Grey, because that's not going to happen. I'm working on a new, improved version of me, but I will never be Mr. Super-Sensitive because I'm not cut from that cloth. I guess what I'm trying to say is...meet me halfway." Gail takes a large gulp of her beer.

"We'll see how it works out. I'm still extremely hurt over what you've done and 'I'm sorry' doesn't make that go away. Because you are my employer, I felt the only way to rectify this situation was to quit, and I. Was. Ready. Having said that, I see a noted change in you all the way around...most particularly the fact that we are even having this conversation. So...we'll see where it goes. I do accept your apology, but know that I am still hurt." She says looking at me with painful blue eyes. I cautiously take her hand.

"I really wish I could take that pain away, because I truly didn't mean to hurt you. Even if you decide not to forgive me, know that I am so, so sorry and I really didn't mean to hurt you." I say sincerely. She smiles sadly and drops her head before a lone tear falls from her eye. I really feel like shit. This woman has never done anything but care for me and my home, feed me, wash my clothes, care for my girl—never harmed me in any way, and this is how I treat her...this is how I make her feel. This is why I feel like everything that I touch, I destroy. I don't know what my expression said, but she must have seen me headed towards the edge. She grasps both of our hands with her free one and said,

"I'll find some way for you to make it up to me." Her words shattered the darkened glass that was quickly building up in front of me and I started to feel better about what the future may hold...just a little bit. We sat there for a few more minutes silently holding hands and pondering the mysteries of life I guess before Butterfly showed up and put her hand on my shoulder.

"Is everything okay?" She says with a smile. "Should I be worried?" Gail releases my hand with a chuckle.

"He'll be fine." She says drinking more of her beer.

"Will you?" I ask her, hopeful. She rolls her eyes a bit.

"We'll see...but it looks good." She replies. I sigh, knowing that I have wounded this relationship seriously, but hoping it is not damaged beyond repair. I stand and kiss Gail on the cheek. Pure, unadulterated shock registers on her face. I turn to Butterfly.

"Where's Jason?"

"At the bar." She says, a smile forming on her lips again.

"What?" I ask.

"I'll tell you later." She says giving me a peck on my lips. "Go. Go to Jason."

I release her hand and walk to my head of security like I'm headed to the gallows. I see him sitting at the bar just as the bartender brought his beer, he reaches for his wallet.

"He's on my tab, as well as the lady over there in the black dress." I say, pointing to Butterfly now sitting with Gail.

"We don't have tabs here, Sir." He says. The teenager shows up and whispers in his ear. "My apologies. I stand corrected, Sir." He says, walking away.

"I see that your power extends all the way to the Caribbean." Jason says sarcastically. Okay...

"Not power. I just prepaid for the drinks."

"Not a good idea to give a Caribbean bar your credit card." He warns without making eye contact.

"That's why I gave her cash." I respond...and now the conversation has stalled. I gesture to the bartender and ask for another beer.

"Ana put you up to this?" He says, drinking more of his beer.

"I'll admit, she tried, but she couldn't convince me. I had to see for myself what I did wrong."

"And what was that?" He says, less than convinced. He's not making this easy for me at all.

"Act like a complete asshole when I should have been happy for you—feeling resentment because I feel like you're getting your happy ending before I get mine." He was about to put his bottle to his mouth when he stopped and turned to glare at me.

"Oh, so you thought you were supposed to be the only one allowed to be happy?" He says incredulously.

"Yes." That answer threw him for a loop and he was momentarily taken aback.

"Do you realize how ridiculous that is?" I've heard that a lot today.

"Yes." I say honestly.

"Then what the fuck?" He spit. _My friend...not my employee..._

"I didn't realize it when I was putting my foot in my mouth. I didn't even understand what I was feeling! You gave your woman an engagement ring; I gave my woman a _promise_ ring. We're taking baby steps, you're running marathons. I'm ready to marry her now, but I know it's too soon. I'm trying to pace myself, but all I could see was standing in front of an officiant being a part of a wedding and it's not mine and Ana's. Don't tell me how stupid it is because I already know—it's fucking outrageous! More than anything, though, I need you to know that my statements to you this morning was no reflection on you or Gail or your relationship. It was me being stupid and jealous and not knowing how to say what I felt. It was me handling you like a GEH negotiation instead of admitting that I was feeling sickly jealous about you having the complete happiness that I yearn for with Butterfly." He shakes his head at me.

"Man, you got real problems. I thought you were seeing a psychiatrist. Flynn? What the hell is that guy doing for you?" He says, finally taking that drink of his beer.

"I can't tell you," I say running my hands through my hair. "He can only help me as far as I allow him and up until a month ago, we couldn't even _talk_ about Elena." I hear a small growl in Taylor's throat. "Yeah, I know, but I can't hear what I don't want to hear and we have only touched on these brand new 'feelings' that I'm having." I wave my hands in the air at the word feelings. "I don't know what to say, Jason. I know it was a fucked up move and I probably won't be able to fix it, but I am sorry." He turned to me again.

"Well there's something new." He's looking at me weird.

"What, the apology?"

"Yeah. Before this morning when you apologized to Gail, I have never heard you apologize to anybody—not to mention that you have probably called me 'Jason' maybe three times in my life." He's still looking at me. I sigh.

"It's the Butterfly Effect." I say, drinking some of my beer. He nods.

"She makes you a better man and as far as I'm concerned, you don't deserve her, but I didn't see that man today. I saw that same heartless, thoughtless, selfish, son of a bitch that I had been working for before she came along." He said placing his beer on the counter. "I don't know what Gail said to you, but I'm telling you that we've put up with a lot of your shit. Those soulless, brainless, brown-haired, Barbie-doll, whipping posts that you brought through that place month after month after month. They were rude and classless and tasteless and crass and I couldn't help but wonder who the fuck raised them. Their attitudes and what they put up with made them unattractive and every time one of them was rude to Gail, I just wanted to bounce them out on their icy little asses!

"When Ana put you in your place at that community center, I knew that you were going to try to woo her...if for no other reason but so that you wouldn't have to do those damn sessions. I had no idea you would succeed. She cut you off at every turn. Everything you tried failed. You kissed her and she fled the building! We got a good laugh at your expense that day." He chuckles. "The great Christian Grey was unable to bring a woman—a little woman—to her knees in a blubbering mess. That must have been so hard for you." He teases mercilessly.

"Actually, it was." I say, drinking more of my beer. "I was a goner from the first moment she put me in my place and I didn't even know it "

"I did." He says. "I knew it the minute you stepped on the elevator. Once the background check was in process, I knew it was only a matter of time..._her_ time, that is. That night you threatened her job and she nearly passed out in the parking lot, I thought you were going to jump out of the car to catch her." I almost did. I remember that night. "She was the only person besides Lincoln and your mother that I had ever seen put you in your place, and you were the only person who didn't seem to realize what kind of hold Lincoln had on you. It reminded me of that movie about the love potion, where the guy had to speak to the girl every two hours or the love potion wore off. You met with her every week without fail. She called you, texted you, showed up at GEH, at the penthouse. Every time you changed a girl, you changed the access codes and every time you changed the codes, she got them."

I guess it was time for Jason and Gail to finally get everything off of their chests that they had been wanting to tell me for years. We're pulling back all of the layers and it's not a very comfortable process for me, especially when I'm accustomed to being in control. I look over at Davenport gyrating like crazy with some little beauty on the dance floor. "How much has he had to drink?" Taylor follows my gaze to Davenport then looks back at me—nearly appalled.

"Boy, you really don't know shit, do you?" Oh, what the hell did I miss now? "Chuck doesn't drink. He's a recovering alcoholic." He says. What the fuck! These people know that I don't tolerate substance abuse of any kind, not even alcohol.

"How the hell did he pass the background check?" I ask.

"Hell if I know—it was there. It could be because at the time that I hired him, you said you needed good, reliable men. At that time, he was 11 years sober. Although I may have dropped the ball with Harris, I would stake my life on the fact that Chuck is one of the best men that I know—and I think he has already proven that to you. If there's anybody on this earth that can understand someone deserving a second chance, I would think it would be you." Ouch! Touche, Mr. Taylor. I just nod and try to drink more beer until I realize the bottle is empty. That's two beers...I think that's enough for me. I gesture to the bartender.

"Bottled water, please." I say. He nods and goes to get the water.

"That's something else I noticed since Ana has come around. You say _please. _I never even knew that word was part of your vocabulary." He spit.

"Jason, how long do I have to be abused before I know whether or not you forgive me?" I understand what I have done, but I'm not going to just sit and be a proverbial punching bag. I've been raked over the coals by Gail until my skin is raw...I don't have any more skin left for this particular endeavor.

"I don't know." He says, his voice deepening. "You can do whatever the fuck you want to me, I can take care of myself—but you hurt her. That's unacceptable. If this had been any other man but you, I would have beaten your ass right there and then. I don't know if you knew this, but we're ready to leave, immediately! We would have packed our things and left you and your ivory tower and your money and your issues alone! We would have gotten ourselves a little place somewhere, I would have gotten a job with regular hours, and she would have gotten a job where she didn't have to be offended or insulted by little tricks with daddy or boyfriend issues damn near fresh out of high school with not enough self-respect to demand to be treated like a lady!" There's that un-BDSM-educated narrow mind, but this is not the time or place to hash this out.

"I'm not going to sit here and try to explain to you how wrong you are about the lifestyle or those ladies and why they do what they do." I say in a controlled voice. "I will note that when you speak about leaving, you are using the past-tense. Is it safe to assume that you have changed your mind?"

"Give me one reason why I should." He replies coldly. Oh, fucking hell! Enough of this fucking merry-go-round!

"Jason, you are my friend." I say, my hands flailing in the air in frustration. "You and Gail, you are my friends. I couldn't see that before because of my lifestyle...because of that crazy, blonde bitch who blinded me to everything good in my life. I am certain that I will be completely dysfunctional if I lose you, or her, or both of you. You have to forgive me, but you also have to understand that my emotional growth is _years _behind yours...decades even. I don't know if you ever considered me a friend before this or if you would ever consider me a friend after this. Consider me whatever the hell you want...just don't leave!" I'm nearly yelling now. This man has pushed me to the edge of my patience. This must be what Butterfly meant by grovelling, because I am at the point where I want him to either tell me that they're not leaving or put me out of my fucking misery.

"You asshole, of course I considered you a friend. The only one that didn't know that I considered you a friend was _you_. You and your drawing-your-lines-with-the-staff bullshit. You tried to kill your fool self over Ana, who went and got her? You want to run 25 miles to forget some deal you lost or some sub that pissed you off, who's running behind you? You need some crazy bimbo dragged out of Escala because she's hysterical that you terminated her contract at a moment's notice, who's doing the dragging? Do you think I put up with all of your shit all of these years because of a dollar? You'd drive a nun to drink, Man!" Jason snapped before drinking the rest of his beer.

"So...where does this leave us now?" I ask nervously.

"What does my fiancee say?" He asks, tilting his head to the side.

"I may have a little more convincing to do with her, but she's on board." I say, taking a long drag of the bottled water. Jason sighs.

"In that case..." He proffers his hand. I take his hand and he holds firmly. "If you _ever _insult my woman again, I will take you down." He says, seriously and without blinking. I return his grip.

"Duly noted...but I think she would take me down first." I say as we shake. Just as peace was restored to our area, commotion started just a few tables away...where Butterfly and Gail are sitting. The women are surrounded by men who appear to have been drinking too much and the ladies' faces say that they are certainly not pleased. Before I can speak Jason is up out of his seat and on his way to the table. "Oh shit! Davenport!" I call out to the guard dancing with a young lady on the dance floor. He takes two seconds to assess the situation and makes a B line straight to the table where the ladies are sitting. I am right behind Jason walking across the club.

When we get there, we can hardly get through the crowd of guys—about five of them—who have basically made a wall around our women. "Excuse me," Jason says. One of the guys slightly acknowledges Jason, but turns back to the very uncomfortable ladies. Jason puts his hand on the guy's shoulder and repeats, "I said 'excuse me.'" The guy turns around and looks up into the face of the 6'2" bodyguard and decides that it's probably a good idea for him to be anywhere else but here. Fuck _excuse me. _I grab the guy closest to my Butterfly and shove him out of the way.

"Are you okay?" I ask her, shielding her body with mine.

"It's not me, it's Gail." She says, pointing to a highly perturbed Gail who is being caged in by a drunken tourist. Jason leans down into the guy's ear and says very loudly, "You might want to back up off of my fiancee."

Drunken Tourist Guy looks over at Jason leaning on the table and says, "If she's you fiancee, why weren't you over here with her?"

"I'm over here now. Step. Back." That's two warnings, Junior. His buddy, just as drunk as he is, comes behind Jason saying, "Yo! We just havin' some fun. She might want to know what it's like to be with some real men." To prevent Jason from killing Drunken Tourist Guy #2 and taking his concentration off of Drunken Tourist Guy #1, Davenport steps between him and #2 and gives #2 a good shove in the other direction.

"Are you fucking deaf?" He spits at #2. "He said that's his fiancee!"

Drunken Tourist Guy #1 still hasn't made any movement away from Gail. I still have Butterfly caged between me and the wall. One guy of the crew is still standing quietly idly by, and I don't know what happened to the guy I pushed out of the way.

"I'm going to tell you one more time to step. The fuck. Back." Jason says in a menacing tone. Now #1 decides to stand up straight to face off with Jason. At the same time, Jason stands up straight and now #1 realizes that Jason is a good six to eight inches taller than him. He pauses for a moment, but not to be made a wimp, he sucker punches Jason straight in the chin.

Oh, fucking hell!

Drunken Tourist Guy #2 takes this moment of distraction to launch an attack on Davenport. Davenport is wailing into this guy within a matter of seconds. Tourist Guy #3—I don't know if he was drunk or not—makes eye contact with me. I'm still covering Butterfly, but I'm a bull ready to charge...bring it on, Mother Fucker.

Remember when I said that I don't know what happened to the guy I pushed out of the way? Well, he chooses this moment to resurface. Since I'm bent down over Butterfly, he gets me in a headlock. I'm pushing off the wall to take the fight away from Butterfly, and as I'm doing this, Guy #3 starts wailing on my ribs. I'm not at 100% after today's grueling workout and two beers, but I'm enough to get in a few good solid blind hits.

None of us account for my secret weapon.

A shrill voice comes from somewhere behind me and all I hear is:

"Get your _hands_ off my man!" CRASH!

Suddenly, the weight from my neck is freed and I turn around momentarily to see Butterfly standing there with a broken Heineken bottle and Guy #4 out cold on the floor. She knocked the stars out of his ass! I shrug and turn to Guy #3 who now realizes he's on his own. Before I even gave him a chance to think about it, one good punch and he was on the ground with his buddy.

"Thanks, Baby." I say breathless and give her a quick kiss. I grab her hand and look to my bodyguards. Davenport has beaten #2 down to the floor—not unconscious, but on the floor—and Davenport is standing over him waiting to see if he wants to get up, which it appears that he doesn't. Jason is banging #1 up against the wall and I swear if he lets the guy go, #1 will slide to the floor in a mound of flesh. Still holding Butterfly's hand, I step over to him and say, "Jason, I think he's done." He looks over at me and looks at Guy #1. Sure enough, he lets him go and Guy #1 drops in a mound on the floor. He turns to Gail.

"Are you okay, Baby?" He says to his fiancee. She nods. He takes her hand and pulls her from the chair. I notice at this moment that although the tables cleared around us, the music never stopped. I wonder how often this happens in this place? Jason looks down on the floor at Guy #2. "She already _has_ a real man!" He spit. Gail and Butterfly are both giggling like school girls as the five of us run from the club, jump in our cars and drive back to the villa.

I talk to Davenport about the altercation and the outcome—it was a good fight for what is was. I look at the window at the passing scenery. Angry businessmen, I can handle that. Boardrooms full of department heads and heated negotiations for mergers, deciding the fates of hundreds of employees and eliminating redundancies in acquisitions—no sweat off my back whatsoever. Admitting that two of my longest-term employees are actually friends and that losing them would be devastating, subsequently having to apologize and grovel and beg for their forgiveness; coming face to face with my reaction to the unprobable loss of Anastasia and a future unborn child—yes, I'll admit it...I have no idea how to process this onslaught of emotions and I am absolutely out of my element. I am feeling completely off balance and a total and utter loss of control.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

The ride back was Chuck and Christian talking about the idiots at The Pumphouse who effectively blocked me and Gail in at our table. I remember us talking about the conversation that she'd had with Christian and the fact that Jason didn't really want to quit, but he would make Christian work to get him to stay after all that has happened and the years of uncomfortable crap that they had to endure in the wake of Christian subs. I'm so sure that Gail no longer cares about the NDA since she had planned on leaving anyway and Christian just basically begged her to stay. I was just commenting on how beautiful and young she looked tonight when these five assholes wander over to the table like two classy ladies would want to be approached by their drunk asses. I immediately got flashbacks of Stephen Morton and I was ready to hurl all over their shoes.

Gail was being nice and trying to turn the first guy down gently, but the minute his buddy reached his hand out to make a move in my direction, I was hit with an immediate wave of nausea. The response was completely involuntarily when I squirmed away from him, shrunk up in my chair and started screaming, "Ew! Ew! Ew! Get away from me!" It was one of those totally creepy, crawly feeling like being afraid of spiders and seeing on run across the floor. He was actually kind of horrified by my reaction.

"Well, fuck you then!" He exclaimed in a drunken slur.

"Oh, God, please don't." I say, sarcastically. Needless to say, none of them tried to come on to me after that. Gail's suitor took her kindness for attraction and seemed to be closing in on her further and further. By now, Gail is starting to get a little pale. Our table is against the wall, so even though no one is bent over me like this guy is bent over Gail, they still have us basically blocked up against the wall.

"You know, you guys are making us really uncomfortable and you should really back up." I say, trying to get them to leave.

"You're just mad because your girl is getting some attention and you're not." This came from the same guy who just tried to come on to me.

"You really _are_ drunk, aren't you? You forgot just that quickly that you just tried to come on to me and grossed me the fuck out?" I reply. I'm more concerned about Gail, who is starting to fidget in her seat with this guy closing in on her just about to kiss her.

"Leave her alone!" I yell, and break him out of his amorous pursuit. Gail is now trying push him away from her because she is clearly uncomfortable and a little afraid.

"Oooo, you got balls. No wonder you don't have a man." My would-be suitor said. I was about to show him my ring to correct him when I hear a voice bellowing across the bar.

"Oh shit! Davenport!"

I hiss because I know what's about to happen. I look at Gail, she looks at me, and I turn back to the Counterfeit Casanova. I just shake my head.

"You are about to find out just how wrong you are." I say to him. Just as I finish my statement, he's flying off to the left somewhere, his spot quickly occupied by Christian.

"Are you okay?" He asked me, concerned.

"It's not me, it's Gail." I respond. My only concern is that they get this guy off of her. I could have handled the Drunken Don Juan, but Gail was having a bit of a problem. Luckily, Jason has come to her aid and I take this time to examine the situation. There were five of them, but now there are three—one of the them is on the floor somewhere to the left of me and one of them just disappeared. The next thing I know, it's like a chain reaction—first Jason, then Chuck, then Christian...fists flying, those awful cracking sounds when someone's knuckles hits someone's face. I manage to slide out when Christian pushed off the wall with the intention of getting to Gail and running for cover...when I see two men ganging up on my boyfriend.

Oh, the fuck you are!

I can't find anything to use as a weapon. The nearest thing to my hand is a bottle. Here...have a beer!

"Get your _hands_ off my man!" I bring that bottle down with all the force I can muster. The green bottle shatters over Vomit-Worthy Valentino's head and he falls over in a mass on floor releasing Christian's neck. I'm a little dazed about what happened next, but I remember him saying thank you and grabbing my hands as I grabbed my purse and the five of us just scurried out of there. I have never in my life been in a barroom brawl and I am infected as we leave with a rash of giggles.

When we get back to the Villa, we were all pretty quiet entering the great room. Jason and Gail had ridden in the second car that they took earlier that evening and no one knew exactly what to say now that we were all in the same room. The sun had long since set, I was nowhere near sleepy, and the tension of this entire day was wearing on me. I could feel my inner defenses starting to break down for some reason. I hadn't fought with anyone this day, but I was running between all parties involved and it was exhausting! I look at my friends and my boyfriend all fidgeting with there fingers, purse, hair, each other, and I look at the crystal clear water of the pool out beyond the patio. Fuck this shit—the hell if adrenaline is getting me today. I take of my ring and put it in the side pocket of my purse. I drop my purse right there on the floor and step out of my shoes as I run full speed through the sliding doors down the stairs and launch myself off of the edge of the pool, into the air, and into the water with a "Geronimooooooooooooooooooooooo!" _SPLASH!i _

Fully dressed.

I swim to the far end of the pool, only too sure that everyone will think I have completely lost my mind, but not caring at this point because this day has just been too much on my psyche. I emerge at the far end of the pool, push my hair out of my face and turn around, prepared to see four faces standing in the great room staring at me like a little green man from Mars. Imagine my surprise when I turn around and see a gorgeous woman with beautiful, sun-bleached blonde hair flying through the air at full speed screaming "Cannonbaaaaaaaaall" before she, too, hits the water fully clothed. That rash of schoolgirl giggles has returned the moment I am splashed with cool pool water and once Gail emerges, we are unable to control ourselves. Moments later, five fully-grown, fully dressed adults are in the pool at a villa in Anguilla at 10:00 at night playing_ Marco Polo._

We all stayed out at the pool for quite some time that night. We turned it into an adult fully dressed pool cocktail party. It was actually pretty fun. We could more easily talk about Gail and Jason's wedding since the hatchet had been buried. Christian offered them some time off to take a proper honeymoon, but they declined reserving the right to revisit the offer at a later date. Things flowed pretty smoothly and it was just like a bunch of friends sitting around talking—even Chuck—but I could tell that something was a little off about Christian. Not completely off, but just a little bit like he was struggling to find his center.

As the moon began to work it's way to the other side of the sky, we started to make our way back into the villa to go to bed. Christian shakes Jason's hand again and kisses Gail on the cheek before they go inside. He exchanges pleasantries with a tired Chuck and then sits down on one of the chaises.

"You're not coming in?" I ask, rubbing his shoulders. He jumps a little like I startled him.

"Oh, yeah, Baby. I'll be up in just a minute." He responds absentmindedly.

"Are you okay?" I ask, running my hand through his hair. He leans into my hand then brings it around to his lips and kisses it gently.

"Yes, Butterfly. I'm fine. I'm just working a few things out. I'll be up soon." He says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Something is wrong...not terribly wrong, but wrong. I won't push him, though. I don't want this—whatever this is—to be harder for him than it is. I lean down and kiss him on the lips.

"I love you." I say softly, holding his face in my hands.

"I love you, too, Butterfly." He responds. I turn and walk inside to the elevator.

I have showered and washed my hair and I am wrapped in a bathrobe when I come out of the en suite to find that Christian still hasn't joined me yet. I can see the pool from our balcony and he's just sitting there with a tumbler in his hand. It's empty and there's no bottle around him so there's no telling how long it's been empty. I turn around and go back to the bedroom. Part of me wants to go down and get him. What is he working out? It must be really rough for him. Will he go to the piano? It could disturb Chuck being on the same floor. How long will he be down there? The questions in my head leave me wide awake and unable to relax. I decide that I want to wear one of his shirts to bed tonight and I go to his drawer to get one.

I'm frozen in place for a moment. I don't quite know how to process what I'm seeing.

In his underwear/t-shirt drawer are two sets of soft leather fur-lined wrist restraints and four long adjustable straps. I see various other items—a blindfold, some massage oil. The thing that caught my attention was a flogger with a silver handle with a ball on the end and tails that are nearly two feet long. Incredibly, seeing the flogger immediately made me wet—_extremely_ wet!

Why didn't he mention this to me? Did he not want to? I look at the wrist restraints and then at my wrists. Surely he didn't think I would relate our playtime with...Edward? That man held me captive against my will! Maybe he thinks I'm not ready. I could totally see why he would think that. I'm not 100% sure myself, but I honestly feel like I should just rip off the band-aid—and with the way he looks right now, I think I may have to do just that. I have the perfect outfit, too. I was saving it for...I don't know what. Maybe I was saving it for this. He needs this right now—so much that he doesn't know how to say it, and he's not going to ask. So it's up to me.

This is the second time I have had to top him from the bottom. The first time was our very first time in his playroom. Like now, that time he was clearly at the edge of his control sanity. Each time I could hear it in his voice, see it in his face—but this time, it was clouded with another emotion...one that was taking him away from this place. Also, both times were—_are_ - full of uncertainty. He wasn't sure I was ready to go into the playroom even though he needed me there. When I showed up, he took me to levels of ecstasy I had never experienced before. Our lovemaking is fantastic, but I adore our playtime. He has to know that I will not give it up just because he thinks I may not be ready.

I quickly dry my hair and brush it thoroughly until has a hazy halo look to it—full fluffy JBF hair and I haven't even been fucked yet. I go to the closet and pull out the small garment bag that I had hidden back there for just such an emergency. Inside are a pair of white lace panties, a white boned corset with an embroidered lace pattern and frilly trim, a white suspender garter belt and a pair of white lace top silk stockings. In my shoe carrier was a pair of white Louboutin peep toe mesh platform stiletto slingbacks with a bow at the toe. Once I had donned my angelic, seductive costume, I applied a small amount of concealer to the nearly-gone bruises around my eye, a light amount of mascara to extend my lashes and a soft pink barely-there lip gloss...just enough to plump them a bit.

I took the restraints out of the drawer and, knowing that Christian wouldn't be able to bring himself to do it, I attached the four restraints securely to my wrists and ankles. Now...which position? I could do first position, but I don't know where the night will lead us...I better save my strength. Second position...hmmm. Again, I could end up on my knees later—at least I _hope_ I do. I guess it will be third position, then. I send a quick text to Christian:

_****Can you come here for a moment please?** **_

I plug my iPhone into the charger and quickly put it on a jazz station on internet radio. I sit it on the night table. The level is perfect...not too loud. I turn off all of the lights in the bedroom and except for the one right next to the bed. I put the four adjustable straps, the magnificent flogger, and a pink studded blindfold on the bed. Sitting in third position, butt on the edge of the bed, head down and hands in my lap, I wait...and wait...and wait.

I thought he may have fallen asleep at the pool. Right when I was about to rise and throw on a robe, I hear the elevator indicating that his is coming to the master suite. My heart starts racing and I have to control my breathing. He didn't come to me immediately...what does that mean?

"Ana?" He calls out from the hallway leading to bedroom. Don't move, Steele...and don't speak. I hear him sigh heavily and then I see his feet inside the door. He takes in a loud gulp of air as he no doubt takes in my appearance—all white "fuck me now" lingerie and restraints on each appendage—in position three waiting for instruction. Please don't let this backfire on me.

He walks into the room until his feet are right in front of mine. I can hear his breathing over Paul Brown's melodic guitar.

"Stand." He says, his voice low and controlled. I find the strength in my weakened knees to rise to my feet. He brushes my hair over one shoulder and then the other. "You look magnificent, Anastasia." He breathes. I can tell he is barely able to contain himself. Not only has his breathing become uneven, but he is starting to rise in his jeans. He puts his hand under my chin to raise my head but I only raise my eyes to look at him through my lashes. His lips part as he takes in a breath again, trying to control himself.

"Why?" He asks in that same controlled voice.

"Because I want it, Sir. I need it...and I think you do, too." I answer softly.

"I don't need this, Anastasia. I don't want this if you don't." But you _do_ need this, Christian. Your body is betraying you and so is your mind and emotions. You _do_ need this.

"May I ask Sir a question?"

"What is it?"

"Why did you bring the toys?" If he didn't think I was ready, why did he bring the toys? Do they have clubs on Anguilla? Oh God...did he bring them to play with someone else? He must have read the look on my face when he answered,

"No, Ana, only you, I swear. I just...wanted to be ready when you were."

"I'm ready, Sir. Please..." I don't know _why _I need it, I just need it. I know why he needs it, though, and he needs to stop beating around the bush and get on with it. He closes his eyes momentarily and when he opens them again, his eyes have changed...piercing and demanding but hooded. I immediately divert my eyes to the floor. My Dom is here.

"Good girl." His voice has changed to that deep commanding sound that makes my heart beat faster and my panties wet. Don't move. Wait for instruction. "Take two steps forward, Anastasia. " I step forward away from the bed. He then disappears behind me and I hear him adjusting the straps. Breathe, Anastasia. We've have some heavy sex and touches of kinky fuckery, but we haven't had any real playtime in almost two weeks and even then, I wasn't the sub. I called him _Sir_ in the en suite in his childhood bedroom two weeks ago, but that only resulted in a hard fuck in the shower. Even this morning was just hot, hard sex. Honestly, I haven't subbed for him for three and a half weeks...since that first time in the playroom. He's been subbing for _me_.

Needless to say, I'm a little nervous. Scratch that...I'm a _lot _nervous.

After a few moments, he comes around the bed to where I am standing. "Turn around, Anastasia." I turn around and my breath catches in my throat. He has removed his shirt and is only wearing his jeans. Although they aren't the same jeans that he wore that day in the playroom but they fit just as well, and he has them pulled all the way down to where his pelvis starts to form that little "V"...and the top button is open.

Fuck, he is so hot!

"What should I do, Anastasia?" He asks, his voice dark and expectant. What should you do!? I have to pick my punishments now?

Pick my punishments. _Dammit_! I set myself up for this one, didn't I?

"Spank me, Sir." I say, remembering that I came when I was instructed not to.

"I can't hear you, Anastasia." He says sharply. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. Part of me is angry because I planned on dictating when I got _this_ spanking, but I inadvertently offered myself up like a sheep to the slaughter because he needs it right now. I choke back that small amount of spite and say in a clear, contrite voice, "Spank me please, Sir." He sits on the bed in front of me.

"Very well." He says. He pulls me down and I land across his lap. "Hands behind your back." He commands. I bring my hands behind me and he clips the wrist restraints to one another. "What are your safe words, Anastasia?" He says as he strokes my behind.

"Bells and whistles." I say, a little too sharply. I feel a hard, stinging slap on my ass that caused me to yelp and gasp involuntarily.

"What was that?" He demanded. Shit, I forgot this hurts!

"Bells and whistles, Sir." I choke out, duly chastised.

"Good." He responds, rubbing my ass again. I have become so accustomed to his tenderness that the brutality of the initial blow shocks me a bit and a tear escaped. I'm glad he didn't see it or he would have stopped. I just need to prepare myself—remind myself of what this really is. With my face away from him, I have enough time to collect myself. It might be a good thing that the spanking came first. It's like a warm-up to heavy exercise. "I plan to push your limits tonight, Ms. Steele. You will use you safe words if you need them, correct?"

"Yes, Sir, I will." I answer softly but clearly.

"What are your safe words again, Anastasia?"

"Bells and whistles, Sir."

"Bells and whistles," he repeats. "Very well." He caresses my butt again then his hand leaves and _SMACK!_

Fu-u-uck me! I gasp in air to keep from crying out. There's no pillow to smother my cries so I simply hang over his lap and bite my lip, absorbing the hits until one blow stung into the next. These were not erotic hits...he was _spanking_ me. I was being punished. The blows were hard and crisp...nothing like the sexual sensual slaps that he uses that actually make me come.

_You saw what he was like down there. You knew what he needed after the day he had. Are you going to wimp out, or are you going to take it like a woman?_

I stopped biting my lip somewhere around blow #7 or #8. I clenched my fists behind me and held my breath. He continued my punishment—left cheek then right, then left thigh, then right. Fifteen blows. When he stopped and started to caress my butt again, I couldn't relax. I was prepared for him to hit me again. Once he released the restraints from one another, I knew this part of the night's festivities were over and now it's on to the next activities.

_Why are you acting pissed? He didn't _ask_ you to do this. This was your idea.  
_Yes it was. So I might as well stop acting Bitchy and suck it up.  
_Hey! Was that a crack at me?  
_Yes, it was.  
_Bitch!_  
Your mama!  
_My mama is your mama!  
_Exactly!

I slowly and quietly release the breath that I was holding as he instructed me to stand to my feet. I followed directions and stood in front of him, my head bowed and my hair covering my face. I made up my mind right there and then that when he tells me not to come, dammit, I'm not coming! He pushed my hair back over my shoulders. Please don't look in my eyes, I silently begged. I know that all of my feelings—uncertainty, a bit of anger and spite, determination—would all show in my eyes and I am determined to give him what he needs this night. Part of me is protesting, saying that I shouldn't continue because this is supposed to be enjoyable to some degree for both of us. The other part of me is cheering me on, saying that the uncertainty will dissolve as soon as we get deep into playtime and I remember what I am doing.

I hardly breathe as he pulls the ribbon at the top of my corset to untie the bow that was only there for show anyway. He deftly and easily releases the latches that it took forever for me to attach and frees my body from the boned restraint device. Although I was a bit relieved to be free from it, I didn't let it be known. I was his puppet this evening...er, morning now. I would only do as he asked. He ran his hands up my body from my thighs to my hips around my butt up my back around my waist across my breasts and up around my shoulders. Yes, he ignited me...he always ignites me...but I won't do anything, _feel_ anything, until he says so.

"You came today when I told you that you couldn't." He said, his voice almost a growl.

"Yes, Sir." I said, my voice soft. Here it comes.

"You will not come tonight." He commands. There it is.

"Yes, Sir." I say, without hesitation or reaction. He pauses for a moment. I think he's shocked, but I'm not sure since I'm not looking at his face.

"Do you understand?" He asks.

"Yes, Sir, I understand." I say quickly without raising my head.

"What am I saying, Ms. Steele?" He sounds like a stranger.

"Sir is saying that I will not be allowed to come tonight." I say clearly before involuntarily clamping my hands in front of me, almost like I'm covering myself. He pauses for a moment, then says, "Exactly," and walks to the other side of the bed. I can hear in his voice that he saw my answer as an act of defiance. It's strange because I meant it as an act of ultimate obedience, but I knew that's not how he took it. It's okay, though. I'm not here to battle wills with him. I'm here to give him what he needs...whatever it may be.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Aunt Bee, Mrs. Roper, Mrs. Garrett, Mrs. Cunningham, Endora—all of the names that previous bitchy little subs were calling Gail were all older ladies from very old sitcoms. Many were too old at the time that they were in the sitcom to even be compared to Gail who, in my story, is 38 years old.  
Aunt Bee—The Andy Griffith Show (1960-1968—still in syndication)  
Mrs. Roper—Three's Company (1977-1984); The Ropers (1979-1980)  
Mrs. Garrett—Diff'rent Strokes (1978-1986); The Facts of Life (1979-1988)  
Mrs. Cunningham—Happy Days (1977-1984)  
Endora—Bewitched (1964-1972)**_

_**Love Potion No. 9—This is the movie that Jason was talking about where a nerdy guy visits a gypsy who gives him a love potion that makes women instantly fall in love with him for two hours, but he has to talk to them again every two hours or else the potion wears off. **_

_**Please tell me that I don't have to explain what "Marco Polo" is. If I do, PM me. You don't want the world to know that you don't know what "Marco Polo" is.**_

_**Make sure you check out the Pinterest at pinterest dot ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla/**_

_**So it is obvious that playtime is about to occur...does anything seem strange to you?**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs,  
Lynn x**_


	54. Chapter 54: The Scene Continues

_**I'm sorry I'm a little late. One of my clients called me - on a damn Saturday - and pissed me off, so my update had to wait a bit.**_

_**Okay, so this long ass chapter is AAAAALLLLLLLL playtime. It's intense, hot, and there are a myriad of emotions involved. So sit back, get a glass of wine, and go somewhere that you will not be disturbed for a while. There is probably more **_**instruction**_**in this chapter than anything that I have ever written, but be warned. The last scene in this chapter is very long, very detailed, and very hot. It took me several days to write it because I had to keep stopping to get laid...seriously, I did...**_

_**Please refrain from sending me the reviews and PM's that state that the chapter was too long and dragged on because it was 12,000 words of fucking. I'm telling you right now...it's 12,000 words of fucking! This chapter took place from approximately 2am until dawn. If you don't want to read it, please don't. It is ALL SEX...nothing else happens in this chapter. You have been warned.**_

_**I will thank all of my reviewers in the next chapter because I really need to just get to this one. It's going to be a little controversial, I already know, and I can't wait for your reviews and comments after you read it. I don't mind opposing viewpoints but please, keep it respectful. While you are reading this, I need you guys to remember the difference between orgasm **_**refusal **_**and orgasm **_**denial**_**. **_**Refusal**_** is what Ana did to Christian during TPE. **_**Denial**_** is what Christian did to Ana in Fifty Shades Freed when she safe-worded. The sub has control over refusal - they can just come and take the punishment. The Dom/Domme has control over denial - they stop stimulation before the sub climaxes. It's important that you remember that while reading this update. BDSM pros are probably going to beat me over the head with this one, but yes - I searched in the darkest corners of the internet and found some information on refusal vs denial, because if you do a search you will just find denial. I even asked an actual Domme (yes, I know one).**_

_**Long instructional Author's Note at the end for those of you who would like to "try this at home," and I do encourage it. **_

_**On with the story - all previous disclaimers apply to this chapter.**_

_Chapter 54—The Scene Continue_s

_**STEELE**_

"On the bed!" He commands. There is no tenderness in his voice. At this point, he is totally my Dom, no longer my Christian. I know that he won't hurt me beyond what I can take, but I also know that tonight's scenes will be nothing like the night that we were in the playroom. I climb on the bed on my knees.

"How does Sir want me?" I ask, trying to show contrition and a willingness to please.

"On your back, arms and legs out!" He snaps. Oookay, shut up, Steele. You are completely a sub today. I take in a deep breath and release it and lay down as instructed. My Dom attaches the straps to my restraints and pulls them hard. I can feel his displeasure as he tightens the straps. I close my eyes and let him finish. Once I am strapped eagle-spread on the bed, my breathing becomes erratic. I'm sure that he took it as arousal, but as much as I don't want to admit it, I'm afraid.

"Calm yourself, Ms. Steele!" He demands. His voice was so harsh that I took a breath in and held it. I await your punishment, Sir. He puts the blindfold over my eyes and the next thing I knew, the flogger came down hard on my leg. I sucked in a long gasp and didn't release. No prelim, no preparation, nothing. This flogger is different than the last one. The tails are longer and softer than the first one, but that means it covers more ground and he hits me a little harder. He uses the same technique as he used before—strike and pull—only this time, I'm lying down so it doesn't wrap around my body. He strikes again, my thighs this time, and I jerk on the bed. Okay, I need to do some really fast deducing right now.

This is a pleasure/pain experience and the pleasure is going to excite me which will make me want to come. If I close out the pleasure completely, that will leave me with just the pain, and the pain experience alone is unbearable. The only way that I can do this without ending up completely resenting him later is to accept the whole pleasure/pain experience and then resist the orgasm when it comes. I turn my head away from the direction of the strikes. With the next strike, I released the breath that I was holding like I was underwater. The minute the next strike came, I gasped the air in again. Now...here's what going on...

My Dom is angry with me because I have unequivocally decided that—at his instruction—I will keep myself from coming.

I'm angry with my Dom because I wanted control over a spanking that I don't think I should have gotten in the first place. In my move to help him, I set myself up to get this spanking at a time when I wasn't ready for it and when I did get it, it was a full-on discipline spank.

Now my Dom has restrained me, and the restraints are damn-near cutting off my circulation—not because they are tight because I applied those restraints myself, but because the straps attached to the restraints are pulled so hard.

In an effort to calm his discontent with my breathing, I hold my breath for three strikes, then breath on the fourth inhaling on the fifth and starting the process all back over again. However, in doing this...in for one, hold for three, out for one...I'm cutting off the oxygen to my brain, so I'm starting to get this euphoric feeling along with the pleasure/pain feeling that comes with the flogging. Needless to say, this angers my Dom more...or at least I think it does...

"_Breathe, _Anastasia!" He snaps. Okay, this isn't going to work. I'm doing this to help him regain some of the control that I know he feels that he lost today, and he's so busy repeatedly snapping at me that I'm certain he thinks otherwise. I release my breath and my whole body reacts. Everything drops and loosens. It even feels like the restraints loosen a bit. I'm contemplating stopping this scene without safewording and letting him know that it's not working for us when I feel his hand right on my pussy. I gasp at the pressure and the surprise when he rips the little panties off with one movement. He thrusts his fingers inside of me and strokes, using his hand to manipulate my wet folds and clitoris, and my body betrays me.

"Ah!" I gasp, involuntarily. His hand feels so good as he does this squeezing motion where his palm does a downstroke when he pulls his fingers out and a luscious upstroke when he thrusts his fingers back in. The pleasure is extreme...especially in light of his treatment just moments ago. My skin is still on fire from the flogging and the added pleasure from his skilled fingers would surely push me over the edge...under normal circumstances...but not tonight. Tonight, I will absorb all of this pleasure and I will. Not. Come.

"Ms. Steele," he says, increasing his manipulating as if he somehow read my resolve. "You are so wet. I would think you were enjoying yourself." He says. I can almost hear disdain in his voice. Well, think again, Buddy! My body may be responsive to this irresistible stimulation, but in my mind I just want to slap you upside your head..._hard_!

I grind my teeth to keep form speaking, mewling, moaning...and he increases the pressure on my clit. No. No. I will not come. Oh, God, it feels so good and my breathing is going crazy...but I will not come. When he pulls his hand out, he pulls it up so that his fingers drag across my clit and I almost expire. He slowly drags his hand up my body to my mouth and pushes his fingers inside.

"Taste yourself, Anastasia." My Dom says, and I raise my head and suck my juices from his fingers. This is so hot! He gasps as I suck his fingers into my mouth and lick salaciously. I can feel him leaning over the bed. "Oh, God Anastasia. See how hard I am for you? See how badly I want to fuck you right now?" He moves over so that his erection rests in my restrained hand. I instinctively grasp his member through his jeans and he feels magnificent as I clench and rub his dick.

"Fuck!" He hisses as he grinds into my hand repeatedly, his fingers still in my mouth. Now this is really messing with me. I want to fuck him so badly, feeling his cock stroking against my hand straining against the unforgiving denim. His breathing is become ragged and he snatches his hand out of my mouth and then he's gone, probably to control himself. Dammit! A few moments later, I feel the bed dip and he is over me—but his knees are near my arms.

Oookay...

Next, I feel tender meat against my lips and I smell the unmistakeable musky fragrance of my Dom. Oooooo...do I get a treat?

"You know what to do." My Dom growls. I stick out my tongue and feel the tender skin of his testicle. I extend my tongue and greedily lick the skin, pulling it between my lips occasionally. He gasps and I feel his balls hit my lips then leave, then hit my lips then leave, so I know that he is stroking himself. Hell, that shit turns me on. I open my mouth and the next time his balls drop, I hungrily suck one into my mouth and gently roll it around.

"Sssssshit!" He hisses as I feel his legs tremble against me. I still can't see him. I wish I could—to watch him come apart, but it would only prolong my agony since I can't come. Instead, I enjoy the feeling of him in my mouth, greedily sucking his balls and teasing the skin, inhaling his scent deeply and knowing—nonetheless—that he is coming apart in my mouth.

"Stop!" He commands, his voice thick with desire. I open my mouth immediately to release him. Mmmmm. I have missed the taste of his skin in my mouth. Oh, please, give me more. If I can't come tonight, at least let me suck you off. My Dom obeys my silent wish and I next feel his erection straining against his skin touching my lips.

Oh, thank you, Sir. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!

I stick out my tongue to gauge exactly where he is, then lift my head to run my tongue around the tender and sensitive ridge of his head before sucking it into my mouth.

"Ah!" He cries out as I apply suction and pressure just to his head. "Aw _fuck!" _He almost sounds like he's crying. He strokes his head into my mouth a few times, then stills for a moment. "Head down." He commands and I lie my head back on the pillow. Now he is fucking my mouth. Oh hell! I have to control the pulsing in my pussy because this is making me so, so hot! He removes my blindfold and he is watching me as he fucks my mouth. I'm watching his hips glide smoothly back and forth as my lips and tongue sear his throbbing cock. His sexy 6-pack is controlling his stroke and he looks glorious. I am determined that he is about to come even if _he_ doesn't think so.

I adjust my face so that I relay pure pleasure when he looks at me, then I regulate my breathing to match his movements so that he can do deep, uninterrupted strokes into my mouth. Once I tighten my lips and jaws and wrap my tongue around his cock as much as I can, I moan to indicate my pleasure for Sir's reward.

"Aaaahh!" My Dom moans and deepens his stroke in my mouth. "Oh, shit!" He exclaims, his expression tortured and his shiny locks hanging a bit in his face. He gently grabs my head and starts to stroke deeply into my mouth, trying to control himself apparently so that he doesn't choke me.

Have we met? Stop holding back!

I tip my head a bit so that on his downstroke, he goes into my throat. "Fuuuck!" He yells and screws his eyes shut. He instinctively straightens his legs and supports his weight on his arms, stroking deeply into my mouth. Yes! Yes! That's what I want. I moan again, hungrily taking all that he gives me.

"Fuck, Anastasia, fuck!" His legs start to tremble again and his dick stiffens even more. I can feel him trying to withdraw, but I raise my head as far as I can to take him in my throat and prepare to swallow. I go down hard on his shaft and suck with all the strength in my jaws.

"Aaaaahhhh! Oh, Goooood!" He grunts as he pumps his seed hotly into my mouth. I swallow quickly then suck harder, pulling out all of his juices. The veins and muscles in his arms flex and tense and his eyes are screwed shut as he rides out his release, pumping into my mouth. "Oh, fucking hell!" He cries as his cock throbs in my mouth and I clamp down on it relentlessly, massaging his head with my tongue.

"Stop." He says when I have drained all of the juice he is willing to give this time. I release him and he gently rubs his member, trying to catch his breath. I avert my eyes from him, suddenly remembering that some time during this exchange, I made eye contact with him. I'm sure he will remember and I am almost resentful again that I am sure he will punish me for it. He rises off of me and releases my restraints.

"On your knees." He commands. See? I knew it wasn't a good idea to start in second position...but on my knees where? On the bed? On the floor? The last time I asked for clarification, he bit my head off. I do it on the bed. If he wants me elsewhere, he has to tell me. I turn over and get on my knees as instructed, perfect position two—head down, legs apart, hands on my thighs, wearing only a garter belt, stockings, and stilettos. He pauses for a moment. I can see him standing there even though I can't see what he's doing. I take a deep breath and slowly let it out as I wonder to myself what I have done wrong now. He picks up the blindfold and walks over to me. He pulls my hair back over my shoulders and blindfolds me again.

"Raise your ass. _Up _on your knees." He commands. I quickly raise my butt up off of my feet so that my arms hang freely in front of me. He positions my arms behind my back and clips the wrists restraints together. Satisfied that I am duly restrained, he leaves and I hear water running.

Huh?

He opens the a drawer...most likely _that _drawer...and a few moments later, I feel him near me again. He removes my garter belt but leaves my stockings. I'm surprised they stayed in place. I fell something trickling...right at the top of my but and down the crack. It makes me shiver. What is that? Water? His hand rubs where the substance has dripped and I feel that it's oil. His oily hand feels divine rubbing in my ass against my asshole. My breathing increases again as I try to control my intense arousal. A few moments later, I feel something hard and slippery pressing against my hole then slowly entering me.

"Ah!" I moan. I couldn't help it. I tried. I bite my lip immediately to stifle the whimper that followed.

"Quiet!" His command was whispered. A soft, sensual threat. My body is shaking as he pushes the object further inside me and I felt my ass close over on large ball. Fuck!

_I'm not going to make it, Hon.  
_Don't fucking talk to me, I'm trying to concentrate here!

As soon as I think I have adjusted and can deal with the immense pleasure of what I think is a supersized anal bead, he's pushing again and it's entering my body even further. That's when I realize that it is glass and it is either a dildo or a butt plug. I clench my fist and my body starts to tremble as the second ball enters my ass and my muscles clamp around it. I hiss loudly trying not to succumb completely to this sensation. He so doesn't play fair...but then again, he's not supposed to, now is he?

I. Will. Not. Come. I. Will. Not. Come.

I open my mouth to get more air in as he turns the butt plug in my ass. Fuck! I whimper quietly and I know he is enjoying my torment, but I will not come. He reaches around me with his oily hand and rubs my now bulging clitoris. Oh fuck!. I shake violently against him, but I will not come. His other hand comes around and teases my nipple until it is so hard that it's almost painful. The pleasure is nearly overloading my senses...but I will not come.

He stimulates me for so long that I almost lose my damn mind, pushing that damn butt plug into my ass with his body and stroking my clit with his oily fingers while teasing my nipple to the point of pain. Oh God, I'm going to go crazy, but I will not come.

He gives me a slight reprieve from the hand manipulation but leaves the butt plug in place. That reprieve is short lived when I hear what sounds like a hundred metal balls against glass. What the fuck is that!? I then feel heavy balls over my shoulder...and they are _very _warm! And wet! The water trickles down my already sensitized skin and I flinch. What the hell is that thing? Whatever it is, my Dom has it traveling all over my body, trickling water in strategic places and now I have to control my breathing again. I don't know what this thing is but the feel of it running against my skin, over my nipples, between my breasts, down my back, over my ass...is driving me insane!

He unhooks the wrists restraints from each other and commands me to shift to my hands and knees. I am nearly fucking breathless. I drop to my hands and I hear the balls against the glass again, like he dropped them. I'm trying to pull air into my lungs, but my stomach is clenching so hard that it keeps pushing the air back out. I feel sweat forming all over my body—not that soft, sensual ladylike sex sheen, but water-pouring-out-of-my-skin-bench-pressing-twice- my-body-weight-running-six-miles-on-a-treadmill sweat! I feel it running down my face and trying to cool my raging libido with no luck. I vaguely remember trying to control my pounding horniness just over 24 hours ago, only then I didn't have a fully erect sex god no doubt about to drive several divine inches of hard velvet cock into me and a glass butt plug in my ass! Sure enough, before I could finish that thought properly, my Dom has slammed himself balls deep into my pussy, forcefully pulling me back onto his cock by my hips.

Oh, sweet fuck!

I fucking see stars! I actually fucking see stars! I don't remember this man ever being this deep in me. I'm sure that he has but right now, I don't remember it. He is slamming so hard and deep into me that I can't even make a sound. My pussy is screaming for release and my arms are barely holding me up. My thighs are shaking and he is pushing this butt plug into my ass with every thrust.

I...will...not...come...

My mouth is hanging open as I concentrate on pushing my vaginal muscles out because if I tighten them, I will explode...in magnificent bicentennial colors! The sweat is collecting heavy on my face and each time he thrusts forward, more of my hair sticks to my cheeks. I am breathing in and out through my mouth when he grabs my hair and pulls hard, actually using it and the hand cupped over my right breast for leverage. I am every bit a fucking sub right now and he is using me brutally. I feel the quivering of my threatening orgasm in my stomach again, so I try to concentrate on the pain of the hair pulling to distract me.

It works, but only marginally.

My Dom starts to grunt and I know that he is chasing his release now. If I can just hold on until...

He releases my hair and reaches his hand around and pinches my clit.

Shitafuckadamnado!

He is lying on my back driving deeply into my pussy, deliciously tormenting my clitoris and my incredibly hard, tender, and sensitive nipple, and mercilessly driving a double-bulbed butt plug into my ass with every thrust. He's moving not too fast and not too slow and in my mind's eye, I can see his glutes tighten feverishly as he uses ever muscle in his hips, pelvis, and ass to annihilate my resolve. His teeth sink into the fleshy part of my back right at the base of my neck—not too hard, but hard enough—and that almost did it. I almost lost the fight.

I can't even describe the tortured sound that came from me as he makes pre-orgasmic sounds in my ear. All I know is that at that point, I swear I was having some sort of out-of-body experience. My soul was crying from what it felt was some kind of separation anxiety, and I had to put that in the back of my mind for now. The Bitch had several things to say but for some reason, I couldn't hear her anymore. All of the conflicted feelings that I felt when we started weren't there anymore, but were now replaced by the lurking feeling of utter confusion.

I felt like I was sitting somewhere watching this whole thing unfold...like I was watching this man sexually torturing this woman and I felt sorry for her. Not sorry like she was being abused, but sorry that she couldn't come. Her whole body is on fire and he knows that. Her arms are shaking; her legs are shaking; there's sweat pouring from every surface of her skin. Her tits are so aroused that they have swollen and are nearly numb. Her pussy is pulsating feverishly in a way that she has never known. The sensation from her ass and hips are making her damn near delirious and he just keeps pounding on and on while she kneels there trying not to fall forward—not that she could with the grip that he has on her breast and her pussy. I watch her eyes tighten as he strokes her clit deeply while he drives his dick deep into her center and she recites her mantra...

I...will...not...come...

She whispers a gasp as he finally thrusts hard into her and stills, his growl loud and primal as he pumps every bit of his angry semen into her as her head drops and some of her wet stringy hair falls over her shoulder into her face. Her arms are still trembling..._my_ arms are still trembling. As I float back down to myself, I feel the burning inside of me—my stomach, my thighs, my arms...every muscle firing in my attempt to fend of my orgasm. When he pulls out of me, he snatches my air away with him and I involuntarily start coughing to get it back. This lasts for only a moment, because I don't want to show any signs of weakness. That was all for naught when, once the coughing stopped, my arms and legs went out on me and I find myself face down on the bed—still on my knees—my butt on my feet and my arms and legs curled under me, fighting for air.

I don't know what he's doing behind me for the few moments that felt like hours, but I now must endure the exquisite agony of him pulling the double-bulbed butt plug out of my ass. My muscles are too weak to fire, but my nature is still alive and well and fighting for release. I can no longer form a coherent thought now except...

I...will...not...come...

"I'm going to let you rest for a moment." He says, no tenderness in his voice. A moment. That means he's not done yet. He wants more.

I don't speak. I don't whimper. I don't murmur. I don't whine. I barely even breathe. I am still wearing the blindfold and I have a mouthful of my own hair. I'm going to meditate now...try to free my mind and my body of all of these random, confused thoughts and release the urge to come from a good, stiff breeze. I don't know what he has in mind or how much longer he plans to torture me, but I won't come. I...will...not...come...

I don't know how much time has passed when I hear the glass and the balls again. He removes the blindfold and even the soft light from the night table is not kind to my eyes. I open them momentarily and, seeing him standing right in front of me—still naked—I close them again. I have gained a little strength from the mediation, not much, but a little. Not knowing what he is expecting from me right now, I feel like the safest thing that I can do is get into position. I drag my upper body off of the bed and spread my legs. Hands on my thighs, head down, I take second position and what for instruction. I think I hear him gasp, but I'm not certain...my brain is scrambled eggs.

"Lie down on the bed, Ms. Steele, face up." His voice is quieter now, not as sharp as it was before. I slowly take position and he restrains me again, this time not as tightly as he did before. My eyes still closed, I hear the metal balls on glass again and then I feel warm water dripping on me.

Open your eyes, Anastasia." I slowly open my eyes to see him holding what looks like a flogger with tails made out of metal beads. My eyes grow large and I gasp loudly. He's not going to hit me with that damn thing...is he?

"This is not for striking, Anastasia," he says as he lays the warm, wet tickler down on my chest and begins to pull it across my skin again. Oh, I remember this now, I think to myself as the shaking starts anew and the calming effect of the meditation goes completely out the window. He pulls the tickler over my body, my nipples, my stomach, awakening my senses once again. Then he pulls it over my pussy and my protruding clit...repeatedly.

Oh my damn!

Coherent thought is leaving again...don't come...don't come...

Warm, wet, metal balls rolling repeatedly over my burning clit...

I...will...not...come...

I don't know what to do. My clit is sticking out...I can't move it away. It feels so good...

I...will...not...come...

When he stops...pauses...I don't know...my clit is _thrumming_. Oh God, I can't think. I'm pulling on my restraints and it's only when I relax my arms that I realize I was damn near lifting off the bed. I can't think.

"Oh Ms. Steele, your clit looks so pretty from this angle. I bet you could come with the force of a thousand men if I licked that pretty little kitty right now." Oh God! Just his words made my clit swell. He reaches past my head to something on the nightstand, but I can barely focus to see what it is. I've got to clear my head...I can't think.

I feel something soft but not so soft on each breast and I think on my clit, too. I hear a noise, like the blood pressure pump, and these soft/hard things are tightening on my nipples and clit.

Okay, I'm whimpering now, mostly because I can't find words at all. I want to come. And I can't think...and now he has some strange magical machine sucking my titties and my clit at the same time!

I can't think...focus, Steele...I will not come...oh, God, this feels so good.

The suction continues and right when I think the pleasure is unbearable, that damn things start to vibrate!

Holy cow, Batman!

"Aaahhh! Aaahhh!" I squeak, damn near sitting straight up in my restraints. I see him...stroking himself hard and deep and my body trembles...vibrates...violently and uncontrollably. He looks good. He looks hot...and I want to come.

I can't think.

That vein in his head and neck are popping out as he pleasures himself. He is enjoying this immensely. He is positioned just between my legs right at my crotch where he has a bird's eye view of everything—my pulsing pussy, my swollen tits, my body and hair drenched from sweat, my arms and legs pulling helplessly on the restraints. I also have a bird's eye view of him—those pulsing pleasure veins, his washboard stomach adulating with each pull on his hard, swollen, engorged, red dick, him rising on his knees a bit every time his hand gets to the head indicating the intense sensation of the stroke.

Oh fuck, I can't think.

I can't come...my brain is crying...I can't come...

"Aaaahaahaa!" I whine as the vibrations are quickly becoming unbearable.

"Quiet!" He barks, his voice very thick with pleasure and a pending third orgasm for him...

...and none for me...

Oh, God...I'm going to come...I can't come...  
My whole body is shaking...  
I can't control it anymore...  
I can't stop it...  
I...will...not...come...  
Hold your head back—try to get some air...  
Straighten your arms...  
I can't...the more I relax, the more I want to come...  
I can't think...  
My whole body is shaking.

The vibrating stops and the suction releases very quickly. No time for sighs of relief...my Dom thrusts into me yet again. Pleasuring himself all the way to the point right before release, he decides that he wants to have his orgasm inside of me...and it sets my whole body aflame...and my mind...

Delicious torture...and I can't take it anymore.  
I can't think...  
My whole body is shaking...on fire...aching...  
I can't take it anymore...  
Oh, God, I can't do it anymore...  
I...will not...come...  
I...can't...come...  
I...cant...think...  
Oh God...  
Oh God...  
I can't...  
I can't...  
I can't think...oh, God...I can't...think...

* * *

_**GREY**_

My legs are shaking viciously as I jerk out my third release. I have been at her for hours..._hours..._and she didn't come. I could see that at times it was nearly unbearable and the thought of how close she must be right now is actually making my dick twitch inside her with intense aftershocks.

"Fuck!" I hiss as I hold her hips up off the bed pressed hard against mine so that my balls almost sink into her as I tremble out the last of the sensation of my release. Her pussy is actually warm...no, it's _hot_...and her entire body is one clinched muscle right now. I have never seen someone take orgasm refusal like she does. She is the best, by far—better than anyone who has ever _subbed_ for me...ever! Her control threshold is insane. She takes deep erotic stimulation and resists release better than anyone I have ever seen..._almost_ better than me...when she's prepared for it, that is. How the fuck did I get so damn lucky?

I needed extreme...I'll admit it. I needed extreme control, extreme release, extreme punishment, and extreme pleasure. I couldn't go the distance to which I have become accustomed—not with Ana—but I went as far as I could possibly go under the circumstances if not a little further...well, maybe a lot further. I felt like she was deliberately defying me in the beginning. She had to be taught to remember who was the Dom in this instance. Her actions were irritating me—aggravating me more than I already was—and I had to use the tools at my disposal to remind her that when I am Dom, my control is omnipotent.

Her body is trembling ferociously as I pull out. After three hard releases and extremely gratifying control of Ana's body and orgasms, I am completely sated and refreshed. I feel like myself again—not so lost in the confusions that plagued me just a few hours ago. She always knows what I need...always.

Her fists are clenched and her head is back. She's whimpering wildly as all four of her extremities pull against the restraints. She is sweating profusely and has managed to kick off one of her shoes. After all she endured, I would have let her release if she had succumbed. I was sure that she wouldn't be able to withstand the vibrating triple suckers, but she resisted like a master. It must have been agony.

"Come down, Baby." I say as I gently kiss her between her breasts. She jumps and whimpers again at my touch, her breathing extremely erratic. Now that I have regained my calm and control, her reaction leaves me feeling a bit uneasy...it feels like she doesn't want me to touch her _at all._ I don't want to untie her until I have her breathing and her body controlled. She might start convulsing or something, but she needs to control her breathing quickly before she hyperventilates.

"Come on, Baby," I say softly against her cheek stroking her hair. "Come down for me." I'm kissing her cheek and rubbing her arms. It takes her a while but she slowly starts to regulate her breathing. Her nipples are pinker and harder than I have every seen them before. Her breasts almost look swollen...bigger...like her clit, sticking out of her lower lips, swollen and aching. She still exhibits masterful control over her desire even though her body is singing...wailing...screaming for release. I am in awe of her...and extremely proud.

She finally rests her back on the bed again. I know that she is coming back to herself when she begins to flex her hands, no doubt her fingers tight from their clenched position. Her eyes are closed tightly and I realize that it is to prevent the sweat from running into them. I retrieve a cool cloth from the en suite as well as a glass of water and wipe the sweat from her face and eyelids. Her hair was fluffy and full when I came into the room earlier. Now it is completely drenched, like she just stepped out of the shower. She looks so hot lying there eagle spread wearing nothing but stockings. I want to rub her beautiful tanned skin all over, but I don't think she could take it right now.

It took several minutes to calm her, but once she no longer sounds like she was running a marathon, I begin to undo her restraints. I now see why she was wearing the restraints when I arrived. Her scars from her captivity are still only slightly pink—almost invisible, but not completely—and I would not have been able to attach the restraints over her scars.

She always knows what I need...always. She has once again put my feelings, my needs, before hers. My heart swells...

"Baby." At that moment, I am filled with so much love for this woman that I once again feel like my chest will burst. I quickly release the other wrist and bring them both to my mouth, kissing them gently and repeatedly. She keeps her eyes closed and says nothing as her body continues to tremble...more like shiver, like she's cold. I hold her head up and give her some of the water to wet her throat. When I lay her head back down, she turns away and draws her hands up until they are clasped underneath her chin, her arms pressing her breast together deliciously without going near her hot, pink, sensitive nipples. That's the second time tonight she appears to be drawing into herself.

Did I push her too far?

I release her ankles and remove her other shoe. I delicately remove her silk stockings and massage her feet, toes, and ankles before I climb in the bed next to her, pulling her to me while she is lying partially on her side and partially on her back. Her body is still trembling and at first, she shrinks away from my touch a bit. Normally I would hold her breast, but as I accidentally run my hand across them, she jumps in discomfort. Instead I put my arms around her waist and hold her close to me in a gentle embrace, pressing my head against hers and kissing her shoulder. She is completely spent from holding her orgasms, giving that control to me. Now, I lay here comfortable and sated while she's struggling to ignore her desire, trembling and whimpering and aching—fully willing to try to sleep without release...for me...because I needed it.

I stroke her hair softly and her face contorts just a bit before she relaxes her muscles and settles back into me. I hear the change in her breathing as she quickly succumbs to exhaustion...but I know her body—she won't rest. She is wound so tight that even in her slumber, she is still shaking like a leaf. She is finding no repose. She gave me control...complete control...and I was happy to have it to find my center. For that, I am grateful, but I am not at rest if _she _is not at rest. I do need control, and she gave it to me. So I am now going to exercise that control and make her come.

I gently move my hands up to her taut nipples, pinching them both between my fingertips. She jumps from a restless partial slumber. "No..." she whines, begging me not to torture her further, the slight tremble in her body immediately intensifies.

"Ssssshhh," I sooth, kissing her neck and sucking her earlobe into my mouth. She releases a tired and defeated moan.

"Please, no more..." she beseeches me, still fighting the sensation feverishly but quickly losing the battle.

"No more, Baby." I breathe into her ear. "Come for me." I tweak her nipples again and she cries out.

"Ah!" She reaches behind her and grabs my hip. I don't think she knows what to do with herself, but she is...right...there... I roll her onto her back and cover her body with mine. I take a hard nipple in my mouth while pinching and teasing the other one.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhh," she cries as she bucks her hips against mine looking for friction. I continue my assault on her tender nipples and I can tell she is still fighting it. Nonetheless, a few moments later, her body goes rigid as she whimpers out her release, her hands falling on the bed above her head.

"Mmm...yes, Baby. That's good." I say, still gently teasing her nipples. I push her legs open and separate her folds with my semi-hard member. I couldn't possibly muster up another orgasm right now, but the stiffness gives her just the right amount of pressure and friction against her clitoris and her folds to heighten her pleasure...and I am extremely enjoying the closeness and what it's doing to her body. She begins to mewl softy.

"Sir..." she breathes.

"No, Baby. It's not a scene anymore." I say as I rub my hands along her arms and up to her hands, intertwining her fingers with my own. "You feel good, Baby. Even like this, you feel so good." I kiss her cheek next to her ear.

"Christian," she whimpers, her voice tortured. She is stuck between giving in to her release and her previous mind to resist.

"Oh, Baby." I say, grinding my hips into hers, still rubbing my semi-hard cock against her now pulsating clit and super wet folds. I grab her leg and put it against my hip, opening her sex further. "You can come from me, Baby, can't you?" I hitch my voice to sound like I'm begging as I lick and kiss her beautiful neck and apply more pressure and friction to her sex. Her legs start to tremble and soon she is calling my name again, squeezing my arms and breathing through her release...but still not the abandon that I'm looking for. She's holding back. After resisting so hard for so long, she won't let go.

I'm going to have to break her resistance down.

I take her hands from the bed over her head where she rested them again. I bring them to my lips and kiss her fingers one by one.

"So beautiful." I whisper as I kiss each finger. "Remarkable...(kiss)...incredible...(kiss, kiss)...astounding...(kiss, kiss)...extraordinary...(kiss)...beautiful girl." I kiss her remaining fingers and then her cheek near her ear.

"Do you have one more for me, Baby?" I breathe into her ear. Her breathing has picked up again.

"I don't know," she half-breathes/half-whimpers. Of course you do, Beautiful Girl. You're holding out on me, but your body must have total satisfaction or you won't be able to rest.

"Can I try?" I ask, knowing that I am going to rip this orgasm right from her soul, but wanting her to give it to me as well.

"Yes," she breathes, her voice full of longing.

"That's my beautiful girl." I say kissing her neck and fondling her breasts, her nipples becoming pebbles again to my touch. "Don't move, Baby. Okay?" She nods.

"Okay." she breathes. I retrieve the wrist restraints and attach them to the ankle restraints, effectively making the restraints twice as long. I then remove the straps from the bed legs and attach them higher up on the bed frame. Strapping the now-double-restraints to the her thighs just above the knee on both sides, I tighten the straps so that her legs are as far open as they can comfortably go. I crawl back up her body until I am looking her in the eyes.

"I didn't warn you the last two times that I was doing something different, so I'm going to inform you now. I want you to relax. Don't move your hips, not that you will be able to when I put you in position." Her eyes go large just before I kiss her deeply, sensually, running my tongue hungrily through every corner of her mouth, skillfully massaging her tongue and lips with my own. When she moans deeply into my mouth, I know that I have gotten the reaction that I was looking for. I pull my lips away from hers and she is floating in ecstasy, her eyes barely open and pupils dilated, her chest rising and falling in arousal. I need her to remember that sensation while I do what I'm about to do.

"I'm going to French Kiss you now." I tell her, still giving her open-mouthed kisses to her plump lips in between sentences. "I'm going to kiss your beautiful, soft, wet, pink pussy until you come for me." I kiss her again. "It's going to be slow and soft and deep. You are going to want me to move faster, but I won't." I kiss her again. "When you really start to build, you will think you are coming and that feeling will last for a while." I kiss her again and she whimpers. "I won't touch you in the beginning—only my kiss. When I do, you will feel it in different parts of your body." I kiss her again. "If I touch you on your thighs, you may feel it in your feet. If I touch your hips, you may feel it in your arms or fingers." I kiss her again.

This is one technique that I know well and never used more than once on a submissive. If they pleased me particularly well, I introduced them to the French Kiss. Very shortly thereafter, I often had to dismiss them because they became clingy. I finally put it together and stopped using the French Kiss with my subs, but I never forgot the technique. Butterfly can be as clingy as she wants because she is about to come harder than she ever has before. I guarantee it.

"When you come, it's going to be incredibly, incredibly intense." I say the words very slowly so that she knows that I am serious. "If you try to resist it, you might hurt yourself." Her eyes got large when I said that. "I tied your legs down because if I didn't, you might hurt _me_." Now she's looking a little afraid. "I need you to relax and enjoy it. It's pure pleasure. Let it happen. Do you understand?" I speak to her in a soft, slow, comforting tone and she nods. "You can touch me anywhere you can reach, but don't touch yourself...that's for me to do. Are you ready?" I can see the hesitance in her eyes when she nods. Don't worry, Baby. I'm going to make you feel so good. I'll take care of you.

I put pillows under her butt, raising her hips and lower back off the bed. I kiss her once again on her mouth—that slow, deep, sensual technique that made her moan into mine. I move the technique down to her neck and to her breasts, first one pebble nipple then the other. My mouth never leaves her body, so she connect the same sensation to every part of her that my lips touch—her beautiful mounds, her sternum, her navel. If I break the cycle, I have to start all over again. I torture the skin where her thighs meet the promised land...that sensitive skin in the fold of her legs. She moans loudly as she attempts to move her hips but the pillows and restraints give her no purchase to move. This makes the feeling that much more intense for her.

Now I get to kiss that sweet, juicy pussy. It is sitting up high, served up to me like a fabulously decadent dessert. Just like with any kiss, I close my lips sensually over hers and run my tongue along the outside to gain purchase to the delicious fruit inside, just like I did that first night in her kitchen. I don't attack her clitoris immediately. This is a process; it takes a while. Each part of the vagina has to be attended. I turn my head and gently suck first her left lip and then her right into my mouth, gently pressing my teeth into them like I would when I kiss her mouth. She gasps and her breathing becomes erratic again.

Breathe, Baby. We are just getting started.

Using only my lips, I part her outer lips and let my tongue, very slowly and agonizingly lightly, caress her inner lips just under her clitoris.

"Aaahaaha..." her voice is a sensual squeal of sorts, her hands stretched flat on the bed to keep from fisting into the sheets. You're still resisting, Butterfly. Here comes my first touch. I tangle my fingers in hers in both of her hands, clamping them down into mine and pulling her further into my "kiss" while my tongue lingeringly tastes the outer rim of her vaginal opening, achingly slowly traveling up the inside of her outer lips, over the top of her clitoral hood, back down the other side, and back to her vaginal opening exploring just inside like I would inside her mouth just before tongue play.

"Oooooohh," she mewls softly as I repeat the trek with my tongue, very slowly, from the opening, between the inner and outer lips, over the clitoral hood, down the other side and back to her vaginal opening.

"Ugh!" She gasped, taking in a sharp breath as quickly as she let one out. I feel her hips relax into the pillow and I know that she is sinking into the pleasure, releasing the mental restraint she was clinging to, grasping my hands and pulling against them. My mouth begins to water as the tip of my tongue massages the inside of her vaginal wall and I watch the juices of her arousal rise slowly and accumulate in a small pool and the base of her vaginal opening. Normally, I don't see this because we are so lost in passion that I either swallow them before I see them or they end up smeared sensuously on my fingers or my dick. Now I watch as her clitoris begins to harden and I can see her muscles clenching just inside her vaginal opening, pushing her juices out to meet me. It's everything that I can do not to lap that delicious nectar this moment, but all in due time. Like I said, this is a process.

This is phase one of the French Kiss—preparation. I have licked every outer area of her center—every surface and fold—beginning with receptors in the crease of her legs to the lips that invited me with a smile, the moist folds inside that lead the way to her Valley of Pleasure and the tiny hood that covers the ultimate prize. I start my journey once more with the kiss and bite of the lips. Knowing what I am doing at this point, she tries to lift her hips a fraction, but I have her perfectly positioned for my needs—for this excruciatingly delicious and sensual journey that can take as little as 15 minutes and as much as an hour. I'm determined that Butterfly's ride won't be more than half an hour or she just might expire.

I continue now to phase two. This is harder than it sounds. I concentrate the efforts of my tongue on her urethral opening—the moist meat right above her vaginal opening and just below her clitoris. She gets a soft, wet, continuous massage of this area _without_ touching her clit. I can imagine that the feeling must be similar to when a woman is teabagging me—where she has not pulled my most responsive part into her mouth, but the feeling on my sensitive balls is so fantastic that I can hardly keep still. This is why I need her immobile—one adjustment of the hips and her clit is in my mouth. Not yet, Baby.

"Uuuuuuhhh," she keens softly, her voice heavy with content arousal. The massage involves sticking my tongue just under halfway into her vaginal opening and pulling it slowly and sensually out and up over her urethral opening until the tip of my tongue rests at her opening drawing soft, teasing circles in the meat there. I have had women crawling up the bed to get away from me during this phase because I am told that the feeling is immensely arousing causing her desire to rise...and rise...and rise...but you never come. So I could use it as a form of orgasm denial if I wanted. This is why I hold her hands going into phase two, but since she's bound, I don't have to worry about her crawling away from me. So I release her hands because phase two requires a different touch.

With my second pass into her luscious vaginal opening, up along those soft and wet inner lips and ending with those concentrated circles at my destination, I gently stroke the skin inside of her inner thighs with the back of my fingers, imitating the movement I would do if I were stroking her cheek while kissing her.

"Christian," she breathes amorously, her hands sliding up the bed. She strokes her face with the backs of both hands then runs them through her beautiful mahogany locks before they rest on the bed on either side of her head, her fingers curled gently as if she were asleep.

Oh my God, she is so beautiful.

I moan involuntarily when I realize that she has finally released her resistance and given herself to me. She gasps as I repeat the gentle, arousing massage before she mewls,

"Oh, mon amour..."

Okay, I can usually control myself very easily, but when Butterfly starts with the French, I'm like Gomez Addams and it takes everything in my power not snatch her ass off of this bed, bury my face deep in her pussy and suck her dry!

Control, Grey. The French Kiss. Control...

She continues to keen softly, her chest rising and falling with her arousal, but her breath seems very controlled. I look up her body to her face and her eyes are closed. Her face is soft, not tortured at all...almost serene. Her mouth is open as the soft, beautiful sounds of her heightened arousal repeatedly escape her lips.

So beautiful...

I don't think I've ever heard her voice this soft and aroused. It's usually deep, sultry sounds—sensuous moaning or hot, breathless panting. We have some of the panting, but for the most part it's high-pitched keening like she can barely get her voice out of her mouth or her breath out of her chest. Small, tortured, sexually-charged squeaks and chirps that make her seem so vulnerable and sexy at the same time—make me want to satisfy her body gently and completely. The subs may have been practice, but the technique was perfected for _her_. Once I worked out all of the bumps and kinks, I stopped doing it...until I got to _her_. This is no longer the The French Kiss...this is _Butterfly's French Kiss._

I repeat the movement of my tongue—partially inside, along the inner lips, around the opening under her clit...over and over. I should have stopped sooner, but she sounds so wonderful lost in her desire and she looks so breathtaking that I didn't want it to end. Each time I thought I should move on, her new, soft, aroused voice spurned me to continue...

"Oh, yes..."  
"Ah, c'est si bon..."  
"Oh, God, Baby..."

She feels absolutely wonderful, but her throbbing skin and her aroma tell me that it's time to move on or she just might surprise me and come before the kiss is complete. I keep forgetting that my Butterfly is the most sexually responsive woman that I have every seen and her body is a treasure trove of unexpected and astonishing occurrences every time we make love. I move my hands to hold her on either side of her stomach just above her hips. I hold her with just a little pressure to make sure that she feels my touch—pressing her against me a bit to hold her in place without holding her down. I chance one more cycle of phase two before progressing into the phase that will ensure her orgasm.

Imagine that you are engaged in the most salacious kiss. Your lips are melding completely with your lover's and your tongue relentless massages theirs while delicately licking other parts of their mouth—inside their lips, their inside cheek, the corner of their mouth...this is what this stage of the newly named _Butterfly's French Kiss _feels like. I start by opening my mouth wide, extending the lips of her pussy and stretching the vaginal opening. Then I stick my tongue deep into that wet, hot, soft core. She cries out in a sexually-charged squeal as I run my long tongue along her vaginal walls, lapping up the sweet juices her arousal has produced for me there. Her muscles are slightly quivering for me, so I have to be very careful with this next step or she will explode immediately.

Much like phase two, my tongue slowly runs the trail from inside her sweet canal, up along the inner lips, over the urethral opening and finally running repeatedly on the underside of her clitoris in very soft, very long, laboriously slow and tantalizing strokes almost like a tickle—my lips holding hers open the entire time, allowing the cool air to run over certain parts of her heated core while I concentrate briefly on the button that will produce the feast for me again in her center. I keep my tongue soft and flat for extended stimulation. I don't use the hard tip as that manipulation would bring her to orgasm at this point, and we don't want that yet.

She whines deep in her chest as her hands thrust into my hair. Oh, yes, Baby. That's right...feel it! I only stroke her clit three or four times before the kiss takes me diving once again into her warm center to collect the delectable prize that I know is waiting for me there. I moan my approval before speaking into her pulsating pussy...

"Tu est délicieuse!"

"Uuuughnnn..." she moans in that sexy voice at the vibrations. "Ne t'arrête pas, s'il te plaît, ne t'arrête pas!"

She begs me not to stop...as if I would! I continue with the kiss, traveling back up to her nub again with three or four deep strokes.

"Ah...Christian..." The squeal is so high, I can barely understand what she is saying. I repeat twice more...I can't string her out for too long...hole, lips, then clit...hole, lips, then clit... Will she tell me, or will she just come?

"Oh oui, plus vite, s'il te plaît, Christian, plus fort." There it is.

"Uh-uuuhhhhh." I moan in her pussy, informing her that I will keep the same pace instead of "faster and harder" as she begs. She pulls my hair which causes me to inadvertently nibble her clit...not normally part of the French Kiss, but then again, neither is the talking—two adjustments to the new and improved _Butterfly's French Kiss_, I guess. The nibble must have shot a jolt through her because she jumped and gasped...losing control of her breathing once more and longingly calling out my name. My God, she is so hot and delectable. Time for some more excitement from my bite-sized little morsel.

I move my hands slowly up her body until they finally rest on her lovely lady mounds—my entire hands cupping and massaging them softly while I allow my palms to run over her highly sensitized and firmly elongated nipples. She gently pushes her breasts into my palms with another aroused keen and I continue to tease her nipples with my palms while I feast on her soaking wet pussy, now adding just a very tiny bit of pressure to my long assaults on her clitoris.

The secret to the intensity of this orgasm in the gentleness and the time that it takes to achieve it...not the normally rushed stimulation that attacks the nerves endings and results in the usual burst of pleasure. This is deep, intense teasing...paying attention to each surface and area, including those that are normally neglected. We're often so eager to get to the clit and the hole that we don't realize that a perfectly timed bite of the outer lip with just the right amount of pressure will cause her tits to point straight to the ceiling!

Butterfly's upper body starts to squirm uncontrollably and she is calling out my name intermingled with various French phrases. So I know that she is at that point where her clit and her core have built to a frenzied heat and she actually _feels_ like she's coming even though she's not coming yet. Her legs are shaking in the restraints and she is clawing at my hair—but she hasn't frozen yet, so I know she's not coming. I reach my hands up to her pouty lips and stick my first two fingers inside. Time to end this.

She raises her head to meet my hand and I gyrate my fingers around as she gently sucks them. My fingers imitate the movement of my tongue and she connects them immediately. She mewls heavily with my fingers still in her mouth, her tongue skillfully and hungrily teasing my fingertips. I remember my penis deftly stroking between her lips hours earlier and moan into her pussy again, causing her to cry out in pleasure.

"Christian, please!" She begs, my fingers still in her mouth, and I continue the French Kiss...into the hole then long, slow strokes up to her clitoris with a few repeated, lengthy strokes on the sensitive underside. I start to increase the number of strokes on her clitoris each time the round brings me to her pleasure center. I can feel it stiffening and I feel her muscles quivering insanely every time my tongue enters her center.

Taste her juices then slide my tongue up her vagina, softly past the urethral opening then to the underside of her clit, then 1...2...3...

Back to her delicious juices, repeating the journey back up to her clit, then 1...2...3...4...

"Christian! God, Christian!" I don't recognize her voice anymore. She is lost in pure ecstasy and she can only squeak out sounds of utter pleasure.

1...2...3...4...5...

"Aaahhh! Oh, pleeeeeeeaase!" I move my fingers from her mouth and pinch both of her nipples...not so hard to take the attention away from the "kiss" but hard enough to enhance it.

1...2...3...4...5...6...

"Aaahahhaaa! Christian!"

1...2...3...4...5...6...7..

"Oh, God...please...please..." It won't be long now.

1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...

"Ah...ah...ah...ah...ah...ah...ah...ah.." Once her moans started matching the licks, I knew that I couldn't stop. She'd be gone by the time that I hit 30...I was sure of it. Sure enough, at 22...

If I had not been the cause of it, the high-pitched squeal/moan/cry that came from her mouth, it would have had me barreling into the room for fear that she was in pain. She rose off of the bed like a possessed woman. Her stomach tightened, then her belly and her chest levitated followed by her shoulders and then her head. Her hair is brushing along the bed as she appears suspended by her shoulders with her head held back. She never used her hands in this position as they are still gripping my hair, so I can only say that this woman has some phenomenal back and stomach muscles. I don't know how long that climax lasted because she screamed for so long, her body jerking uncontrollably, and her coochie boner popping hard in my mouth like it would spit cum if it could...

Outstanding!

While it appeared that she was coming down, I took this moment to move my moistened fingers from her nipple to her ass, quickly impaling her just enough to stimulate the erotic sensitive nerves just on the inside and outside of her anus. I quickly shifted from soft lick to a light suckle on her clitoris, applying only as much pressure as I would on a slightly hard nipple to relieve it's erectness...she'll never be able to sleep with it hard like this. Little did I know...

"God! God! Goohohohood! Oh Gooohooohoood!" She sounds like she weeping. I think I ignited another orgasm. No wonder her clit was so hard! She falls back down onto the bed squirming in place and still calling to a higher power. "Baby...oh, God, Baby..." Her voice is tortured, thick with arousal and tears. Her body is shaking and her clit is softening a bit as I remove my finger from her anus and release the restraints from her knees. "Baby..." she keens, still squirming on the bed as I have not released her clit yet. I rub my hands from her knees to her hips, knowing that her thighs would be stiff from being restrained. "Oh, Baby..." she mewls. She has released the death grip on my hair and she now strokes her fingers lovingly through it while trying to catch her breath.

I rise to my knees and crawl up to her face, gathering her trembling body in my arms and gently kissing the orgasm tears from the side of her eyes. Although I'm not surprised, that's one reaction I've never had from the French Kiss...yet another first.

I stroke the sweat-drenched hair from her face as I gently kiss her cheek and chin. She grabs my hair again and buries her lips in mine. She hungrily kisses me, mixing the juices of our mouths with that of her arousal and moans deep in her chest. I pull her closer to me, luxuriating in her kiss and how the emotion of it reaches down to the very core of me...if I wasn't so completely satisfied right now, I would want to make love to her.

"I love you." She whispers, breathlessly and tearfully into my mouth. "I love you..."

"Tu es à moi," I moan, lost in her love and her beauty. "Tu m'appartiens."

"Oui...oui...je suis à toi..je t'appartiens...corps et âme." She breathes, clinging to my hair as I press her against my body, my face buried in her neck, one hand in her hair and one on her back. I have no idea how I am holding her off the bed this way. All I know that we are suspended in time and space, my heart clinging madly to hers, pulling life and feeling refreshed while I infuse her with my energy and love as the whisper of dawn breaks over the Caribbean Sea...

My heart...  
My soul...  
My love...  
My Butterfly.

* * *

_**A/N: A WARNING ABOUT THE FRENCH KISS—My husband did this to me for the first time when we first got together. He calls it something else, I call it the French Kiss. I know that the description may sound a little clinical at times, but I did that on purpose because I want you guys to try it. My problem was that you have to know what the vagina looks like in order to get this right. So along with descriptions from my husband, knowing what it feels like on my end, and research to make sure I had the descriptions right, it took me **_**four days****_ to write this scene because not only did I have to run my business during that time, but I also couldn't write it without getting excited. So I had to keep stopping to get laid. If you take this chapter and you and your significant other practice this technique, once you get it perfected you will have the biggest orgasm you have had in your life! The slowness of it takes a loooooot of patience and determination on the part of the person who is performing it because while you're down there, you start getting into it and you want to go faster and harder and you can't do that. That last phase slow lick is the pinnacle that will set that woman's soul on fire! It's better than a g-spot orgasm. But Christian's warnings are correct:_**

_**Do NOT do this casually because once you do this with someone or have it done to you, it's a wrap. You never forget it...and this will turn a slightly unstable booty-call into Fatal Attraction.**_

_**Until you have learned to control this massive orgasm, it is a very good idea to tie the legs down—just above the knees with legs wide, not at the ankles. Eagle spread, you get access to the vagina but it's not exposed. Tied down at the knees, everything opens up and sticks out, completely exposed—and it helps to immobilize the receivers. Christian put the pillow under her butt because with her hips already raised, she wouldn't raise up into his face. The immobilization prevents things like knees slaps to the ears right at that crucial moment, getting kicked in the face while flailing about, and the infamous "clit bite" when you instinctively raise your hips and that magic button comes in contact with someones unprotected incisors. **_

_**Ladies, do not try to fight or prolong this orgasm! You will burst blood vessels, pass out, all kinds of stuff! Relax, breathe, sit back and enjoy it and let it happen. It will be fantastic when you come. **_

_**Fellows (or ladies), the French kiss is all lips and tongue. Don't stick you hand down there AT ALL! It becomes a completely different experience when add a finger or a toy or anything. Just the lips and tongue...nothing else. If you do this with the intentions of giving someone a long, slow, deep, wet, sensual kiss, you'll get it right. **_

_**The first time you try this, it is going to arouse both of you so much that you might just have to stop and fuck and try it again later, but once you get it right from beginning to end, there's nothing like it. The ass-play at the very end is extra and you don't really have to do it to get the cosmic explosion...especially if your girl doesn't like ass-play. **_

_**Because I am "strictly dickly" and I don't do womens' vaginas, I had to have an anatomically correct picture with labels so that I would know exactly what was happening when I was feeling what I felt. Some of you may think you know the pussy inside and out, but just in case you need that picture, it can be found here...  
en dot wikipedia dot org/wiki/File:Vaginal_opening_-_english_ Sorry—I didn't want to put an openly-exposed pussy on my pinterest page although there is a link to it there. **_

_**Gomez Addams—I don't know who may be versed on old American television besides Americans, but we used to have a sitcom called The Addams Family. The easiest way to explain it is that they were a weird ass family that celebrated Halloween all year long. Correction...they didn't **_**celebrate****_ Halloween, there _WERE_ Halloween. The series was only on television for two years before I was even born, but it was in syndication for decades. There were eventually three movies and a cartoon series made from the original. Anyway, Morticia—the wife—would occasional break off in speaking French. It drove Gomez—her husband—crazy and he started kissing up her arm. _**

_**Translations (Thank you, Nessi!)  
"Oh, mon amour"—"Oh, my love"  
"C'est si bon."—"This is so good."  
"Tu est délicieuse!"-"You are delicious!"  
"Ne t'arrête pas, s'il te plaît, ne t'arrête pas!"-"Don't stop, please, don't stop!"  
"Tu es à moi."-"You're mine."  
"Tu m'appartiens."—"You belong to me."  
"Oui...oui...je suis à toi..je t'appartiens...corps et âme."—"Yes...yes..I am yours ... I belong to you body and soul."**_

_**Again, I look forward to your comments. I will accepts rebuttals, corrections, and criticisms, but please keep them respectful. **_

_**Pictures for this chapter are at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla / except for the but plug and the anatomically correct vagina. There are links to both on the pinterest though. Just look for the picture of the lip biting for the butt plug, and the Orgasmic Ana (you can't miss it) for the coochie diagram. **_

_**Please review...but please be kind...**_

_**Love and handcuffs,  
Lynn x**_


	55. Chapter 55: Fallout

**_So, we had a hot playtime scene, but now we need to know why it kind of went over so badly...until the end anyway. We need to get to the bottom of that, now, don't we...?_**

**_So I was a little disappointed at first because it seemed like I wasn't getting as many reviews as I normally get. Then I checked my PM's...and my emails...and my Facebook...and your sassy little ladies were getting busy and sending me messages, not wanting the rest of the world to know your secrets, lol. I won't mention any names but, oh boy! You little freaks and minxes...I have found my people (tear, sniff sniff)! It was hot and juicy all over the world on Saturday night/Sunday morning. _**

**_What I really liked was how many people sent reviews and messages just to tell me that they were speechless...that was fabulous! And I have gotten some of the best descriptive phrases in these last reviews that I have ever seen. Oh, good God! I apologize to those of you who sent your hubbies away and THEN read the chapters, but I thought the phrase "12,000 words of sex" would have been a dead giveaway...sorry. ;-)_**

**_There were a lot of reviews of previous chapters (I have finally caught up) where people had differing views on the topics. Some I agreed with, some I didn't, but no one was blatantly rude or disrespectful, so thank you for that. Hopefully, I answered you all in a manner that you considered respectful even if we disagreed. There were one or two reviews where I couldn't help but feel when I was reading them that these people were just starving for attention. All I can say to that is this - if you find yourself hungry for attention, please just think before you speak._**

**_To Amberama ("douche monkey Edward David" and "ass hat goat fucker Edward" - that is fucking fabulous!), Beachycolor, Beth, Carol, CG Girl (well, CG IS a dick, but we couldn;t leave Ana unsatisfied), Chocolate, christian618, Dot, Gwen, Laney (Sunday morning wasn't so lazy anymore, was it, lol?), Leah, Marissa, Mere, michelle b (yes, ultimately the bar-fight was supposed to make you laugh - especially the bottle; peaceful vacation...what a concept), Rachel (good God Girl, you're very responsive aren't you? I hope you were in a private place when you were reading this, lol), Raynedears, Tempress (you never know unless you tell your honey to give it a try!), Teresaromance (I take it you had fun...twice), Tj (excellent analysis of CG's feelings and yes, Ana is gangster!), Twinings (that's exactly what you're reading, Honey), wow (nice name!), my "speechless" guest, my "virgin" guest, and to all of my guests that I couldn't PM, thank you very much for following my story and for your reviews!_**

**_I said that I would warn you guys, so I'm letting you know that Book I has about 6 - 8 more chapters left. Then there will be a break in between Book I and Book II. I love writing for you guys so much that I hope the break won't be too long, but I do have to make some preparations and do some rewrites to Book I for publishing. So I thought I'd give you a heads up so that there are no surprises._**

**_All disclaimers from previous chapters apply here._**

_Chapter 55—Fallout_

_**STEELE**_

I awake to a very bright sun blaring into the bedroom window. There is no hope of reprieve from this sunshine. I can hear Christian calling my name softly and realize that it was actually his voice that awakened me. I swear I was just falling asleep after a very agonizing early morning play session, and now I have to open my eyes again?

"What is it?' I say, barely able to get my voice out.

"You need to wake up, Baby. It's late and you need to eat something." I turn my head towards him and try to open my eyes.

"What time is it?" I squeak, still unable to speak too loudly.

"You've slept all morning, Butterfly. It's about 11:30." He says, stroking my stringy hair. Well, Mr, Grey, that would be because I was up all night!

"How long have you been awake?" I ask. He looks as fresh as a damn daisy.

"Only a couple of hours. I made some calls and answered some emails. It is Monday morning in Seattle after all." Yes, I know. I really need to touch bases with Marilyn and make sure the office hasn't burned down. I make to get out of the bed and...oh...my...fuck!

"Ow! Ow! Oh God! Oh God!" I yelp in pain. Christian is immediately alert and leaning over me.

"What's wrong, Baby?" He asks, attentively.

"Everything hurts! Everything hurts!" I whine, squeezing my eyes shut and lying back in the bed, breathing heavily. Christian has disappeared into the en suite and I hear water running.

"I'll be right back, okay?" He says and I reply with a pain-filled _um-hmm. _When he leaves the room, I run over the activities of yesterday:

Several laps in the pool in the afternoon.  
_Marco Polo_ when we got back well after midnight.  
Subbing for Christian until the sun came up, which involved clenching and flexing every muscle in my body for hours trying not to come.

Yep—that last one did it.

I just want to go back to sleep. I don't care about getting up or doing anything today. I hurt! But I know that if I sleep all day, I will destroy my internal clock and I will never get it right again. Christian is back in a flash with some fresh fruit and a small seafood salad packed on ice, and some orange juice. He sets the tray down and goes to the en suite to stop the running water. When he comes back to me, he is naked.

Oh, come on, Grey, not again!

"Come on, Baby," he says, pulling the covers back and lifting me into his arms. The slightest movement causes aching everywhere.

"Agh!" I protest gently as he adjusts me and carries me to the en suite. I instantly feel a bit shameful as I smell the distinct fragrance of lemongrass and the jets in the jacuzzi tub are bubbling. He steps down into the tub with me in his arms and gently sits me down in the warm water all the way up to my neck. The feeling is heavenly.

"Mmmmm," I moan as the jets start to sooth my aching muscles. I close my eyes and relax myself as Christian starts to deftly maneuver around me in the two-man tub, massaging anywhere that he can reach without my having to move—my feet, my ankles, my calves, my thighs, my hands, my wrists, my arms, my shoulders... I am still pretty sore, but he and the hot water and jacuzzi jets have worked most of the knots out of me. After several minutes, he gets out of the tub and grabs a towel. He puts it over the closed toilet seat before returning with my shampoo and conditioner. He gets back into the tubs and attends to my hair, washing it thoroughly then massaging the conditioner into it before rinsing it out and squeezing out the excess water.

"Can you stand?" He asked, standing next to me in the tub. I take his hand and struggle to get to my feet. It's not as painful as before, but still uncomfortable.

"I think we overdid it this morning, Baby." He said, bending over and lifting me in his arms again. I sigh heavily.

"I think we did, too." I confess, reluctantly. I don't want him to think that I can't take it...that I can't sub for him, but something is very wrong with how I am feeling right now. So we can't have a repeat of this...there has to be some adjustments. He places me on the towel-covered toilet and grabs some more towels. He wraps himself in one and begins to dry me completely with another before wrapping the towel around my wet hair. He puts my terrycloth bathrobe over my shoulders before lifting me up again and placing me in the bed.

"I want you to eat the salad and the fruit and I'm going to go and get you some ibuprofen, okay?" I nod as I gladly tear into the fresh fruit...my island food of choice. He smiles and goes back into the en suite. As I am finishing my fruit, he returns fully clothed with the bottle of ibuprofen in his hand. He leaves two on the night table closest to me and goes back to the bathroom. After retrieving a comb, a brush, and a ponytail holder, he slides in behind me and removes the towel from my damp hair. While I eat my seafood salad, he gently combs the tangles from my hair, smooths it with the brush, and braids it into a beautiful inside french braid before securing it at the end with the ponytail holder.

I don't even want to begin to speculate why he knows how to braid this well.

He hands me the two ibuprofen and the orange juice. I gladly swallow the painkillers with several healthy gulps of the delicious orange juice. When I put the glass on the night table, he leans back with me in his arms and we relax in the bed for a moment, half sitting up and his legs on either side of me.

"Mandy came back completely clean by the way. Totally legit, no skeletons, no huge debts, absolutely nothing whatsoever to be concerned about. I meant to tell you before we left Seattle but it slipped my mind." He said.

"What brought it to mind now?" I asked, curious.

"I talked to Welch this morning about some other things we're working on. Nothing of substance yet, but I'll tell you as soon as there is." He says, kissing my temple. At least I don't have to worry about Ray now. There's enough people on my shit-list to last me a lifetime without worrying about fuckin'-up-a-_Mandy!_

"We need to talk about this morning." He says. My whole body tensed at the mention of it. "And that reaction tells me that I am _exactly_ right that we need to talk about it." He confirms. I sigh.

"Okay...so where do you want to start?" I ask, softly.

"There was a determination in you that I've never seen before. Was that for me?"

"I think so." I answer, not knowing why I chose that phrase.

"You think so? You don't know?" He asks.

"You told me not to come." I reply with no other explanation.

"I've told you not to come before, Ana." He says. Yes, and when I did, look what happened? "What is it? What are you not telling me?" Well, if I'm not telling you, what makes you think I want to tell you now? "Did you not _want _to do this? Because if you didn't, I don't understand why you offered." I roll my eyes, partially happy that he couldn't see me.

"I know you needed it. I know that yesterday was a particularly bad day for you. All of the revelations that you had to face all the way down to the fight at the bar were pretty intense. Even my _Marco Polo_ attempt to lighten the mood did nothing for you. I can read you, Christian, and I knew what you needed. I just wish I had been better prepared." I could feel the frowning energy.

"What do you mean?" He asked, an unnamed emotion evident in his voice. This is going to be hard to say.

"I should have been prepared for total dominance—no holds barred. Even though I'm sure that you did not pull out all of the stops on me—because I've _seen_ that room—you were, in no way, my lover this morning...until the end, that is. You were completely and totally my Dom, and I wasn't prepared for it. I take responsibility for that, because I should have known that's what you needed when you sat at the pool alone all of that time. I could have even dealt with that, but there were so many things wrong." I have his attention now. He shifts himself so that he is facing me.

"What else was wrong, Anastasia?" And I'm _Anastasia _again.

"I didn't want that spanking." I spit.

"You didn't _want _it?" He says incredulously. He's thinking something different than I am.

"I don't care about being spanked, but I didn't want _that_ spanking. How I felt about that spanking set the tone for the session."

"What do you mean? How did you feel?" Again, I don't know how to tell him this. "Ana, if you didn't like what was going on, why didn't you stop me?"

"I almost did!" I answer more quickly than I intended. Shock actually registers on his face. "I didn't stop you because somewhere in there..." when you grabbed my pussy, "...the tone changed...a little...and this is the nature of our relationship—well, _one _of the aspects anyway. So I felt like I needed to understand the spectrum of where this could go, even if at times I am not completely pleased with the direction." I've explained that the best way I can. He closes his eyes and I think he's counting, like he did that day at the community center. I haven't seen him do that in a while. When he opens his eyes, he asks,

"You didn't tell me how it made you feel." He says, that unnamed emotion hiding in his voice again. I know exactly how I felt, but I don't know how he's going to take it...knowing that I went through a session with these feelings.

"I felt resentful. I wanted to be in control of how and when I received _that_ spanking, especially since I didn't think I deserved it in the first place. When you immediately posed the question and I knew how you expected me to answer it, I felt..." I know what I want to say, but it seems so harsh for the situation. I don't know how to say it kindly or how to filter it.

"Tell me...what did you feel? I need to know." He pressed. I tried to look away from him but he held my chin and wouldn't let me turn my head.

"_Betrayed_. I felt betrayed." I say just above a whisper. His eyes transform to a sharp, glassy white-gray with those words.

"How? Why?" He asked.

"Just that one situation...I wanted control. I was willing to allow you to spank me for coming because I did agree not to come, but the fact that you gave me control by being able to dictate when it happened, and then you took it right back away from me. I was giving myself to you. What was I going to say..._'Oh, you can do everything except that?'" _ I hope I am making this point without making him angry. "And then the spanking itself. The first time you spanked me...it was erotic, it was sexy. It was painful, and I took all that I could—but it was arousing. Last night was different. It was rough, brutal, and purposeful. I had no doubt that I was being punished."

"Yes, Anastasia, you were." He says a little sharply. His tone and the fact that he is now calling me _Anastasia_ again fueled my confidence to say what I needed to say.

"That's fine, and I don't have a problem with that. I _do_ have a problem with you using the fact that I gave myself to you to snatch that particular piece of control from me for that moment. Everything was different from that moment—the flogging, the fucking, the touching, the speaking..._everything_ was different. It was almost like I didn't know you, but I knew I had to do _exactly _what you told me to do."

"It was different exactly for that reason," he defends. "I needed control and you _knew_ that I needed control, but when you subbed for me, you didn't sub for me completely. When I addressed you, your response, your demeanor, your stance, everything screamed of defiance..."

"I _wasn't_ defying you. I was angry and a bit hurt and I didn't know how to process those feelings in context. How can a _sub_ be angry and hurt for being punished? You do what you're told, and that's it! If you don't do what you're told, you get punished. You told me not to come...and I came. I accepted the fact that I would be punished, but we compromised and I was supposed to decide when it happened. At your first opportunity, you took that away from me and I was punished—_thoroughly—_when I didn't feel like I should have been and when I wasn't prepared for it. So, yes, I was angry and hurt and confused, and right after you punished me, you told me not to come again..." I trail off.

"And you didn't come." He says softly. "You could barely come when I wanted you to...until I pulled out the big guns." I shake my head.

"I can't tell you what was happening there...I don't completely know." I can't tell him that I felt punished for most of the night. I don't want him to feel like I can't endure being his sub when he needs it because I can, but last night was very different. I felt like the first half of the night was a punishment and the second half was a test, so that when he wanted to be tender with me, I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to go to sleep—to rest and try to rejuvenate myself—but my body wouldn't stop shaking and my spirit was in a constant state of unrest. Luckily my mind was completely exhausted and I slipped on off to sleep, but the minute that I did he was touching me again.

"I believe you do know, Anastasia. You just don't want to tell me." He says, his voice a little hurt.

"I really don't, Christian." I say honestly. I don't know what made me not be able to immediately give in to his tenderness when he offered it. I don't even know what made me able to ultimately give in to him. This morning was one big ball of confusing and strange, although I'll never forget the oral technique as long as I live. Fucking hell! I mean...damn...fucking hell...but it took something that drastic for me to be able to let go completely. Otherwise, I couldn't do it. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees.

"And you're doing _that_ again." He says, and there's that unnamed emotion in his voice again. "You keep drawing into yourself. You did it twice last night. The first time, you were on your knees in that same position but you were face down on the bed...and I just put you in another position and kept going. The second time was right after I came for the last time and I released your arms from the restraints. You pulled your arms close to you, squeezed yourself together and turned away from me. So I held you and you immediately fell asleep the first time. Now you're doing it again. That's the third time in something like twelve hours...and I don't ever remember seeing you do that before." I've almost identified this emotion in his voice. Defeat? Sorrow? I now bury my face in my knees...I'm having a hard time looking at him.

He takes my arms from around my legs and surprises me by snatching me into his lap, placing his hand on my cheek and kissing me deeply and feverishly. Good God Almighty! Combustible gases are exploding all around me as I thrust my hand into his hair and whimper into his mouth. Amazingly, I'm not getting horny, but my soul is crackling and my heart is thumping hard in my chest! I feel like I want to climb into him! He pulls his lips roughly away from mine, his powerful hand still holding my face and his lips only breaths away from mine and I pant wildly. I feel so small in his arms...like a doll...

"Anastasia, I love you," he breathes against my mouth. "I never want you to degrade yourself for me. I don't get a kick out of that. Giving yourself to me is one thing. Degrading yourself is something else completely. I don't want that from you. I love you too much." He closes his eyes and put his forehead on mine...and there it was. The thing that kept making me draw into myself this morning and even now...I couldn't put my finger on it, but now I know.

It was degradation. I didn't feel cherished or loved or wanted or needed. I felt degraded. I didn't feel like he dominated me. I didn't feel like he used me or needed me for the purposes that I wanted to serve. I felt like he completely _degraded_ me. When he was ready to show me tenderness, I didn't feel _my_ Christian...I felt this strange Dom. I was afraid that this is who he would become whenever he really lost control and I would just have to deal with it. So when he made me come the first two times I was, once again, following orders which was easy to do because I was wound like a top.

By the third time, he had asked me if he could make me come and he was showing so much love and tenderness that I knew _my_ Christian was back...but I didn't know before then. When he was loving me...so slowly, so deeply with his tongue...oh! My soul lifted out of my body, and I was a helpless ball of emotion. As he slowly brought me to one of the headiest, craziest, most intense orgasms I have ever felt in my life, I felt light and free and released—not only sexually but emotionally. I remember the orgasm brought with it tears of relief...because _my_ Christian was back. As I look into his eyes right now, I can finally identify that unnamed emotion that's been lacing his voice.

It's _shame_.

"Would it help if you dominated me...as a punishment for degrading you?" He asked, almost contrite.

"No!" I say, almost whining and sitting up in his arms. "I don't want to dominate you...not like _that_! We can't do that! Even _I_ know that's not how that works. If I punish you for punishing me, your domination serves no purpose...and neither does mine. You know this, I don't have to tell you this." I scold. He nods.

"Yes, I do know this under _normal_ circumstances, but I have never had a sub...or a Domme...that was my _girlfriend_. Lo and behold, as if it is possible, here's an area of the D/s relationship that I'm not familiar with." Well, wonders never cease...but I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

"Well, since I've never been a Domme or a sub before you, I guess maybe we might want to do some research or something and talk about how we might want to handle this, but I know for certain that domination for retribution is not the way. If you ever did that to me, I would reconsider our relationship. So I would _never_ do that to you." A grave look came over his face when I said that.

"I'd never do that to you, Butterfly." And I'm _Butterfly _again.

"Okay. Then don't suggest that I do it to you." I respond. He nods.

"So what now?" He asks.

"For right now, let's leave it at this, because we both have a lot to process. All of these feelings that I explained to you...I haven't worked through them yet. Now you have to deal with the discovery that I have these feelings and how that discovery makes _you_ feel...and then we've got to come up with a way to handle it." He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Dr. Steele, are you shrinking me?" He asks suspiciously.

"I think I'm shrinking both of us." I say, rolling my eyes and bringing my hand to my forehead. He removes my hand, kissing it, then my forehead,

"We'll figure it out, Baby." He says softly and I nod.

* * *

The ibuprofen, jacuzzi, and massage did wonders for my aching bones and I am finally able to move like a normal person. Somewhere around the 1:00 hour, I am dressed in my Issa silk multicolor halter maxi-dress. It has an orange base with random white, black, gold, and yellow stripes and designs that don't overpower the orange. It has a wide waistband, a satin lining, and it drags the floor and hides my feet. I unplug my iPhone from the charger and check emails.

Luckily, nothing too pressing. Maxie sent a note to check on me and see how the trip was going. Al is getting acclimated to having a multi-billionaire as his latest client. He's been dealing with a little flack from the legal team about his unannounced arrival but has assured me that he has "put all of those little bitches in their place and everything is running smoothly now." Does he mean that literally or figuratively? Are they all women or just acting bitchy? Oh well, whatever they are, Allen the Great has them under control so no need to worry. I notice an email from Melanie asking about our session this week and I wonder why Marilyn didn't notify her of what was going on. I forward the message to Marilyn and just as I hit send, I have an incoming call.

It's Elliot.

"Hey, El." I say as I answer the call.

"_Hey, Ana." _He responds. His voice sounds a little heavy. _"I need a session this morning, but I came to the office and nobody is here." _Okay, as my patient and my boyfriend's brother, how does Elliot _not_ know that I'm not in the country right now!? I need to talk to Marilyn.

"Elliot, Christian and I are in Anguilla. Nobody told you?"

"_Fuck! Yeah...Marilyn told me. I just forgot." _Okay, you just saved Marilyn an ass reaming. I sit down in the loveseat in the sitting room.

"What's wrong. Elliot? Talk to me." He's breathes heavily.

"_I so don't want to do this over the phone." _

"I you don't have a choice right now, El. It sounds like you really need to talk. Do you want to Skype or Facetime instead?"

"_I can Skype...but it will take me a minute to set up my laptop in the truck."_

"Me, too. Fifteen?"

"_Sure. What's you handle?" _

"Doctorlady206. Yours?"

"_Seattleblondgod."_ Oh good grief.

"Okay...fifteen." I say without reacting.

"_Okay_." He ends the call and I pull out my laptop for the first time since we've been on the trip. This room will ensure me the most privacy, so I fashion one of the side tables like a desk and fire up the laptop. I plug my phone back into the charger and, opening Skype, I add "Seattleblondgod" to my friends and wait. After a few minutes, the Skype song plays and I am connected to a distraught looking Elliot.

"Elliot, what's wrong?" I ask him immediately.

"_I, um...Ana, I'm falling for Val._" Whoa! Okay...

"How does Val feel about it?"

"_I don't know."_ Huh?

"You don't _know? _What do you mean?"

"_I mean, we agreed that things were just going to be casual, but I can honestly say that it's more than that for me. I know that it's only been a couple of weeks, but I can't wait to see her and the thought of not being with her scares me. This is insane, Man." _He puts his hand on his neck.

"You haven't talked to Val about how you feel?" I ask.

"_No, only you...and before you ask, this has nothing to do with Kate. That's the first thing that came to my mind when I started having these feelings. I didn't want to be confusing loneliness and heartbreak for love." _Love? Did he just say _love? "I still think about Kate sometimes, but my feelings have waned and if she were standing in front of me right now, I still wouldn't want her...but Ana, I _want_ Val...so much..." _Ugh! This has the potential to be very ugly. _"Does she talk about me...about us...at all to you?" _

"I've been a little _tied up_ in the past couple of weeks, El. We haven't really had time to talk. Plus, I really couldn't tell you that. I wouldn't be breaking any laws, but it wouldn't be ethical with you being my patient and her being my friend."

"_Oh, yeah, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."_ He drops his head. I note his pained expression.

"Elliot, I love you like a brother, and in this short time I've become very protective of you...watching what happened to you and Kate, hearing the whole the ordeal of the Pedo-Bitch-She-Thing... I want you to be happy—as your sister _and_ as your therapist. Talk to Val. Be completely open and honest with Val. I can tell you that she is not a malicious or unkind person and I know her well enough to know that she will give you the same consideration. Let her know how you feel. If she doesn't feel the same way, then you two need to decide where to go from here...but don't make the same mistake that you made with Kate—hiding what you're feeling and hoping things change. That's not healthy for either of you." I hate to tell him that Val is very much a free spirit and likes to play the field. She's never been tied down in all of the years that I known her. She's not particularly promiscuous per se, but she _has_ had her share. Then again, so has Elliot from what I hear.

"_I don't know how to tell her."_

"Be honest. Just say what you feel, but I don't recommend starting with 'I love you.'"

"_Oh of course not!"_ He laughs. _"I'm smarter than that."_ He rubs his neck again. "Sister, _huh? Are you trying to tell me something?_" Now, it's my turn to laugh.

"No, no, nothing like that," I say with mirth, "although he did give me a promise ring." I said, showing Elliot my butterfly.

"_Niiiiice_." He sings the word looking at the ring through the screen. _"My brother has great taste!"_

"That he does!" I laugh. After a moment, he's somber again.

"_How should I do this, Ana? I don't want the moment to be awkward for either of us...especially if it turns out that we don't feel the same." _

"Well, how would you feel finding out that she doesn't want what you want?" He shrugs.

"_It would hurt, but I would rather know sooner than later...and like you said, we could decide what we want to do after that." _

"Well, it seems you know what to do now." I smile at him.

"_Well, I don't want to monopolize your vacation, Ana Montana, but thanks for talking to me."_

"Anytime, El. Tell me how it goes, okay?"

"_Sure thing."_ He smiles before we say our goodbyes and end our call. I close my laptop and go in search of Christian.

I get off the elevator and I can hear his blackberry ringing on the second floor. I find that odd because he normally has it on vibrate. Nonetheless, I follow the beacon to my man. I find the blackberry in the office area on the desk but no Christian. He's probably gone to the restroom or something. I'll just stay right here...he won't leave his precious blackberry here for long.

It's ringing again. Somebody _really _wants to get in touch with him. I better go find him...this could be important. I go through the lounge, restrooms, all of the rooms on the second floor and no Christian. I even rise the stairs and check the third floor...still no Christian. Whoever is calling him just hangs up and calls right back. Is something wrong?

I come back down the stairs and stand in the office near the phone. Who the hell is calling him this many times? That phone has rang six times since I've been standing here. Is someone dead? What if something is wrong with his family? I pick up his blackberry and my blood runs cold when I see that it is _She-Thing_...calling back to back repeatedly!

What the fuck is this?

I try to ignore the calls, but when she calls three more times I finally succumb and answer the phone.

"Christian Grey's phone, Anastasia Steele speaking." The silence was deafening. I know you're there, Bitch.

"_Why are you answering Christian's phone?"_ She spit.

"Why are you _calling_ Christian's phone?" I spit back.

"_Apparently, I want to speak to Christian!"_

"Apparently, you're too dense to understand that he doesn't want to speak to _you_." I respond. "It's really getting old, Elena. You should just give up. Your desperation is showing."

"_You have no idea what I'm capable of, Little Girl._ _You don't want to toy with me."_ She threatens.

"Hit me with your best shot, Bitch. I'm ready for you!" I retort. I hear her gasp on the other end. When is she going to understand that she doesn't intimidate me...especially not now?

"_I see you had a very interesting development last weekend._ _I hope you're doing better now."_ She says, mocking concern.

"Oh, cut the crap. We both know that you're just trying to get a rise out of me. It won't change the fact that he doesn't want to speak to you." I say calmly.

"_I don't know what you've done to him, but I..."_ I cut her off.

"I am not going to sit here and spar with you! I don't need to...I've got the man! Now buy a fucking clue and stop calling him. He doesn't want to speak to you! Your calling him back to back like the psycho ex that you are is just going to piss him off. Save yourself the aggravation and stop calling...or do you crave constant rejection, you desperate hag?"

I hit the end button and put the blackberry back on the desk. Who the hell does she think she is? How many times does someone have to tell you that they don't want to speak to you before you fucking understand that they don't want to speak to you? Crazy psycho bitch! I turn around and I am greeted with the fiercest, glassiest, most angry nearly-white gray eyes that I have ever seen. He _can't _be angry at _me _for that conversation...can he?

"Who was that?" He asked, his expression unchanged and his voice very controlled.

"Elena Lincoln." I say, trying to hold my ground on what I said to that sick, meddling whore.

"She called?" He asked.

"Yes."

"And you answered my blackberry." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes." I respond, not seeing a problem. It was She-Thing!

"Without my permission." Um...

"It was Elena!" Bad person. We don't like her, remember?

"But you answered my blackberry without my permission." His voice is very cold. I'm not understanding the problem here. It was Elena.

"I didn't think it would be a big deal..." As if it could, his glare became colder and it sent a chill to my very soul. I don't know what this feeling is, and it's making me ill. I don't think I'm necessarily afraid of him, but I'm sure as hell not comfortable right now...particularly after last night's experience.

"Not a big deal? Have I ever answered your iPhone without permission?" He barked.

"No, but you put tracking software on it." Oh...bad move, Steele.

"Which saved your life! After you pitched it in the bushes, I might add! But I still never answered your damn phone!" He's getting angrier.

"I'm sorry! It was Elena! I didn't think you would react like this!" I say, trying and failing to defend myself.

"I don't care who it was. Don't you trust me?" He asked, his voice accusing.

"Of course I do!" I spit. Why would he ask me that?

"Then why would you answer my phone? Do you think I'm talking to her?" Not for a second. I _knew_ that she was calling to harass him about me before I even answered the phone.

"No!" I say, clearly appalled. "That never even crossed my mind!"

"But you clearly don't see anything wrong with answering my phone." He barks. I'm at a loss for words. I mean if it had been one of his family members, I would have answered it. It was Elena, I definitely answered it. But if it had been one of his employees or colleagues, I wouldn't have answered it because I wouldn't have known what to say.

"I wouldn't have a problem with you answering _my_ phone." I say, my voice smaller now.

"I know that now, but I didn't before. So I wouldn't have answered your phone without your permission!" He is getting louder.

"It was Elena!" I say firmly once more, trying to defend myself. For some reason, I feel like those three words should have been enough explanation.

"It doesn't matter _who _the fuck it was! I don't care if it was Elena, GEH, or a fucking ex-sub! You had no right to answer my fucking phone!" He yelled. I'm almost feeling the need to draw into myself again...that angry Dom that I don't like is back...but, no, I'm not doing that!

"Christian, please stop screaming at me!" I bark, louder than I intended. I'm breathing heavily now and I can feel my blood pressure rising. He glares into my eyes and he wants to say something more, but instead he storms down the stairs. I hear nothing for a moment then I hear the sliding door to the back of the house slam loudly. I put my hands on my chest trying to get air into my lungs. He has never screamed at me before. I really pissed him off. Gail comes scurrying out her room and I jump when she touches me.

"Are you alright, Ana?" I look at her and I can see sympathy in her eye. I just stare for a moment trying to process my thoughts. I don't know if it was his intention, but I was left feeling very vulnerable after last night's D/s scene—more vulnerable that I am accustomed. I know he didn't plan it. After all, it was my idea, but when he started yelling at me just now I started to feel a tightness in my chest—fear or discomfort, I don't know. It made me feel like the walls were closing in on me, like I didn't know who I was anymore. Did I let him take too much of me last night? Right now, when I'm already so fragile with the kidnapping and the Harris nightmares, should I have given him that much of me...so soon? Did I make a ghastly mistake subbing for him last night?

"I...um...yeah, I'm...fine. Do...you know where Chuck is?" I ask, unable to speak without panting.

"I think he's out in front with Jason." She says, softly.

"Okay." My voice sounds like a child. I start to descend the stairs, holding my dress up and paying special attention to each stair so that I don't tumble over. My knees feel week and I am uncertain that I will make it.

"Are you sure you're okay, Dear?" I hear Gail ask from behind me.

"Mm-hmm." I say without looking up, my voice still timid. I nearly sprint out of the door to find Jason and Chuck standing out in the front of the house. They look up at me and they both frown.

"Ana?" Chuck walks over to me. "Are you okay?" I nod shakily.

"Yes." I say, sounding unconvincing even to myself. "Do you have any...plans for the afternoon?"

"No, I hadn't made any plans. Why?" He asked. "What's wrong, Ana?"

"Um," I realize that I'm fidgeting terribly. Don't put you hand on your forehead. Don't put your hand on your forehead. And for God's sake, please don't cry! "Could you take me somewhere please?"

"Sure, where do you want to go?" Anywhere! Anywhere but here!

"The mall. I...I want to go to the mall." I say nervously.

"O-kay." I can tell he's hesitant, but I can't stay here right now and I promised that I wouldn't run off by myself ever again. I start toward the car and then I stop and turn to Jason.

"You'll...tell Christian? I'm with Chuck?" He looks at me uncertainly, then at Chuck, then back at me.

"Yeah, I'll tell him." He says, the frown more prominent on his face now. Chuck opens the car door and I climb into the passenger seat. Before he has a chance to close it, Gail comes running out of the house.

"Ana!" I look up to see her charging towards me. Without a word, she hands me my purse and one of my straw hats. Damn—I might need that, huh? I smile a tortured, forced smile at her and Chuck closes my door. Please hurry, Chuck. Please. Please get me out of here before Christian sees us. I can't face him right now. It seemed like it took forever for him to get around to the driver's side of the car. I thought I was staring blindly out the window, but apparently I was staring at Jason as Gail quickly explained to him what happened. His face changed almost immediately and I could hear him say "Shit" even though the car door was closed and the window wasn't open. Chuck finally started the car and took me away from the scene of the crime.

I took several deep breaths to fend off the adrenalin tears the further we got down the road. This is not a setback. It's just a little bump in the road. Okay, maybe a medium-sized bump in the road, but still not a setback. I looked down at the exquisite platinum and diamond Butterfly on my finger. "Not a setback." I whisper to myself.

"What was that?" Chuck asks.

"I don't want to go to the mall." I say.

"Um, okay, So where do you want to go?" I'm hurt, and I don't think I have a right to be, but I am. My heart is beating very fast, and my head is starting to hurt because I wouldn't let the adrenaline tears fall. I need relief. I need it now.

"I want ice cream." I say.

"Ice cream?" he says a little incredulously.

"Yes, I want ice cream...and I don't want it from the mall...and I don't want it from a grocery store."

"Um, okay..." He honks his horn at a passerby and pulls the car over. He leans out of the window and says something to guy—no doubt asking where we can get some ice cream—and a few moments later we were on our way. We drove silently up the island for a while, past the airport and into central Anguilla. I could tell we weren't in Touristville anymore. The area looked more...lived in. We pulled up to what I could only describe as a candy store and there were a whole lot of children out front. I couldn't help but smile. It was called Kel's and it looked like a really big white house, but it was a candy store. Chuck opened the door for me and I stepped out of the car, looking at the local children all posing for a picture. I decided to take one with my phone, but when I search in my purse, I don't have it. Dammit to hell, if it weren't for Gail, I wouldn't even have my purse. As if he were reading my mind, Chuck took the picture for me on his phone. I smiled and we went inside.

There's a counter up front with various ice creams and toppings...a typical ice cream parlor..except the store is _full_ of candy and goodies! If you can think of a candy, it was in this store. They even have dispensers where they sold different candies by weight.

And all of a sudden, I am extremely hungry!

"Welcome to Kel's. What can I do for ya, Darlin'?" She was an older woman with a crotchet tam on her head. I pulled out my credit card and put it on the counter—one of the cards that hadn't been confiscated my Harris. Harris. Why would he come to mind now?

"I see lots and lots of candy, and I want lots and lots of candy...and ice cream...can you help me?" There's that five-year-old voice again.

"Of course we can, Darlin'. I'm Marietta—call me Ma. I get you whatever you want. What you like?" Um...a pound of everything? I point to the toppings bar and before I know it, I have bags of nuts and jelly beans and chocolate candies and gummy worms...I just couldn't stop. Chuck is taking candy out to the trunk in shopping bags. I pay for my candy, then realize that I haven't eaten anything.

"You go to de patio, Darlin'. I bring you special hot dog and banana split...on de house! You buy too much candy." She laughs at me and I can't help laughing back.

"Thank you, Ma." I say sincerely. She shoos me out to the patio.

"I be dere in minute. Hot dog for you and your friend." And she winks at me.

Chuck and I go outside as instructed. Out back there is a patio with tables and chairs and a swing on the lawn. Of course, they are having a party—complete with DJ and bouncy house! The locals are a raucous bunch, but in a good way. The DJ is playing loud calypso music with this crazy beat and people are dancing wherever they can find a piece of floor or ground. The children are screaming and frolicking in the bouncy house—shaped like a castle of course—and playing in the massive sand yard as sand _box_ doesn't quite do it justice. There are more adults on the swings than children and everybody dances in Anguilla, from ages 8 to 80!

Chuck and I take a seat on the patio and Ma comes out shortly with two of her "special" hot dogs—HUGE kosher dogs on huge buns with sauteed onions—and lots of them! This is then covered with shoestring fries and ketchup. "You eat dat." Ma says. "I bring you banana split, then Ma's rum punch."

"Uh oh." Chuck says.

"Uh oh what?" I ask.

"Rum punch. You're on the islands, Girl. Rum punch here is not for light weights." He warns. I laugh.

"Whatever it is, I'll only have one." I assure him.

"Depending on how they make it, you may only be able to _handle_ one_._" He says. I laugh again.

"Point taken." I say before I tear into the creation that sits before me. Oh my God, it's delicious! I destroy that hot dog and fries in the most unladylike fashion.

"Damn, Ana! Hungry much?" Chuck says as I finish my hot dog before he finishes his.

"Ravenous." I say, my mouth still full.

"What the hell are you going to do with all that candy?" He asks, taking another bite of his nearly finished hot dog.

"Eat it." I say, swallowing my last bite.

"There's no way you're going to eat all of that candy." He says. Oh, you clearly haven't met _Distraught_ Ana. Yeah, she hasn't been around since I broke up with David. _David_. Great. Now I've got _him_ in my fucking head, too.

"Yes, I can." I say, my voice subdued. Ma comes back out to bring a drink to the DJ and eyes my empty styrofoam container.

"Ha! All dat candy and ya eat dat hot dog like dat. How ya keep dat figure, Gul?" she exclaims. I laugh.

"I'm on vacation. I don't eat like this all the time." I defend.

"Ah. So, we get you banana split for your vacation." She says, removing my empty container and grabbing Chuck's as he finishes his last bite. "Dontcha move now, I be right back." She disappears back into the candy shop and Chuck sits back in his chair.

"Too much for you, Big Boy?" I say, playfully teasing Chuck.

"No, it was just really good." He says, rubbing his stomach. I look back out at the dancing crowd of people. They seem to be having the time of their lives with not a worry in the world. I bet you'll never see _this _group of people being concerned about one of their children being beaten and burned by the others. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm around food, fun, and festivity and all that keeps coming to mind are the worst things in my life. I don't get it. I look at the beautiful chocolate and caramel locals again and wonder what could be the biggest concern that they have. The island seems to be all about community. Everyone I have met so far has been very friendly, and this woman is feeding me because I bought candy—a lot of it, mind you, but still...

Ma comes back out with two ginormous banana splits and Chuck's eyes get large.

"Can't we just split one?" He asks, seeing the size of these outer-worldly sundaes.

"Hell, no! You've got your own!" I snap as Ma puts the monstrosity down in front of me. I dig into it immediately. I didn't even notice when she brought out the two tall glasses of water. I devoured the ice cream shamelessly like there was no bottom to my stomach. It's something about the combination of adrenaline and my metabolism when I get like this that I can eat and not feel a thing. I am slurping the last bit of my ice cream and chugging on my water and Chuck is not even halfway finished with his.

"What's going on, Ana?" He asks, still working his way through his dessert.

"What?" I say, frowning and wiping my mouth.

"What's going on? I know you have a healthy appetite, but I've only ever seen you eat light food. I just watched you put away enough food to slow down a line-backer and not even blink. Not to mention that you came stumbling out of the villa without a purse telling me to take you to the mall." Yeah, that does look kind of strange, doesn't it? "Then when we get away from the house, you tell me that you _don't_ want to go to the mall, you want to go for ice cream—and you proceed to buy enough candy for every kid on this island. What's wrong?"

Oh my God, Chuck, I so don't want to talk about it. "I answered Christian's phone without his permission and he yelled at me." I spit out.

"Oh, good God, and you made me take you away?" He exclaimed.

"It was either that or I was going by myself and I promised I wouldn't go off by myself anymore." I chug the rest of my water.

"Well, thank you for not going off by yourself," he said pushing away the rest of his ice cream. "I don't think any of us would have been able to handle the boss if you had disappeared again and _I_ probably would have been hitchhiking back to the States!" I laugh at him.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Chuck?" I ask. He shrugs.

"I date, but I'm not seeing anyone exclusively." He replies.

"So no one you have to explain this craziness to, then?" I say. He shakes his head.

"No, not really. There's one girl I _keep around_, if you know what I mean..." Yeah, I know exactly what you mean, "...but there's nobody serious." I nod and look at the people dancing. One girl in particular keeps eyeing Chuck. Oh, thank God this isn't Christian or I would be over this banister in a moment. She's a very beautiful girl—perfect golden skin, lovely eyes and a very attractive face, long and beautifully coiffed dreads. She makes eye-contact with me and shrinks for a moment until I tip my head to Chuck a few times, signaling her to approach him. Her eyes change and her eyebrows rise. I nod once and gesture towards Chuck again. She stops in her steps and makes her way to the patio. I guess _that_ language is universal no matter where you are.

She comes over to Chuck and takes his hand, flashing a lovely smile which Chuck returns. "Come, you dance with me." She turns to me. "He dance?" I am viciously shooing Chuck away.

"He dance! He dance!" Chuck looks over at me. "Go! Go!" Chuck looks at me gratefully and goes off to dance with the caramel beauty. I hadn't noticed that his sundae had been removed until Ma comes back with two very tall rum punches.

"We don serve dis here. Dis _my _special rum punch." She says as she winks at me.

"He's not going to drink that. He's on duty." I tell her as she sits a drink down for me.

"Oh! No problem. I drink it meself." And she sits at the table with me, taking a healthy swig of the rum punch. "Mmmm. Puhfect!" She exclaims at her creation. I take a good swallow of the drink. Nice blend of fruits—guava, pineapple, and orange immediately—cherry and orange garnish, darker rum floater but not heavy alcohol. It's delicious. "What you dink?" Ma asks.

"It's very good." I say, sipping it slowly to savor the flavor. I sit back in my seat and watch Chuck dance with the beautiful Anguillian girl. He is all smiles. I'm a little jealous that he's having such a good time while I feel like shit.

"Back at home, not happy?" Ma begins, obviously reading my facial expression. I look at her and shake my head. Here on de island not happy, I think to myself.

"There's just a lot going on." I answer without having to go into the entire wretched story that is my life.

"I see it in your eyes. You got lot o'trouble dere. You angry wit someone?" She asks.

"I'm angry with a _lot_ of people." I say as Carla and Stephen immediately come to mind. That's what I need...more unwanted people occupying my mind space.

"No, dis one close to you. Very close. Your heart beat, here," she points to my neck. "Off, very off." She looks at Chuck. "It's not your friend." I shake my head.

"No, it's not my friend." I say, and I hear the sadness in my own voice. "He's my bodyguard."

"Bodyguard? What you need bodyguard for?"

"Trouble back in the States. It's...a long story." I say.

"Well, Ma tell ya dis. Your heartbeat. It off, very off." She points to her neck again. My heart is in my chest, Lady, not my neck. "Here, you feel." She takes my hand and put in on her neck. I feel her pulse. DUH! I guess your heartbeat is there, too. Smooth and rhythmic. She puts my hand on my own neck, and my heart is beating at a frantic, uneven pace. How did she know that? Is the damn vein popping out of my neck? "You fix dat. Every ding else be fine." She says with a wink.

"How do I _fix_ that?" I say softly, feeling my heart damn near crunch inside my chest.

"Ya know what ta do, Gul! You fix dat!" She says like she is giving me an order. "Every ding else be fine when you fix dat! You listen to Ma!" She says taking another swig of her drink.

"Are you married, Ma?" I say, nursing my rum punch.

"Ah, me husband die. Him good man. Good, good man. Ma still love he. No udda man for me." She says with a smile.

"I'm sorry." I say, touching her hand. She laughs a little.

"Me not! Have long, long life wit me good man. He buy me dis place. I been here many years. He give tree good boys and one bad gul." She says with a hearty, contagious laugh that makes you feel good inside to hear it. Her voice softens. "I lucky. I have long life wit me good man before dead take him away from me. He give me chil'ren. Dey give me gran chil'ren and great gran chil'ren. I glad about da life me good man give me." She smiles widely.

"When did he...?" I don't know if I should ask the question.

"Two years ago he go to de udda side. He wait for me dere, but I not ready to go yet!" She laughs that contagious laugh again. "I get 55 years before he cross over. Fifty-five years, ha!" She says with a clap.

"How old are you, Ma?" I ask, bottoming my rum punch.

"Ma is 74 years old." Get outta here!

"Wow, really?" She's a feisty old lady and still very spry on her toes. "I hope I'm as vibrant as you when I'm your age."

"You worry too much, chile! You stop doin' dat. You live long life. And fix dat!" She says, pointing again to my neck. Oh, I wish it were that easy. I sigh heavily and smile sadly at her.

"You need to dance. It make you feel betta. MAHVIN!" Marvin? Who the hell is Marvin. "You dance wit me Mahvin. He good boy. Pick bad ladies, but good boy." She winks at me. Oh, shit. Is this a good idea? A man that is the same deliciously dark chocolate color of most of the locals on the island walks over to me. He's too young to be her son, so I assume he must be one of her grandchildren.

"Mahvin! You come, dance wit da lady, but you don mess wit her now. She got one at home." She winks at me. I didn't tell her that! Oh, well...must be the "fix that." Don't mess with me now, Marvin.

"Yes, Ma." He says as he takes me by the hand and leads me to an empty piece of ground.

"You move like this." He says in the same accent of his grandmother, but much clearer English than hers. He shows me how the Anguillians dance and I follow right in step. It's a freeing feeling especially with the lively music they play. There's a lot of jumping and shouting involved when the music picks up. You change partners several times on the dance floor. I came across Chuck a few times in the rotation. He was having a wonderful time and I was glad. At least I could make him _not _feel like the fifth wheel for one night, and that was good. I danced for hours, with young men and old and even a few women, until the sun began to set.

When I finally joined Chuck at the table who had thrown in the towel well before me, I was too tired to dance anymore, but not ready to go back to the villa yet. Was Christian still angry with me? I looked down at my ring and thought of the key around his neck. My stomach sank.

"Come on, Chuck. I want to walk on the beach." I say as I stand.

"Um, Ana? Shouldn't that be something you should do with...?" Oh for Christ's sake!

"I'm not walking on the beach _with you,_ I'm just walking on the beach, okay? Are you coming or not?" I say as I start to walk towards the beach, leaving him behind me. Come if you're coming, don't if you don't...

The beach is dark, and quiet. The sun is setting way off in the horizon and we are well past dusk now, though we still have just a little light and no moon yet. I walk along for a while trying to contemplate just how to "fix this" as Ma said. I really didn't see anything wrong with answering his phone since I knew it was She-Thing, but I was wrong and I guess I better not ever cross that line again.

_Remember what you said the night you left Seattle? About his structured life...the order and formality? And then you answer his phone without asking...who in his life do you think has ever done that? _

Abso-fucking-lutely no one, I know. Oh God, I just want some peace! _My_ whole life has been turned upside down, too—and not just because I've been kidnapped and my selfish, insane "parents" decided to show up, or even because this whole Green Valley wound has been ripped open again. I met and fell in love with Christian Grey, a man who has just as much—if not more—emotional baggage as I do; a man who has spent the last 14 years of his life in completely D/s relationships with no emotion whatsoever and has now fallen in love with me; a man whose idea of romance before a month ago involved whips and canes; a man who expected complete obedience from his women and most likely had his days and nights planned down to the minute...including the contingencies.

_And then you came along and shook up his ordered existence. _

Yes, I did, but he shook mine up, too. He made me feel things I didn't think I would ever feel again and other things I had never felt before. So I may have rocked his world, but he rocked mine, too...and after last night, I am definitely nothing more than an open ball of raw emotions.

I undo the braid that Christian did in my hair and let the wind blow through and massage my scalp. I take off my shoes and leave them with my purse. I walk to the edge of the water and let it wash across my feet. It feels good. Refreshing. I breathe in the fresh salty fragrance of the Caribbean Sea...or is it the Atlantic Ocean? Hell, I don't know...maybe it's a mixture of both. Either way, the water is cleansing. For now, we'll go with the ocean. Deep breaths...and my soul stops hurting so much, my chest isn't heavy anymore, my head stops hurting. Deep breaths and I start to let go of the weight I was feeling and I can't form a coherent thought except...

...the ocean...

...the ocean...

...the ocean...

I look out over my dark blue savior, no light this far out now but the moon. My feet sinking into sand and the bottom of my dress is soaked...and I finally start to cry. No, weeping is more like it...I am weeping from what is left of my fragmented soul. I can't seem to find any peace. Either it's starvation or kidnapping or pedophiles or angry boyfriends or selfish mothers and drunken stepfathers or ghosts from my past or nightmares or...

I just stand there, looking out into the dark blue savior, weeping...

* * *

_**GREY**_

Okay, so maybe I got a little carried away, but dammit it is not okay to answer someone else's phone without their permission. It's just not, and nothing she can say can change that. But standing there screaming at her would have done no good. If the Pedophile's intention was to cause a fucking problem, it worked.

I walked up the beach for a little while trying to calm my anger. We're supposed to be on vacation, not yelling at each other about a fucking phone call. I'm not accustomed to people being in my space this way, and I'm doing my best to accommodate her in every way possible because I love her, but come on. Seriously, Anastasia? My cell phone? Teenagers do that shit when they are trying to catch their significant others cheating. Clearly she knows that I don't want that child molesting bitch and I have nothing to hide...but nobody answers my fucking cell phone. I mean, for fuck's sake!

I don't know how much time has passed when I get back to the villa after silently berating Anastasia repeatedly for breaking one of my cardinal fucking rules. If she had been one of my subs pulling that shit, not only would I have worked her over with a cane but I might have even ended our contract. That is simply unacceptable behavior.

But she's not one of your subs, Grey. She's the woman that you claim to love.

I _do_ love her, but I'm standing my ground on this one. I'm not as angry as I was before, but she still should not have answered my phone.

The villa is quiet when I enter. There's no sound anywhere. I look at my watch. Five thirty. Where is everybody? I look around a bit and find Gail and Jason cuddling in a chaise on the patio outside the downstairs lounge. I slide the door open. I will only ask him where Anastasia is, then I will leave them alone.

"Sir." Jason rises from the chaise and Gail stands behind him.

"Jason, sorry to interrupt...where's Anastasia?"

"She had Chuck take her to the mall, Sir. She asked me to let you know." He answers curtly.

"How long has she been gone?" I ask.

"Since just after your...conversation." Gail says, her voice clearly concerned. I tilt my head at her.

"What aren't you telling me?" I ask, looking from Gail to Jason. Gail sighs heavily.

"She was very upset, Mr. Grey. I thought she would fall down the stairs—she walked like a toddler and spoke like one, too. By the time I got outside to her, she was already in the car about to leave with Charles. I had run to your suite to get her purse. She would have left without it." I look over at Jason to confirm her story.

"She was like a severely scolded child, Sir. When she asked Chuck to take her to the mall, she couldn't even say a complete sentence in one breath. I knew something was wrong. Anybody could see...she was really shaken up." Jason says.

"Shaken up?" I ask. "Like _afraid_?" Oh God, please don't let her be afraid of me.

"I don't know, Sir. Bewildered maybe...like she didn't know if she was coming or going." Jason says.

"Shit!" I say as I walk back into the villa, thrusting my fingers into my hair. What the fuck have I set into motion now?

* * *

_**A/N: Pictures on Pinterest for your view pleasure at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla /**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!**_  
_**Lynn x**_


	56. Chapter 56: Total Breakdown

_**Before we get too far-this is edited. My VERY FIRST REVIEW of this chapter (chapter 56) was a guest reviewer cursing me out for zinging someone. Please read below...who the hell did I zing? I clearly state that I think I wrote chapter 55 wrong and i need to get rid of it. Who the hell got zinged below? Somebody please tell me...**_

_**Please do not think that I ignored your reviews, but when I found myself responding to one reviewer with a full page dissertation about this chapter and how Ana is changing—and then I saw that nearly all of the reviews said the exact same thing or something very similar—I thought I would address them here instead of copying and pasting the same response over and over again (which Fanfiction doesn't let you do anyway).**_

_**First, I have discovered that 99% of the world does **_**not****_ feel the same way that I feel about "Don't touch my fucking phone." I will go with all the reviewers and agree that Christian SO overreacted, BUT...he _did_ have a point. My husband does not answer my cell phone without permission because it's _my_ cell phone! But apparently, I think I'm in the minority in that line of thinking. So, I'm going to finish this storyline because I started it, but when I do the rewrites to publish, this phone storyline is going to disappear. I only did it as a catalyst for Ana to go off on her own and reflect on what's going on in her life, but it didn't go over well. So that tells me that it won't go over well in the book, either. _**

_**Second, apparently I portrayed something in the chapter that was **_**not accurate:****_  
Ana is not digressing into a sub  
Feisty Ana is not dead.  
Dr. Steele is not turning into a wimp  
Ana is not defenseless or dependent, but most of all...  
Ana fell apart, but it wasn't because Christian yelled at her._**

_**And I heard these things in several different contexts, so please, please, please don't think I'm singling anyone out. She and Christian **_**sub for each other****_. She is not his sub—they are switches for each other as needed or wanted. Ana didn't break down and turn into a blubbering fool because Christian yelled at her. Christian yelling at her was simply the last straw in a long line of things. Have you ever been just wound up like a top one day, and someone came and said something to you and you just went the hell off on them? It's the same concept here. There are several different things that got her to where she is now and she lists them at the end of her point of view in the last chapter:_**

**"Either it's starvation or kidnapping or pedophiles or angry boyfriends or selfish mothers and drunken stepfathers or ghosts from my past or nightmares..."**

_**Please remember all of these "several different things" when you consider Ana's behavior right now. She tells you in her own words why she is a nervous wreck and a basket-case. You don't have to try to interpret what she's thinking—she **_**tells****_ you what she's thinking. The only thing that you need to interpret is that she is most likely feeling very needy, very clingy, and very afraid right now...but can you blame her? _**

_**I appreciate the fact that you guys have seen that Ana has changed, because she **_**has****_—she's been through hell! "Bring back happy Ana!" I promise, I will...but it won't be an overnight process. Ana didn't just go "Boo hoo hoo, Christian yelled at me." We all know _my Ana_ better than that...or at least I thought we did. Ana went "Boo hoo hoo (insert the list from above here)." If I had all of that stuff going on in my life at one time, they would have to put me in a sanitarium! Forget the maxi-dresses and the rum punch—where's the damn straight jacket and the xanax? Of course fiesty Dr. Steele is going to take her life back, but first she had to get to her breaking point to _face_ all of this shit so that she could _fix_ all of this shit. _**

_**I really hope I answered all of the questions and clarified things a little more with this A/N, but this particular storyline changed everyone's view about the characters and that wasn't what I was going for. I can't have one storyline destroy the theme of the whole story and that's what happened. I wanted the story to be **_**Ana needed to have a moment of deep self-reflection and a disagreement with Christian was the catalyst. ****_Instead it became _Christian became an asshole and yelled at Ana about his phone and Ana went all weak and loopy. _Apparently, I portrayed the story in this light and I need to fix that. Please note that I haven't changed anything yet. You guys know that I write chapters in advance and this chapter was written well before I read any of the reviews. So, here's the rest of this storyline for those of you who are waiting for it, but don't be surprised if you see this part of the story completely disappear. _**

_**I do want to address one guest to put your fears to rest—no, Elena is not on the island, but you haven't heard the last of her, of course. No, Ana is not going to walk off into the ocean. The water just calms her, like when she went to the aquarium. No, Ana is not pregnant. We all have a pulse point on our neck—Ma is just very observant. Good theories, though. ;-)**_

_**All disclaimers from previous chapters apply here.**_

_Chapter 56—Total Breakdown_

_**GREY**_

Well, this is just turning out to be the best vacation ever..._not!_ First, I alienate and damn near lose two of the closest people in my life. Then, I debase the woman that I love so badly that not only wouldn't she have an orgasm this morning, but she nearly couldn't even when I wanted her to. Now, I've sent her ambling off somewhere, most likely hurt and confused..._again_! She's already fragile as fuck because of all of the other shit going on, then I go screaming at her about my damn cell phone.

I go to the office to check my phone and see if she has called me. Fourteen missed calls...not one from Butterfly. All from...Elena Lincoln? Fourteen missed calls from the Pedophile!? How many of the calls did Butterfly witness? Shit, it's no fucking wonder she answered the phone. Fourteen damn calls!

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" I pace for a few minutes wondering if I should call her. This is so fucked up. I call her and her phone rings then goes to voice mail. I don't leave a message. What do I say...

I was an asshole..._again_?  
I didn't know the bitch called me fourteen times?

"Shit!" I call her again. Again it goes to voice mail. "Ana. It's Christian. Call me please." There. Short and to the point.

I pace the floor for fifteen minutes or so and still no Anastasia. What the hell? I call her again. I can faintly hear her ringtone for me. Maybe they're back. I end the call and go to the front of the villa. Still only one car. I call her again. Now I can't hear the phone at all. Did she come back into the house while Gail and Jason were on the patio? I call her phone again and start to climb the stairs. It's getting louder. She can't hear that? Maybe she's asleep. I call the phone again and climb the stairs to the master suite. It's up here somewhere, but where's Butterfly? I call it once more and follow the ring to the sitting room off the master suite where, on an end table plugged into the charger next to her open laptop, I find Butterfly's phone.

I hang up my blackberry and look again at the 14 missed calls from the Pedophile. This is the last time I will let this woman disrupt my life this way. Welch has to make his case on this woman very soon, and I will press him hard when I am stateside again. For now, I block her numbers from my phone—her cell, her home, and all of her salons will now all go straight to voice mail. If she calls me from a blocked or unknown number, I will hang up immediately. If she wants to reach me, she can call the office.

She'll never get past Andrea without an appointment, and she will only be able to contact me until I can lower the fucking boom on her ass and be done with her forever. I send off an email to Andrea to contact Sound Community and inform them that I will be pulling my backing from Mrs. Lincoln as soon as I am back in town. I'm feeling sick to my stomach that I chastised Butterfly after all that she has already been through. True, I still maintain that she shouldn't have answered my phone without my permission, but I certainly could have handled it better than I did.

It's about 6:20 when I realize that Jason said she left with Davenport. Talk about delayed reaction. I go back down to the patio where Gail and Jason are standing now, talking to one another.

"Jason, call Davenport. Butterfly left her phone here."

"Oooh." Gail covers her face then looks back up at me. "I brought her purse, Mr. Grey. I didn't know her phone wasn't inside."

"It's okay." I respond as Jason pulls out his phone and calls Davenport. He immediately snatches his phone away from his ear when Davenport answers. What the hell...?

"Chuck!" He's yelling into the phone. "Yeah, where are you?...Where?...Why, what's going on?...Oh, okay. What's the address?...We'll be there in a few minutes." He ends the call. Do I really want to hear this? "They're at an ice cream parlor." He says.

"Okay." That doesn't sound bad.

"We should go, Boss. He says that Ana is not acting like herself and you should get down there. A place called Kel's in the middle of the island." Jason says.

"The middle of the island." I repeat. The middle of the damn island. Damn it, Anastasia! I know she's not in any danger here but nonetheless...

"Let's go." I say, trying to hide my irritation.

About twenty minutes later, we are in the middle of a calypso yard party looking for Davenport and Butterfly. Jason calls Davenport again who directs us towards the path leading to one of the beaches. We find Davenport standing by a pier while Butterfly is several feet away standing at the water's edge.

"What's going on?" I ask Davenport.

"I couldn't tell you, Sir. One minute she's up, the next, she's down. She's all over the place. She ate so much food...I don't know how that much food can fit in that little body. She ate more than _I_ did, Sir. There's so much candy in the trunk of the car, I don't know if it's going to make it back to the villa." I turn to look at him.

"_Candy!?"_ I honestly don't even remember ever seeing Butterfly eat junk food.

"Bags and bags and bags of it, Sir. She's got enough candy in that car to feed everybody at that party and still have enough left over for trick-or-treaters." He says. What in the hell does she plan to do with all that candy?

"What is she going to do with it?" I ask.

"She said eat it, Sir." He answered.

"Has she been drinking?"

"One drink, Sir, and that was hours ago. She bought the candy _before _the drink and she ate so much, that drink was surely absorbed quickly. If that didn't do it, the dancing sure did." He says.

"Dancing?" In my head, I can see my little Butterfly gyrating to calypso music having a grand time..._without me._ She hasn't budged from the spot where she's standing.

"The people are very friendly, Sir. She was in no danger whatsoever." I didn't think so, I just don't like the idea of a bunch of people pawing my girlfriend.

"How long has she been standing there?" I ask. He looks at his watch.

"Twenty...30 minutes maybe, I'm not sure—since before dark."

"Why didn't you call sooner?"

"Because I didn't see a problem until she got out there and by then, Jason had already called me." He answered. "She didn't give me any details, but she told me that there had been a disagreement. At the point that I even made an inclination towards mentioning your name, her mood changed again and she ended up out there." He says, gesturing to Butterfly.

"Shit!" That seems to be my word of choice right now. I run my hands through my hair and start making my way towards her. I walk a few feet in her direction and stop. I still don't know what to say to her. I'm here to get you but you were still wrong for answering my phone? Yeah, that will go over like a clown at a funeral. I run my hands through my hair again and stare at her for a moment. For the first time in a long time—_if ever_—I don't know what to do.

"Aaahh, _you_ de young man." One of the locals approaches me as I stand on the beach watching Butterfly in the water. He has a full gray beard and he's wearing a hat or a turban - it's too dark to tell.

"Excuse me?" I ask. What the hell is he talking about?

"She not say it, but I see it in her eyes. _You_ de young man." He says, examining me through his wire glasses. He pronounces his "t's" very hard and the words all run into each other. I don't respond to him as I am trying to figure out what he is talking about. He points to Butterfly standing in the water.

"Veddy, veddy tortured soul." He says, looking at Butterfly. "Too much for one young life." He says shaking his head.

"She talked to you?" I ask. He shook his head.

"She dance with me." He puts his right hand over his stomach and bends his left arm in the air and wiggles his hips, imitating a lambada-salsa-something or other. He moves pretty well for an old man. "She dance for long time with many people. She dance like she run. She run from hurt and fear and demons. Veddy, veddy tortured soul." He looks at her and I run my hands through my hair. A stranger is telling me this—someone who couldn't have known her for more than an afternoon, and probably less than that.

"You de young man. You stop her running, now. Long, long life together." he says pointing to Butterfly.

"How do you know that?" I ask, honestly curious.

"Aaaahh, old man," he says tapping his temple. "I see many things. Many, many things. I see it in your eye. Go to her. You de young man. You stop her running." He puts his hand on my shoulder and gestures to Butterfly with the other hand. I flinch from his touch but he doesn't remove his hand.

"You have demons. You wear dem on your back. She heal you. You stop her running. Go to her." He continues to gesture towards Butterfly and gives my shoulder a little push. I start walking towards her and he says, "Tell her Ken say, 'dank you fo' de dance!'" He smiles a full beaming toothy smile and imitates his lambada-salsa again before turning and walking away. I turn back to Butterfly and begin walking towards her. The closer I get, I can see her shivering. I see her shoulders shaking. She's crying. I remove my shoes and walk closer to her. I feel the water brush against my feet as I stand behind her. It's kind of warm—but she's shivering...and crying...not violent, but deeply...soul wrenching. She has cried so much..._so _much. It's time for the crying to stop. I wrap my arms around her quickly, pinning her arms to her body because I don't want her to fight me.

She doesn't.

She drops her head and continues to weep. Neither of us says a word. Her dress is drenched at the bottom and I want her out of the water. I lift her into my arms and her hands fall into her lap—still crying. I carry her all the way back to the car. A few of the locals eye me curiously...most likely more of Butterfly's dance partners. They continue with their merriment as we pass by, some smiling, some frowning, all dancing. Davenport goes to the trunk and pulls out the blanket and one of the towels we keep for impromptu beach trips. I sit her in the back seat and instruct Davenport to go back for her purse and our shoes.

Jason watches as I wring the water out of her dress and onto the ground while she sits with her feet hanging out of the car...still crying. Jesus Christ, did I break her? I gently dry her feet and try to wrap them in the towel. She turns away from me and curls her body very small in the seat—still crying.

Shit!

I exchange a glance with Jason, then climb into the car beside Butterfly and wrap the blanket around her. She is still crying when Jason starts to drive us back to the villa. I can't leave her like this. I pull her into my lap and cradle her there, rubbing her back and trying to comfort her but she is inconsolable. She has cried for so long, I just don't know how she can have that much water in her! When we get to the villa, Gail has run her a bath in the master suite. Since Davenport has assured me that she has eaten, I take her straight to the jacuzzi bath. After I remove her clothes I help her step into the tub. A few minutes after she settles into the tub, she stops crying. Good. The end of her hair gets wet in the water. I put a touch of lemongrass in the water since the jacuzzi will result in lots of bubbles. She had a bath only a few hours ago so this is just to relax her.

"I'll be right back." I say. She doesn't answer. I come down to the second floor to make a call to Welch and I see Davenport and Jason emptying bags from the car. There are several bags in the great room and Gail is standing there shaking her head.

"I thought you didn't go to the mall. What's all this?" I ask, descending the stairs.

All three of them answer at once: "Candy!"

What. The. Fuck.

"You gotta be kiddin.'" I say. "No one person could possibly want all of this candy."

"_She_ did, Sir." Davenport says as I descend the stairs and Jason comes in with yet more candy. I start to look in the bags and there has to be every candy known to man in smaller twisted plastic bags inside...chocolates and chewies and gumdrops. There were nuts and hard candy and sprinkles...who buys a bag full of sprinkles!? I pull one of the smaller bags out that appear to be filled with sugar-coated almonds. What in the hell...? I sit down on the floor amidst all of the candy—completely confused and bewildered.

"What the hell am I doing?" I say more to myself than anybody. What is this all about, Butterfly? What good am I to her if I keep causing her so much distress? She's already got a shitload of things on her plate; I can't be making this any easier for her. Me with my fucked up past and control issues and crazy, delusional, pedophile stalkers—this can't be good for her in any way. She's fighting with her monsters, now Harris is haunting her damn dreams...you can only deal with so much at once and then here I come...Mack Truck Grey, to finish the job. I hadn't noticed that Jason was stooping next to me.

"Boss..." I turn to look at him. "She doesn't want all of this candy. It was impulse."

"I wouldn't count on it." Davenport says. I look up at him. He looks from me to Jason and back to me. "You didn't see her today!" He exclaims. "She ate a hotdog big enough for two people covered in fries and toppings in something like two minutes. Then the lady brings out these banana splits this big." I look at him skeptically when he imitates the size of the banana splits. "I'm not kidding...they were this big!" He reiterates at my expression. "I suggested we share one...she almost bit my fucking head off! She slurped that thing down like a damn milkshake. I completely expected to find her doubled over somewhere. She's like a bottomless pit!" I could see Jason out of my peripheral giving _Chuck_ the evil eye. "Look. Be mad at me all you want to but second to Mr. Grey, I think I spend the most time with her and I know her pretty well over the course of this last month. If you don't want a meltdown, let _her_ decide what's going to happen to that candy."

"Well, speaking of meltdown, where do we put all of this? The refrigerator is stocked and this house is made of glass." Gail pointed out. "With the first midday sun, this will be a very colorful puddle of nuts and sugar."

"I think the television room on the second floor doesn't have any windows. That will be our best bet until she decides what she really wants to do with it." Jason suggests. I sigh heavily and get off the floor. I start to gather some of the bags when Jason puts his hand on my shoulder. He has only done that to stop me from hitting someone.

"Boss, we'll take care of this. Go to her. Make sure she's okay." His voice is softer than usual and I don't even want to know what expression I must be wearing to make him look at me so pitifully. I simply nod and put the bags down and take the stairs to the fourth floor. I felt like the elevator would have taken too long.

She is still sitting in the bathtub. She hasn't moved a muscle. I don't even think she blinked. It's time to get her out of there.

"Come on, Baby." I say, holding my hand out to her. Without looking at me, she takes my hand and steps out of the water. I wrap her immediately in one of the bathrobes and dry her hair. I take her hand and she meekly follows me out to the master suite. I dry her thoroughly. I go to the closet to choose some sleepwear for her. I slide off her bathrobe and gently instruct her to raise her arms which she does...but she won't raise her head. I slide on her nightgown—a La Perla Maison silk visone-colored full-length gown with white lace ivy leaves on the breast.

I quickly change into pajama pants and a t-shirt before turning off the lights and leading her to the bed. She meekly followed me and immediately drew into herself...again...when we laid down. I sighed heavily as I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her against me. She didn't resist, thank God. We lay there for quite some time—several minutes I think—before her breathing starts to regulate and I know that she is asleep. I watch her by the light of the moon shining into the bedroom window. She looks so peaceful.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" I say softly to her sleeping body. "I can't function without you anymore. I'm lost without you." I stoke her hair gently and pull her closer to me. She whimpers softly, then coos.

"I'm sorry..." She says, never waking. My heart breaks at those words. She had to cry for 45 minutes straight this evening—maybe even longer—and this is what she says in her sleep. I _did_ break her. I've never yelled at her before. I plan to be with her forever, so I know there will be some yelling in the future...and yet...

...Another first.

There's only so much even the strongest of us can take before we break. Only a week outside of being kidnapped, her parents, Green Valley, that near-disastrous session we had...it's a wonder she's not a complete basket-case right now.

"I love you, Butterfly. I'll help you through this. We'll get through this together, I promise." I hold her close to me and, after I feel her body settle into mine, I fall asleep.

I awake in the same position in which I fell asleep. We never moved the entire night, except now, my legs are wrapped possessively around hers and I have managed to somehow get both arms around her in my sleep, her hands clamped together in mine. My arm is asleep but I don't want to move. I want to stay like this forever, with her cradled in my arms, my body protecting her from the world. Her breathing changes and she whimpers a bit. She's awake now. She doesn't move and she doesn't speak. She lies perfectly still in this spot for several moments.

"I'm sorry that I yelled at you." I am the first one to break the silence. She sighs softly.

"Okay." She says weakly, still not moving.

"I should have talked to you instead of berating you."

"It's hard to think clearly when you're angry." She replies, her voice soft like a child.

"Please forgive me." I beg, my heart clenching at the tone of her voice.

"I do." She says without a pause. "I'm sorry for answering your phone without permission. I won't do it again." She promised.

"Okay." I say, pulling her close to me again and inhaling the sweet, sweet fragrance of her hair.

"I think I want to got home." She says. _What? _It's only Tuesday! I planned to stay for ten days...it's only been four. Have I ruined the trip for her, too? Nice going, Grey!

"Are you sure?"

"No." She answers honestly. Thank God for that. I have time to change her mind.

"Why don't we see how the day goes and if you still feel this way by tonight, I'll arrange for us to go back to Seattle tomorrow. Deal?" She nods.

"Deal." She says, flatly. If I pull her any closer to me, I'm going to squish her. So I just move her hair from her neck and kiss her gently.

"Are you hungry?" I ask. She nods. " Then why don't we go and find you something to eat, okay?"

* * *

The whole idea for this trip was to get Butterfly away from Seattle and the things that were stressing her, and it seems that we brought the stressors with us...or at least _I_ did. Butterfly should never have been put in a situation on this trip where I needed a session to regain control. She never should have had to deal with me having to fix things with Gail and Jason because I put my foot in my mouth. She never should have had to deal with me yelling at her about answering my blackberry—most of all because that Pedophile Bitch shouldn't be calling me in the first place! I have effectively ruined this trip for her not even halfway through when the whole purpose of the trip in the first place was for her to decompress.

It didn't take much convincing for her and Gail to go to the spa and shopping for the day. That made me happy since in the last 48 hours I have brought both women to tears. With instructions to please spend a ghastly amount of money, I send them off under the watchful eyes of Jason. When I suggest that Davenport go to the beach or somewhere nearby in case I needed him, he asked if he could invite some local girl that he met to the villa and they would stay by the pool or on the beach for the day. I saw no harm in that, since I planned on doing some work and calling Flynn.

"_Christian,"_ John greeted on Skype once I settled into the master suite on my laptop._ "I thought you were on vacation. What's going on?" _

"I don't know, John. I'm having a hard time with _everything_ right now." I say honestly. I don't think I have ever been this forward with John but there was no sense in beating around the bush.

"_Tell me, what's happening?" _

"I haven't spoken to you since the kidnapping. That took a real toll on Ana—not only for the obvious reasons, but also because her parents showed up and because she found out that the fucker that held her captive is claiming temporary insanity."

"_You know, I really hate when people do that. It shines a really bad light on those people who actually do need help."_ His voice is full of disdain. _"But I would think her parents' visit would make her feel better...unless their relationship is less than ideal." _

"Oh, John, you _do _have such a way with words," I say sarcastically. "Ana has a fantastic relationship with her father, Ray. Her mother and stepfather—they could move to Timbuktu and she wouldn't blink. That's all I can tell you about that. She would have to tell you more, but I brought her to Anguilla because she was literally about to implode. This is our fourth day and two of those days have been hell on her already."

"_Do you want to be more specific?" _

"I'm an asshole, John. I don't think I'm good for her." I say honestly. John gets quiet.

"_Continue_." I sigh.

"I gave her a promise ring on Saturday and she gave me this." I pull my necklace out from under my t-shirt to show John. He leans into the screen and he looks a little strange when he's concentrating.

"_Is that tungsten?" _He asks incredulously.

"I don't know...neither one of us knows what this is."

"_I don't think I've ever seen a tungsten necklace." _Hmm, someone who knows what this is.

"Okay, I've heard of tungsten, but only in terms of tools. I've never heard of it in terms of jewelry."

"_Well, that's because it's rare. It's such a heavy metal that you can't use it in its purest form to make jewelry. You have to add carbon to it to make a different compound. It's three times stronger than steel and I bet it weighs a ton." _

"Well, it is kind of heavy but not uncomfortable..."

"_They usually only make rings with that...and then only men's rings because it's too heavy for a woman's hand. It's easier to polish a ring. I have no idea how they made that necklace...or that key. Where did she find that?"_ He's talking like what I'm wearing is a complete anomaly...like a unicorn or something.

"I don't know. She said that she found it at a booth in the marketplace while she was in college."

"College_? She bought that while she was in _college_?"_

"Yes...now tell me what's the big deal."

"_Well, you'll find a lot of black tungsten jewelry now...mostly rings, some necklaces. They will mostly be white tungsten, very highly processed—flaxen white like platinum or jet black, chains with very large, very heavy links...nothing like what you're wearing. You're wearing a two-toned, small-link chain with a custom key. Somebody made that by hand with a hand-pressed mold. It wasn't easy and it wasn't cheap. You're not likely to find another one like it." _I look down at the key. I already felt like it was the most valuable thing that I own, now even more so.

"How much would something like this cost...like five years ago?" John had to think about it.

"_Let's just say that she most likely would have paid _Tiffany_ money for that piece."_ She said she spent her whole saving on it...and now she gave it to me...after which I proceeded to ruin her vacation.

"How do you know all this, John?" I asked.

"_I minored in chemistry." _Figures. _"Where is she now?" _

"I sent her to the spa...to give her a vacation from her vacation." I run my hands through my hair.

"_Okay, and we're talking now because..." _

"Because I honestly do feel like I'm going to ruin her life. This is not that_ Christian Grey self-loathing _thing that you're always talking about. I honestly do feel like I'm going to ruin her life."

"_What happened that makes you feel this way?" _I tell John everything from Jason and Gail's engagement to the play session that should have never happened to Butterfly standing barefoot in the Caribbean Sea crying her eyes out and some 100-year-old man telling me that we have problems. I included the 100 pounds of candy currently in the second-floor theater room and the fact that Butterfly repeatedly curls into a ball in my presence...something that she simply does not do.

"That woman is larger than life, John. She's tiny in stature but she is by no means a _small_ woman."

"_As much as I hate to agree with you on this one, Christian, you are adding a lot to Anastasia's plate right now. She is very vulnerable and emotional and she needs to be as much of herself as possible during this time. She can't be the glue that holds Christian Grey together in this state. She needs Christian Grey to be _her_ glue. If you love her like you say you do...and I'm certain that you do...you need to put playtime on hold for a while and learn to control yourself. From our conversation, your love life doesn't seem to be lacking..."_

"Not at all. She's just as insatiable as I am if not more."

"_Well then, it's time to graduate a bit, Christian. It's okay to exercise the lifestyle that the two of you enjoy, but the moment that one of you doesn't enjoy it, it's not okay anymore. Even with your submissives, you didn't do anything that wasn't consensual or in some way desired or enjoyable to them, correct?" _

"That's true."

"_Yet when Anastasia showed dislike or distaste for something, you took it as an act of defiance. Instead of trying to pinpoint the problem, you further exercised your will over her—tightening the restraints a little more, more intense flogger play, extensive stimulation to force her to come when you told her not to. It's amazing to me that she didn't stop you or safe word, Christian. You treated her worse than you would treat one of your subs."_

"Oh come on, John. That's a little severe, don't you think?"

"_No, I don't. You made an agreement with her and then you broke your word. She agreed to your terms even though she felt forced into doing so, and you became angry about that. She did everything that you told her to do and you still talked to her deplorably. Every coping technique that she used, you snapped at her and told her to stop. Even the first time that she drew into herself, there were no bells, no red flags, and your moral compass was still spinning out of control. You were more concerned with the fact that she pulled herself into one of your precious sub positions after she stayed in that face-down-fetal-position for...how long?" _

"About twenty minutes." My voice is full of the shame I felt when I discussed this very thing with Butterfly yesterday.

"_I've never seen one of your sessions, but from what you told me you have never treated any of these women this way. Yet, you take these horrible liberties with the woman that you love..." _

"Stop, John, please..." I feel shitty enough as it is. I don't even know what to say now.

"_She loves you, Christian. If she didn't, she'd be long gone by now. If you leave her now because you feel like _you're _not good enough, she'll be devastated. She needs your strength now and your love to get through this horrible time that she is going through. But that means that you need to take a page from this remarkable woman's book and start handling your demons in a more productive way now." _I sigh heavily. I don't want to lose my Butterfly, but I can't seem to stop pulling her down into my darkness.

"I don't know what to do now." I say honestly.

"_Start by making everything on this trip completely about her until you have to get back on that plane to come back to Seattle. You brought her there to decompress, then help her decompress! Do whatever you must to remind her that this is about _her_—because right now, it's all about _you_." _He's right about that. Everything is all about me and it was supposed to be about Butterfly from the very beginning.

"I'll do that, John. Thanks for talking to me on such short notice."

"_I'm always available. Let me know how this goes." _

"I will." I say and we end our session. It's time to call Welch. This shit has to end now.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Although I spent most of the day away from Christian yesterday, the idea of spending more time on my own today left me feeling a bit more relaxed than I think it should have. Although Jason accompanied us to the spa, he agreed to leave us to our own vices since he was coming in an official capacity. This means that instead of being a couple out and about on the island with the boss's girlfriend tagging along, we are two girls loose on Anguilla with a very attentive bodyguard. I can live with that.

Christian arranged for us to spend a spa day at the Viceroy Resort, which turns out to be one of the swankiest resorts on the island, precariously located on a cliff right on the edge of the water. I don't know who he spoke to or what Christian Grey magic he worked, but the moment we entered the resort, we were treated like royalty. We were escorted to the private penthouse villa which had been transformed into a full service spa for Gail and me. Apparently "all booked up" doesn't apply to Christian Grey and for him, there's always "room at the inn."

We sipped on Spanish Sangrias while perusing the "menu" of services that we wanted for the day. I truly wanted one of everything but quickly decided that might not be the best idea since massage sometimes releases toxins into your body from your muscles and can cause you to become ill. So after stripping naked and wrapping ourselves in the most luxurious bath blankets known to man, we picked our choices from the menus and let the pampering begin. Gail started with the Viceroy Trilogy which is basically an awesome foot exfoliation combined with a back massage, veil body wrap and healing aroma therapy—the process lasts 75 minutes.

I opted for a treatment called Heaven and Earth—a process that lasts 90 minutes and included a head to toe simultaneous massage by two therapists, a welcoming back ritual with a 30-minute reflexology treatment, and the Inner Glow facial which is actually a separate service. It is a customized deep cleansing facial that consists of an aroma pressure facial massage to help eliminate toxins from the skin and a hand-blended nourishing and purification mask. Lord knows I needed that to refresh the skin on my face after finally healing from the bruising. Gail and I both did the facials. Right in the middle of the 30-minute masks—and after three delicious Sangrias—I decided that I needed to talk.

"Gail...I need a friend." I say as the estheticians leave us alone to marinate.

"You have friends, Ana. What do you mean?" She asks, bewildered...and much more relaxed than I have ever heard.

"I mean I need to talk to someone...like...right now." I clarify. There is a pause.

"Okay." I can hear the hesitance in her voice. I'm beginning to think I should just keep this to myself and just explain the whole thing to Maxie when I get home, assuming I can hold on to my sanity that long. "Ana? You okay?"

"Yes. I don't want to put you in an uncomfortable situation." I say.

"I won't be uncomfortable. Like I said, I've seen that room. I just don't know how much help I can be." She responds. Me, either, and the fact that she has alluded to the Playroom lets me know that she knows exactly where I am headed. I take a deep breath.

"I'd say we've crossed just about every line that we can cross at this point...at least I feel that way...so if I do or say something that you feel is..." I trail off.

"I'll let you know." She says. I sigh.

"So, no doubt you know about Christian's lifestyle...his unorthodox relationships..." I begin.

"If you want to call them relationships, yes, I'm aware of them."

"Well, yes...they are relationships, just not in the sense that you and I would consider them a relationship. Well, anyway, I am familiar with the lifestyle as well. I studied it in college as part of my curriculum and I've always been curious, especially after this one scene I saw in a club..." Gail could see that I was having a hard time expressing myself, especially after the Sangrias.

"I get it, Ana." She says gently. "So, you and Mr. Grey, you..._partake_ in the lifestyle?" She adds, helping me along.

"Kind of...well, yes...but none of that caning and whipping shit!" I spit before I thought about it. Gail laughed at me.

"Well, thank God for that." She says with a chuckle. I smiled under my mask.

"Don't get me wrong, it can get to be pretty intense in other ways, but I'm not a big fan of pain—not in and of itself anyway."

"What's the attraction, Ana? I never understood it." She asked cautiously.

"Oh, Gail. We don't have enough time for me to explain why people do this sort of thing. I know that Christian was doing it to work out some of his demons...to regain control when he feels like he has lost it, or to hand it over to someone else when he needs to relinquish it in a safe environment."

"I was always under the impression that he..._dominated_ others, not that he was dominated." She says. I turn my head to face her.

"I'm only telling you this because you've signed an NDA and I know you won't repeat it, and also because I trust you." I caution her.

"I understand." She nods, facing me.

"Besides that bleached blonde bitch, I'm the only one who has dominated Christian. I was never in the lifestyle before him, and we haven't practiced any hardcore S/M-type things, but we have done some kinky sex play and some bondage and discipline." She just glares at me for a moment.

"Discipline?" She seems a bit put off by the word. I bite my lip and nod, turning to look at the ceiling again. "Ana, has he hurt you?"

"Not _physically, _no. We've done some spanking and some light flogging—things that, for the most part, enhance the experience. In that sense, I have definitely 'hurt' him more than he has ever hurt me." I use the finger quote around the word 'hurt.'

"Okay, so I note that you said he hasn't hurt you physically..." and thus the heart of the conversation.

"Christian Grey shows weakness to no one," I say after double-checking to be sure that our estheticians had not joined us again yet. "Yet his stupidity...in the horrible way that he treated you and Jason...put him in a position where he had to bare himself, probably more than he has to anybody in a long time if at all...except maybe me. He sat at that pool for hours that night. He had gone silent long before we went inside, and I had time to shower, dry and style my hair, and get into 'costume' before he even came into the house and I had to summon him for that."

"Costume?" She giggled a bit. I smiled.

"Nothing crazy, just white lingerie, but besides the dress and the veil, I was in a full-on bridal trousseau." She made a face and nodded.

"Impressive."

"Yes, it was." I admitted. I look at the ceiling again. "I knew that he was losing a grip on his control and he doesn't know what to do with himself when he gets that way. I certainly don't want to see him go to other sources for release if I can't fulfill his needs..."

"You don't think he would do that, do you?" She asks.

"Not inherently, no—but positively, I'm not sure." I admit. "We've had some powerful revelations in our relationship. In light of those revelations, I would say 100% no, he wouldn't do that...but if he ever needs more than I can give him..."

"Ana," Gail sits up from the massage table, "Christian is a completely different man since he met you. He's pleasant and sociable. He smiles more often. His face looks more like a painting now instead of a statue. He's alive and vibrant and..._human_! There's no way he would want to lose that now." She says with urgency.

"I know that, Gail, and I don't want to lose him either, but the other night..." I trailed off again. Just then the estheticians come back into the room.

"Ladies, will these masks damage our skin if we leave them on a little longer?" Gail asked holding up her hand to halt their entrance.

"No ma'am. They are all natural." The lovely mocha woman responded.

"Then we need just a few more moments of privacy please." Gail says gently.

"Yes, ma'am. Just fifteen minutes, now. You don't want to clog your pores." She nodded before leaving.

"Thank you, Miss." Gail says to their retreating backs and turns back to me expecting after hearing the door close. "The other night..." she prompted.

"Without getting into the gory emotional details, he did something that shook my trust. It set a bad tone for the whole session and it was the first time that I felt like I may not be able to meet his needs." I'm trying to push back the tears before they fall and contaminate my mask.

"What made you feel that way, Ana?" She's better than a therapist right now. I need more Sangria. As if she were reading my thoughts, Gail refilled our glasses while I continued.

"The way that he talked to me, the way that he treated me, the way that he touched me...everything was wrong." I say as the tears escaped my eyes and I sipped more Sangria. "I felt like the amateur that I am, that I couldn't give him the control that he needed because in the end, he had to comfort _me_. Then I back it up by answering his phone yesterday and testing his control once again. I knew that it was the Lincoln bitch when I answered, but that didn't make it okay and I knew that. He was so furious with me and when he started screaming, I knew that I had undone everything from the night before...or the morning, I should say...what was left of it anyway." I sniffle and try to control myself before a full-on waterfall ensued.

"I felt like if he saw me again yesterday, he would have taken off on me again. He would have started yelling or losing control or...I didn't know what the hell he was going to do. I just didn't want him to do it to me."

"So you ran away." Gail said knowingly. I nod taking another drink of my Sangria.

"I wasn't so much running away as I was _hiding._ If I felt that I could hide somewhere in the house without being subjected to his ire, I would have done that. If I had hid in the house and he had to come looking for me because he couldn't find me, when he finally _did_ find me..." I sip some more of my drink. "If I was out of the house, as long as I had Chuck with me and I told someone where I was going, then I would be okay. I needed to get to myself, to try to find my center...to figure out what the hell is going wrong here. My thoughts are all over the place, my fears are laid out there for everybody to see and witness. I'm trying to effectively deal with all of this at once and then Christian..." I trail off. Gail sighed.

"It's a strange time for him, Ana. This is all so new to him." I know all of this, but for some reason I still can't help this feeling of doom and failure inside. "With everything that has happened to him...and to you...it's a wonder you two aren't in straightjackets by now!" My shoulders are shaking with tears now and Gail just holds my hand. I love Christian so very much, but right now, I don't want to be around him. I can't hide from him on an island, and I really don't intend to, but the reason I told him that I wanted to go home is because I need space. I need space to regroup and find myself which is what I thought I would do on this trip...until I bumped heads with the unsinkable Mr. Grey.

At this point, the estheticians walk back into the room. Mine didn't even blink when she walked in and I was crying. They each walk around the outside of the tables so that Gail didn't have to break her hold on my hand. My weeping serenaded us as the ladies gently removed the masks from our faces.

"You close ya eyes, Dahlin'," my esthetician says with a much heavier accent then the first lady. "I do someting take away dat puffy, make ya feel betta." She smiles a beautiful smile at me and I close my eyes...still weeping. I relax my eyelids as she put a cold compress over them. "You stay right dere...I be right back." Her soothing voice says to me.

I open my eyes and I am now in one of the very comfortable beds. How did I get here? My hands are each in a nail dryer and a get a look at my toe nails...

Butterflies!

How the hell long have I been sleeping? What the hell happened?

I look over at the other bed in the suite and Jason is smiling at Gail while they share a private joke. It makes me miss Christian, but not enough to want to face him yet.

"Well, hello Sleepyhead." My manicurist says to me. "Did you rest well?" As a matter of fact, I did. I was able to sleep off the Sangria, my eyes feel fine, and I don't have the slightest hangover.

"Yes, I did. Thank you." I say smiling at her. I see that my hands have the same dainty design as my toes, so I ask, "Um, who decided on my nail designs?"

"You did," Gail says from the bed next to me.

"I did?" I say surprised. I mean, they are very pretty, but I didn't even know that I could _get_ butterflies on my nails.

"Yes. Jason put you in bed since they had to remove the massage tables and these lovely ladies came in asking what color we wanted. You said 'butterflies.' So there you have it." She explains.

"You don't like?" The manicurist says, concerned.

"Oh, no, they're beautiful." I say to her with a reassuring smile. "Thank you, I love them."

"You welcome, ma'am." She says as she puts her tools and polishes away. "Be dry in five more minutes. You stay, yes?"

"Yes." I say with a nod as she smiles and leaves the room. I admire my nails while I try to figure out how long I was asleep.

"What time is it?" I ask the lovebirds.

"It's about three o'clock." Jason responds. Oh good Lord! I've slept for two hours? I sit up straight.

"This is your day to relax." Gail scolds. "There is no time limit on how long you are allowed to relax. Now lie down and let your nails dry." She says, sending Jason out of the room. I lay back down on the bed. "Jason said Christian called...three times." He's probably calling to make sure I'm behaving myself.

_Stop it, Steele. He could be calling to make sure you're _enjoying _yourself.  
_Yes. I guess he could be._  
_

"Ana," I look up at her. "I really think you're overthinking this." Gail says. I nod. She's probably right, but he didn't _spank_ her, or _degrade_ her, or _yell_ at her... "He really loves you. He wanted to speak to you, but Jason told him that you were resting so he said not to wake you. He told us to be sure to get some new things from the boutique." Well, that was sweet of him. I did see a black and white dress in the window that I wanted. I pull out my phone and call Chuck.

"Ana, is everything okay?"

"Yes, Chuck, everything is fine. I was just wondering if you would mind doing me a favor. Call Ma and get the recipe for her rum punch and then text it to me so that I can get the ingredients. I'm thinking I'm going to skip shopping once we're done here and just relax for the rest of the day." My brain is going in frantic circles and I just want to rest.

"Sure thing, Ana. I'll be in touch."

"Thanks, Chuck." I say before ending the call.

"Rum punch, huh?" Gail says.

"Oh yes, you'll love it. It's very fruity with just enough rum." My esthetician comes back into the room as I am discussing Ma's rum punch. "Oh! I'm so sorry I turned into a blubbering mess on you earlier." I apologize to her. She throws her hand at me.

"People cry many times after treatment. Open mind, release toxins, renew Chakra. Good for you!" She cheers. "We get you heer did nah and you be good as new!" Okay...I didn't follow that last one at all. I look over at Gail who says, "We're getting our hair done."

"Oh!" I exclaim. "Fantastic!"

A couple of hours later, we are pulling up at the villa. The other car is gone, so I assume that Chuck had to take Christian somewhere. My hair has been washed, conditioned, trimmed, polished and fluffed out with huge barrel irons, resulting in huge, shiny chestnut waves. Gail's beautiful sunbleached blonde hair has been smoothed in the front and pulled up with curls cascading down the back like a 1940's pin-up girl. She's wearing a bandeau dress that she got from the boutique—indigo blue at the top and strapless with two metal rings holding the beast together. The empire waist flatters the flair white chiffon at the bottom, decorated with large splashes of color and flowers.

I decided this time to go with something more calm. My dress is a mini-maxi of sorts, where the inner layer of the dress is a mini that cuts very high on my thigh and the outer layer is also chiffon—full length with splits coming up the legs to the thigh on both sides. The dress is black at the top then fades into cream in the center then back into black to the bottom. It glides with me when I move.

We go inside and I can clearly hear a woman laughing. The second car is gone...who's voice is that? I look at Gail and Jason who only look to each other as I follow the giggling and splashing water. I find Chuck in the pool with the beauty from Kel's that had asked him to dance yesterday. Jason makes our presence known with his signature throat clearing, and Chuck looks up at him while his companion halts her giggling.

"Oh, hello again!" I say upon recognizing her, and she smiles at me.

"Hello, Miss. I am Keri. Ma send de rum punch!" She says enthusiastically. I frown a bit.

"She sent the recipe?" I ask.

"No," Chuck says. "Ma send de rum punch." He responds, badly imitating Keri who splashes him in retaliation. He rises out of the pool and helps Keri out as well. Good God, she is hot! She's built like a damn Barbie doll—_very _curvy—and she looks fabulous in this green bikini! "Ma does not have a recipe for rum punch. She just _makes_ it. So Ma sent rum punch." He points to two gallon pitchers on the counter. I turn to see Ma's famous rum punch ready for consumption.

"Oh, you're kidding me!" I laugh, walking over to the counter. "God, I love that woman."

"She's very fond of you as well. She asked me if you 'fixed dat' yet?" He says imitating Ma's accent perfectly. "She says you would know what she meant." Yes, Ma, I know what you mean. I just don't know quite what to do about it yet, speaking of which...

"The car is gone. Where's Christian?" I ask.

"He said he was going to get some sunshine and exercise." Chuck said, following me into the house. "He spent the entire day on the phone and the laptop and decided to get out about an hour or so ago. Keri showed up right before he left and he just told me to have a good time and took off." My heart clenched a bit wondering where he took off to alone, but of course I was at the Viceroy all day, crying under an organic mask. I shake off the thought and go to the cupboard to get glasses.

"Let's all have some of Ma's punch, shall we? Very soon we will be enjoying a lovely sunset." I say, trying to lift my spirits.

"Yes to the sunset, but no rum punch for me, thanks." I look at him strange.

"Are you still on duty, Chuck?" I ask, puzzled. "I officially declare you 'off' for the day...it's not like I'm going anywhere and you've got that beautiful girl here." Chuck blinks twice and blushes, but then says,

"No, Ana. I don't drink. I'm a recovering alcoholic." I gasp and my hand flies to my mouth.

"Oh, Chuck! Please forgive me. How insensitive of me." I lament. Chuck laughs heartily.

"Ana, you're the most sensitive person I ever met. Don't worry about it. You had no way of knowing."

"Well, now I have to ask you a question, but I don't want you to get angry." I say, cautiously.

"Um...okay." He says, just as cautiously.

"Gail mentioned...the other day that...she may have seen or heard you stumbling in alone one night and...we thought you might have been drunk." His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head slightly, completely oblivious to what I'm talking about. "It was the night before the whole Gail/Jason fiasco." He still momentarily looks lost then the light bulb comes on.

"Oh, _that!" _He says with a loud chuckle. Okay, let me in on the joke. "Yeah, _that_ would have been me bumping into an ottoman in the dark and stubbing the fuck out of my toe because I didn't want to get caught watching my bosses groping each other by the pool like a couple of horny teenagers."

Oh. My. God. I don't know if I turned white or beet red. _Everybody_ saw us! Good grief. I briefly roll over the night in my head trying to remember if anything went beyond _PG_...

_Christian's hands running all over my body...  
That tight red dress hugging my hips in my attempts to crawl into Christian's soul...  
His erection rubbing against me...  
__Handfuls of each others hair...  
My hands under his shirt touching his muscular chest and back while he moaned into my mouth, my ear, my neck, my breast...I'm getting hot just thinking about it again.__  
_

"Oh, God." I throw my hand up to my forehead in utter humiliation. Next time, we should just sell tickets!

"You guys are _hot!_" Chuck exclaimed. I threw a horrified glare and gasp at Chuck. "I'm sorry. I'll probably never get a chance to say this again, but you guys were fucking hot! And you owe me."

"For _what!?_" I ask affronted.

"For making me take you away that day in that _other_ red dress! It's a wonder I didn't get fired! I don't know the whole story between you two, but _damn, Girl!_" Oh, yeah that 'other' red dress. Yeah, that day was a cause for some commotion..._delicious _commotion.

"Okay, alright, so we're even if you never bring this up again!" I snap in embarrassment pointing my finger at him.

"I will if it doesn't happen again...which is not likely." Chuck laughs. I drop my head into my forehead again. "Ana," he begins more softly, his voice still full of mirth, "you guys are young, hot, and in love and obvious enjoy each others company. That's all that matters. Don't worry about what other people say. Have a good time. Life is too damn short!" He pushes my arm with his. I sigh heavily.

"Yeah, okay." I say not completely convinced.

"Oh, and one more thing. We're _not_ even. You actually owe me another one...and Jason, too." He adds.

"What the hell did I do to you _and _Jason?" I ask horrified.

"Don't ever..._ever_...do that thing with the pancake in the presence of another man again!" He scolds. What the hell is he talking about?

"Chuck, you said you didn't drink but you're sounding drunk right now." He folds his arms.

"Anastasia Rose Steele..." What the fuck...? "That next morning, you rolled up an entire pancake and made it disappear in a second!" What the hell is he...oh, the day with the pancake. Well, what's the big de..._oh shit! _I gasped loud and long when I get the phallic representation of the pancake in my head disappearing effortlessly into my mouth.

"Yeah! No! Never do that again! Ever! What, is there like a condo in there!?" He's gesturing at my mouth as he says that.

"I wasn't try...he's always fuss...I didn't..." I can't even finish a whole sentence. I am completely mortified. I just wanted Christian to shut the hell up about breakfast. Oh fuck of all fucks! I did that in front of Jason _and_ Chuck. Blue Savior, please roll magically into the villa and swallow me whole this moment.

"Ooooooh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God." I murmur more to myself. "What did Christian say?"

"Not a damn thing! As a matter of fact, his words were 'We are NOT talking about this!' You should be on Ripley's Believe It or Not! Would you _please_ refrain from pulling any more surprises on me?" He scolds further.

"I'll try." I whimper, now needing that rum punch more than ever.

"Let me just warn you," he says again, "anything going into a woman's mouth, especially if she's wearing lipstick, reminds a man of sex. So don't do anything like that again if you two are not alone..unless you want to see that man roll through a fancy restaurant like a bull in a china shop!" I look up at him and laugh. I still wasn't comfortable with the idea of Chuck and Jason getting that visual, but it was offset by the look on Christian's face and the thought that now I know he was most likely picturing his dick going into my mouth...in front of his employees.

Hilarious.

"Duly noted. Now, you've embarrassed me enough. Will it bother you that the ladies are drinking?"

"Not at all. Enjoy yourselves. It doesn't bother me one bit!" He says, patting my arm before going back over to Keri. I'm surrounded by wonderful people. Even with the unease between us, I can't help but wish that Christian were here. I load a tray with four glasses and a pitcher of rum punch set forth to shake off the melancholy.

An hour or so later, I am floating around the pool with my friends and our house guest laughing hysterically at me. The sun has set and I have had...I don't know how many rum punches...and I am singing loudly and happily to the 90's station on the iPod in the docking station on the patio.

"I believe I can fly! I believe I can touch the sky! I think about it ever night and day! Spread my wings and fly away! I believe I can soar! I see me running through that open doooooooooooor! I believe I can fly! I believe I can fly! I believe I can flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" I am singing at the top of my lungs and I sound pretty good if I do say so myself. Gail has tears in her eyes she is laughing so hard.

"Don't take flight now." Jason says through his laughter.

"Leave me alone, Jason." I say, noticing the slightest slur before I take another sip of my rum punch.

"No, I won't be doing that, Your Highness." He laughs and I smile at the use of our nickname.

"I've always wanted to know...where did that come from?" Gail asks. I relay the story to her about the hospital and "Ma'am" and the plethora of names we tried including _Pookie_ before we settled on Your Highness as a joke and it just stuck. As I was finishing my story, I heard one of my favorite 90's tunes start playing on the radio.

"Oh, this is my soooooong!" I said, dancing around the pool like the happy drunk that I am as nightfall sets in over Anguilla. I float around the pool as I envision the Backstreet Boys doing those little choreographed sways that all of the boy bands used to do back then. AJ was my favorite. He had a bad-boy look to me and I thought he was hot.

"You are my fire, the one desire, believe when I say, I want it thaaat way!" Al and I used to sing this song when we were still very wet behind the ears and I find myself missing my best friend. I was okay with everything, for the most part, until my favorite part of the song came up...

_Now I can see that we're falling apart  
From the way that it used to be, yeah  
No matter the distance  
I want you to know  
That deep down inside of me... _

I don't want to make a bigger fool of myself, so I plaster a smile on my face and excuse myself. I take my drink and my phone and head off to find some alone time. I find myself in the open patio where Christian and I made love a few days earlier. I quickly dash away the tears that fall from my eyes...nothing worse than a maudlin drunk. I look at my phone...7:30. That means it's still early in Seattle.

_"Jewel!"_ Al answers in his usual chipper voice! "How goes it in sunny Anguilla?"

"Oh, it's so beautiful, Al. I've never seen bluer water in my whole life. And the villa...oh! It's fabulous! This place is amazing." I can never get anything by my best friend. I don't know why I try to hide anything from someone who has known me for 14 years.

_"What's wrong, Jewel? You sound a little off."_

"I'm not off, Al. I'm drunk." I say honestly. "Our song came on the iPod and I just needed to hear my best friends voice."

_"Which song, Hon? We have so many..."_

"'I Want It That Way.'"

_"Oh, God. You're listening to 90's music? You _are_ drunk!"_ He giggles. I hear James yell "hello" in the background.

"Tell my other gay boyfriend that I said, 'hi.'"

_"She says 'hi,' Lover."_ He yells to James. _"Are you sure you're okay, Jewel?"_ I sigh.

"I'm...a little nervous about the future. Things sometimes seem...a little scary...uncertain..."

_"I expect that right now, Jewel. Things _are_ uncertain, but don't worry. I truly feel like things are going to work out just fine. Where's Chris?"_

"Well, I spent the day at the spa so he went out to catch some sun." In other words, I have no idea where he is since the sun is gone now.

_"Ooooo, the spa! How was it?"_

"Glorious!" I respond, almost orgasmic. "I have cute little butterflies on my fingers and toes." I say, smiling. Al laughs at me.

_"Girlie, to the end. Listen, Babe. I've got to go...me and my honey have plans for the evening, but I'll postpone if you need to talk."_

"No, please...don't. Go, have fun with James. I just wanted to talk for a moment. I'll see you when we're stateside and just humor me if I drunk-dial you again, okay?" Al's laugh heals my aching soul a bit.

_"Anytime. I love you, Jewel."_

"I love you, too, Allen." I say with a smile before I hang up the phone. Alcohol—especially too much alcohol—has a way of intensifying your feelings, good _and_ bad. Right now, I'm a ball of unknown emotions and I don't know whether to laugh or cry or be angry or what. Instead, I just look down at my iPhone like it's going to magically give me the answer and sigh heavily. Maybe I should ask the almighty Siri. I push the button and Siri asks me, "What can I help you with?"

"What should I do with my life?" I ask.

"Let me think about that..." Siri responds before she returns a book with that title and says, "This might answer your question." Yeah, no thanks. I reach back and pull my hair over my shoulder, still soft and floaty from today's treatment. It's so long, even after the trim.

"I cut my hair today," I say to Siri. "Should I cut it all off?"

"I'm sure I don't know." Siri responds. Of course you don't...you're a phone.

"Don't you dare."

His baritone voice hums to me from the entrance of the patio..._our _patio. I don't raise my head to his voice, only to his feet and legs clad in tan cargo shorts and hiking boots. He's got a few scrapes where I can see that he's been rock-climbing or something, but nothing where the skin is broken. His feet move over to me and now he's squatting in front of me.

"How was you day? Did you enjoy the spa?" He says softly. Without a word, I throw my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life. He gasps as I bury my nose in his neck and inhale deeply. He smells like the outdoors...and his own unmistakable scent. I don't want to think, I just want to hold him, and I want him to hold me.

_Hold me, please..._

In response to my silent cry, his arms slide around me slowly and powerfully. One hand travels up my back under my hair to my neck while the other wraps possessively around my body, crushing me to him. I gasp at the force with which he is holding me but I don't let go. When he stands with me in his arms, I wrap my legs around him and cling to him like a vine. I can't see where he's taking me, but I assume that we are walking past the prior pool party when I hear familiar voices suddenly fall silent. He stops walking and I hear the ring of the elevator. I don't want to concentrate anymore. I just keep my eyes closed, hold on tight, and disappear into this moment with this man that I love so much.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**I'm not 100% certain because the site doesn't tell me, but I think that the necklace that I used as a reference of Christian's commitment gift is made of tungsten. The only other thing it could be is blackened silver, but silver doesn't cost as much as this necklace does—so for the sake of the story, it's tungsten.**_

_**"Room at the Inn" is a Biblical reference. When the Virgin Mother Mary was carrying the Messiah Jesus, she and Joseph traveled back to Bethlehem for a census (the King James version says "taxed." Either way, he had to go back to Bethlehem). Everyone had come to Bethlehem for the same reason. As a result, Joseph and Mary had to sleep in a manger that night because there was no room at the inn, which is why Jesus was born in a manger. **_

_**I don't know if "**_**PG" _is universal, so I'm not going to assume. The last time I did that, I got slammed for _Marco Polo. _"PG" is a trademark used for a movie rating indicating that admission will be granted to persons of all ages but that parental guidance is advised in the case of children. Of course, Ana's make-out session with Christian that night couldn't be considered "PG" (maybe PG-13), but she mainly wanted to make sure it wasn't rated "R"..._**

**_Ripley's Believe It or Not! deals in bizarre events and items so strange and unusual that readers might question the claims. It's a show that comes on in America and I'm sure it's probably shown outside of the States as well in other countries. They have museums and other attractions as well._**

**_Ana's Karaoke:  
I Believe I Can Fly by R Kelly  
I Want It That Way by The Backstreet Boys _**

**_Make sure you check out the pinterest at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla /_**

**_Please review..._**

**_Love and handcuffs,  
Lynn x_**


	57. Chapter 57: Mrs Taylor

_**I am evil and wicked and very unhappy right now, so please excuse the late posting as I have had one hell of a day. Let's start with the nonsense...**_

_**My very first review of chapter 56 was a guest reviewer telling me that I needed to show some humility and not zing anybody...but I didn't zing anybody so I have to say that I'm a little lost. I'm only putting this here again because that particular guest may not re-read chapter 56. But you clearly need to go back and re-read those author's note, because I only made two points in those author's note. 1) I clearly must have written chapter 55 badly because most people got the wrong idea, so I'm rewriting it and 2) Ana is not falling into mush because Christian yelled at her, but because of everything that happened to her. **_

_**Where the hell do you get a zinger out of that?**_

_**This had nothing to do with negative reviews or people kissing my ass so I am so confused. To my knowledge, I didn't even **_**get**_** any negative for chapter 55 so...what are you talking about? Maybe you are talking about past zings, I don't know. If that's what you meant, then yes, I will continue to zing people who are disrespectful to me. If you don't like it, move on. And no, that's not a zing—that's just a statement of fact. Next...**_

_**Just another asshole I guess... (THAT was a zing).**_

_**Now on to better stuff...**_

_**To the guest that says it's time to wrap up this weary tale—I don't feel like the tale is weary but I can't be mad at you because you're right. It is time to wrap it up and I'm about to start a new tale with Book II—but sorry, the sex scenes stay. Hopefully you'll still stick with me! ;-)**_

_**To Acadia—nobody fits my Christian yet. There is a sketch on my pinterest page that fits perfectly what I think he should look like and none of the actors or celebrities look like him to me. Ian Somerhalder comes close but still no cigar for me. I may be changing my Ana as well. The pictures that I have of Zooey (especially the one with the striking blue eyes) fit my Ana perfectly, but lately she has gotten rid of her bangs/fringe and when I look at her now I'm like "Who the hell is that?" So she might be replaced. Thanks for your review! ;-)**_

_**To my faithful folks including Beachycolor, Carol, Gwen (LOL I will try to keep you out of detox...we will see what we can do), Jaimini, JN (Oh no, alone on a business trip!), Leah (Backstreet Boys...IKR!), Marissa, Michelle B, Ness, Tempress (as usual, you have a perfect grasp on the situation—good analysis), Teresaromance, Tj (thank you!), my guest whose sister is addicted to my story (love that!), and to all of my guests that reviewed—including the one that thinks I need humility—thank you for taking the time to review. **_

_**One of the things that we need to remember is that even though we may want everything to be honky-dory-happy-go-lucky between our couple, that's just not how it happens after something traumatic has occurred in someone's life. As much as we want them to go skipping happily into the sunset, that's not going to happen just because they changed locales. It's the people that have the problems, not the place...and the people brought their baggage to Anguilla. That's something to think about when you wonder why they are not spending every day on the beach sipping rum punch and gleefully watching the sun go down...just a thought.**_

_**On with the story—all disclaimers from previous chapters apply here.**_

_Chapter 57—Mrs. Taylor_

_**GREY**_

I've always enjoyed rock-climbing and hiking and with Butterfly off at the spa, this was the perfect opportunity to embark upon one of the more challenging Anguillian trails without the feeling of leaving her behind. Davenport was just about to entertain some young woman as I was leaving and was concerned that I would make him tag alone. He can stay, enjoy the villa. No reason why he shouldn't get laid on this trip if the opportunity presents itself.

A couple of hours before sunset, I ventured off on a hike called Anguillta. This is not for the amateur or the faint of heart. This trek takes you up the north side of the Western Tip of the island. Once you get through some very thick brush, you are faced with very high cliffs that could make you dizzy if you are not careful—which is not a good thing since these cliffs can be up to 100 feet high and you are walking along a very narrow path cliffside right along the edge. I am quite stricken with the beauty of the view that awaits me when I clear the trees and the brush the get to the cliffside path.

"Wow." The majestic beauty of the islands and the bluest of the Caribbean Sea has me nearly speechless. My only regret is that Butterfly is not here to share it with me, but I would be a nervous wreck with her walking on these paths. I take a picture with my blackberry to show her later. I want to see if I can get a view of Anguillita Island before it gets to be too late as I don't want to be maneuvering these paths after sunset. It's nothing spectacular, just something to be able to say that you've done while you're on the island. It's grueling trying to watch your footing and not fall into the precipice, but it also keeps your mind occupied from other things...

..like why you are repeatedly hurting the people that you care about the most.

I made it to my destination with plenty of time to spare and decided to rest and hydrate myself some more as I gaze across to the small patch of rock known as Anguillita Island. Like I said, it's nothing spectacular, but very few people can say they have made this trek and saw the beautiful island of Anguilla and the Caribbean Sea from the side of a cliff. I take another picture of the island, then scroll back to take a look at it. Of course, I run across a picture of Butterfly. I have no idea where this picture was taken. I don't even recognize the background. She is standing against a brown wall with Tiffany blue dots looking playfully over her shoulder at me. I have no idea how old this picture is or where we were when we took it. I just look into those playful, beautiful, guileless, glass-blue eyes and all I can think is...I want my Butterfly.

I start making my way back down the cliff.

* * *

Are they having a party in there!? I drive up to the villa and I hear loud pop music and laughter. Well, at least there's fun to be had...too bad they had to wait until after I was gone to have it.

I come into to the great room and I immediately spy a huge pitcher of iced tea on the counter. As I get closer to it, I notice that the color is wrong for iced tea and I can smell the distinct fragrance of alcohol..._rum_ to be exact.

Rum punch.

I am now drawn to the very loud sound of karaoke coming from the pool. I take position out of site and now hear my very drunk girlfriend belting out a tune at full volume about flying.

"Yeah, you're flying alright, Baby." I laugh to myself. At least she's at the villa in the midst of two of my security personnel although everyone seems to be completely relaxed, only the ladies indulging in the rum punch. She looks heavenly out there. Her skin is glowing...even after sunset...and her hair is floating flawlessly in the Caribbean breeze. She's talking to Gail about nicknames and my eyes drift to her smooth beautiful thigh peeking out from this flowy black and white creation that she's wearing. Suddenly, she's on her feet belting out another song from a boy band...Backstreet Boys, I think. No one notices when her expression changes and she momentarily freezes in her spot.

_I _noticed...something's wrong.

She takes her drink from a nearby table and excuses herself from the party. When she clears the pool area, I make my presence know.

"Good evening everyone." I say walking out to the pool. I get casual greetings from the group. "How was the spa?"

"Seemed okay." Jason says. "Gail?"

"She seems a little distracted." Gail says to me. "Overwhelmed a bit I think, but the spa was very good for her." I'm thankful that Gail was there with her. With the way that I treated her, she may not have wanted to come back.

"I'm very glad to hear that. Where is she now?" I ask.

"You just missed her. She went off that way." Davenport responds pointing in the direction that Butterfly left. "She has been partaking in libations this evening. She may need some alone time."

"Libations?" I ask, pretending not to know.

"Ma's Rum Punch." The golden beauty at Davenport's side says to me, gesturing to the near-empty pitcher of alcoholic _libation. _Good God, there were two pitchers!? It's a wonder these people aren't pickled...unless...

"She didn't drink this all by herself, did she?" I ask concerned.

"No," Gail says calmly. "Keri and I helped. Jason may have had a sip or two. Charles, as I discover I am the last to know, is a teetotaler." I smile as I see the punch has relaxed her a bit as well.

"Have some." The young lady identified as _Keri_ offers as she lifts her glass to me from the other end of the pool.

"Maybe I will...but later. I want to make sure my girlfriend hasn't fallen into the Caribbean Sea." I say with a chuckle to keep the mood light. "Don't mind me...I'm going to go find a pickled Butterfly." They laugh as I leave the pool area and I am relieved that my presence didn't dampen the merriment. My relief fades when I find Butterfly looking forlorn on the exact same spot where we shared magical moments not three days earlier. She is quite fermented, I discover, as she is having an extensive conversation with her phone.

"What should I do with my life?" She asks. Whatever the answer, Butterfly is not pleased with it. "I cut my hair today." You did _what!? _I look at her beautiful locks to see just how much of it is gone. I didn't notice it had been cut when she was at the pool. Maybe she just got a trim. "Should I cut it all off?" I am remembering the day that her lovely hair caressed my body and sent me into a near-orgasmic haze.

"_I'm sure I don't know." _The damn phone responds. No! Fuck, no! How about _fuck, no!? _

"Don't you dare." I say to her, trying to push all of the desire that I can into my voice to influence her not to trim away that gorgeous mahogany mane. Her head tilts a little in my direction, but she doesn't raise her eyes to mine. Oh Butterfly...please still love me. I know I've put you through so much and I'm going to fix that. Just don't give up on me. I squat so that I am eye level with her. Please look at me, my beautiful lifeline.

"How was your day? Did you enjoy the spa?" I say softly, careful not to touch her unless she invites me. She embraces me so hard and so fast that I am momentarily stunned and I don't know what to do. When she buries her nose in my neck and inhales, she literally sucks all of the uncertainty out of me and I pull her close to me with a combination of force and restraint. Oh, you wonderful, magical, beautiful woman...you are my life. I don't know what I would do without you. You are my everything. I stand with her in my arms and she wraps her legs around me clasping her feet in the back like she is afraid that I will let her go.

No, my soul's nectar, I will never let you go.

The conversation at the pool screeches to a halt as I carry Butterfly past the small party and into the villa. I enter the elevator to take her to our suite and her body goes a little limp on me. I start to panic momentarily when I get her to the bedroom, but then realize that she is only falling asleep as when I try to lay her on the bed she instinctively tightens her grip on me. I sit on the bed and manage to untie my boots then kick them off with my feet. I step on each sock and remove them from my feet. She is still semi-consciously clinging to me and I just lie back on the bed. One or both of us will have some sleeping limbs in the morning, but I don't think either of us cares at this moment. I stroke her back, her cheek, her hair. She moans contentedly. How many times can you call someone _beautiful_ before it gets old?

"I hiked up the Western tip today." I say softly to her sleeping form. "I walked over cliffside paths with gorgeous views of the island and the water."

"You did?" She whimpers. I know she's asleep and she's not going to remember this conversation, but I keep talking anyway.

"I did." I say. "It was gorgeous and I had never done it before. I walked nearly all the way to the tip and I could see Anguillita Island from there."

"Hmm," she whimpers. I close my arms around her again.

"It was beautiful and majestic and spiritual...and all I could think is that I wanted you there with me...to share it's beauty...though I wouldn't have been able to stomach you walking on those cliffs." I say honestly. "One of the most emotionally significant moments that I think I've ever had—and you weren't with me. It was all I could do to get my ass down that mountain and get back to you."

"Really?" She squeaks, her eyes still closed. Her mind and body are exhausted...but her soul still clings to me, even on a subconscious level. So I keep speaking to her soul.

"Really. All I want to do is make you happy. All I need is your love and I can do anything. I can rule the world if you still love me. I can give you anything and everything you want—emotionally, physically, and financially. I'll do everything in my power to be your dream come true if you promise me that you'll still be _my _dream come true." I bring my lips to hers and kiss her gently, deepening the kiss a few times then realizing that she is barely conscious and I should probably try to control myself. I want to make love to her so badly that my soul aches, but I won't. She needs to be comfortable, and I won't take advantage of her or seduce her. The next time we make love, she will have to initiate.

"Hmm...I love you, Christian..." Her words are a sweet harmonic tune to my ears and heart. I pull her closer to me and she nuzzles into my neck.

"I love you, too, Anastasia Rose Steele." I say, squeezing my eyes together as one lone tear slides down my temple before I drift off to sleep.

I'm cold. I awake soaked through my t-shirt with sweat but I'm shivering cold. I had returned to Escala and she was gone. Her clothes, her car...everything. My Butterfly had left me with no explanation. We fell asleep fully dressed...in Anguilla...and for one brief, terrifying moment, I was back in Seattle—alone and without my love. I reach over to touch her, reassure myself that it was a dream...and she's gone.

It was a dream, wasn't it?

I leap from the bed and snatch a linen shirt to cover my sweat-drenched t-shirt and go in search of Anastasia. It's 3:00 in the morning, the sun isn't even rising yet. Where could she be? I quietly check all the rooms on this floor, then the third floor, then the second-floor—minus Gail and Jason's room that is—then the first floor. I peek into Davenport's room when there was no answer after a light knock. I don't want to see the man's dick swinging in his sleep.

It was worse.

Yes, I saw more of a sleeping Davenport than I wanted, but I also saw more of a sleeping Keri than I should have. Shit! I have to find Ana. I walk into his room—I've seen the woman now.

"Davenport." I say loud enough to wake him but hopefully not wake his companion. He sleepily opens his eyes and takes a moment to focus on what's happening. When he realizes that it's me standing over him, he goes to cover his nakedness. Dude, fucking seriously?

"I've got _that_ equipment!" I scold quietly. "Cover _her!_" I add, gesturing to Keri's naked form. Davenport gains his senses and gently throws a sheet over Keri before reaching for his boxers. "Meet me in the great room." I say before leaving his room.

"Sir, I'm sorry about Keri..." he begins when he comes into the great room. He thinks this is about her...like I'm going to sneak around in the middle of the night trying to catch my employees getting laid!? I wave my hand.

"I knocked. You didn't answer. I can't find Ana." I say. I don't care if you get some ass, I want to find my girl.

"Um..." He's a little stunned. "I assumed you've check the whole house. Did she take one of the cars?" I didn't check that. We both look outside and both cars are still there. We check the pool, the patio, our special place...no Butterfly. The dream is starting to feel more and more real and I'm feeling a little sick. I didn't check to see if her things were gone, but I don't want Davenport to know that I'm thinking along these lines. "Have you checked the beach, Sir?" The _beach_...of course.

We both head out the back patio door and start in opposite directions down the beach. I break into a run in my direction as I am anxious to find her. I don't know how far down the beach I run when I realize there are no footprints in the sand and she probably didn't come this way. I start back and a little ways down the beach I bump into a breathless Davenport.

"Do you run marathons, Sir?" He says trying to catch his breath.

"Did you find her?" I ask, irritated.

"Yeah, she's at the other end of the beach. I didn't disturb her." He says. At least she's still here.

"Thank you. I'm sorry to wake you." He nods and returns towards the villa. I break in a sprint in the other direction towards my Butterfly. I have to touch her...be near her. I almost can't breathe. I see her in the distance, staring out at the water like she did the night before. I don't like that far away distant look that she gets when she's looking at the water, like she's going to walk out into it and never come back. By the time I reach her, I'm panting like a sick dog. I've run further than this in the city, but for some reason now, I can't breath. She's standing there in that same black and white dress with a shawl or a wrap over her arms. I snatch her in my arms and pull her close to me, panting frantically.

"Christian!" She gasps. "You're soaked! What's wrong!?" Her voice is full of concern. It was a dream. It was just a dream.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,  
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens,  
Tied up in Christian Grey's arms like a string,  
These are a few of my favorite things..._

I lay here now for about an hour wrapped around Christian and his arms clamped behind me. I don't want to move. I want to stay here and not go back to any of the things that threaten to tear away my sanity...including Harris chasing me in my sleep, which is why I'm awake now. He was a sick, evil bastard when he was alive. Why wouldn't I expect him to be the same when he's dead? For some reason this time, he just looked at me. He never said anything and he never got close. As I walked away from him, he followed me, but he still stayed several feet away. As I ran away from him, he chased me, but he never caught me...never got close...never got the chance to hit me like he did in my first dream.

I have no idea why.

I stopped running and stood there looking at him. I finally yelled, "What do you want, you fucker?" He never spoke and he never got close. I just shook my head at him and said, "Go the fuck away, you bastard!" And he did.

When I woke, it was more out of confusion than anything, but I couldn't get back to sleep. That was probably because I slept a little at the Viceroy and I'm not as tired as I should be. Christian's face is so peaceful, like he is utterly exhausted and lost in a deep sleep. I don't move...I relax in the rise and fall of his chest. The outdoor scent has dissipated and there is only his fragrance now. I seem to remember something about cliffs and islands but I can't completely recall the conversation. No doubt he went hiking—he was certainly dressed for it. Was I _that_ drunk? Did we have a conversation and I don't even remember it? It couldn't have been too bad if I wake tangled in his warm embrace...and now I have to pee.

Dammit!

I try to ignore it, but my bladder wasn't having it. I slowly and gently pry myself from his grasp, then kiss him lightly on the lips when he starts to stir. He quickly settles back down into sleep and I dash to the en suite.

Aaaaaahh! Sweet relief!

I return to our room and sit on the edge of the bed. There is no way that I'm going to get back to sleep right now. Christian looks so peaceful...I don't want to disturb him. I grab my wrap from the closet and decide to go for a walk.

I don't know how long I stand there looking out on the water and letting it soothe my ravaged soul when I look over and Christian is barreling at me like the house is on fire. He's usually approaching like the male models in the movies running on the beach in slow motion, pecks glistening and biceps flexing, beautiful locks bouncing behind him in the wind. No, not this time. I mean he is stumbling towards me like Fred Flintstone on skates! He slams into me with the grace of a cyclops and I think he's going to knock me over! He clutches me in his arms and his shirt feels like he was searching for me in the damn ocean.

"Christian! You're soaked! What's wrong!?" Is somebody hurt? What's the matter? He's shaking! He has me pressed to his chest and I can't move, so I'll just have to wait until he calms down. After a few moments, he's finally able to talk. He holds my arms in his hands and looks me in my eyes.

"I'm sorry." He gasps. I frown and shake my head.

"For what?" I ask, bewildered. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.

"For...everything...I'm sorry." He sounds a little delirious. He's not sleep-walking...what's going on?

"Christian, has something happened? I need you to tell me what's wrong..." I need him to make sense. I don't know why he's apologizing and I don't know what's wrong.

"You...were gone...you left me..." he sputters.

"I didn't go anywhere, Christian. I just came to the water." I'm still confused. We're on an island...where the hell am I going to go?

"No...your things were gone...you left me...your car..." My car!? What the hell!? That's when it finally occurred to me. He was dreaming. I left him in a dream, then he awoke and I was gone.

"Christian, it's chilly and you're drenched. We need to get you inside before you catch cold." I say, soothing.

"I'm sorry..." He keeps repeating it.

"Okay, Baby. I'm not going anywhere, but I'm getting cold. Will you come in with me, please?" I plead. He nods meekly and I take his hand and lead him back to the house. It's about 4am and the house is quiet except for some muffled moaning I hear off to my right.

Go, Chuck!

I lead Christian over to the elevator and we go to our room. I sit him on the bed and take off his wet shirts. I get a towel and dry his chest and back and he starts to shiver a bit. I put a fresh t-shirt on his body and he looks up at me.

"Better now?" I say and he nods. "Do you want some pajama pants?"

"Please," he says softly, contritely. I pull some pajama pants out of the drawer while he removes his cargo shorts. While he dons his pajama pants, I replace my dress with one of his t-shirts. I gather our things from the floor and put them in a nearby chair. He comes behind me and clamps his arms tight around me, resting his head on my shoulder.

"Ana." He breathes. Wow...that must have been some dream. I grasp his hands in mine and squeeze tightly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Christian." I say softly. I feel him nod and I lead him to the bed. He climbs in first and I turn out the light and climb in with him. As we snuggle under the sheets, I lie on my side, partially on my back, and wrap my arms and legs around him again. He wraps his arms around me and nuzzles into my chest. He sighs heavily once he is comfortable and I play in his hair.

"Why were you out at the water again?" He asked, exhaustion in his voice but also a hint of fear. I sighed. I have to let him know that it wasn't him.

"I dreamed of Harris again." I said softly. "I lay here for an hour—in your arms—trying to get back to sleep, but then I had to go to the bathroom and...by then, I knew I wouldn't get back to sleep."

"The last time you stood by the water, you were running away from me." He said.

"Not so much _running away_ as...trying to breathe..." I correct him.

"I smother you?" He asked, his voice a bit forlorn. Well, yes, but no more than I want.

"No...it was the situation...the circumstances that were smothering me."

"Which I caused." He added.

"Nope, we both had a hand in that, along with some other people and things." I say, with a yawn.

"I'm the reason the Pedophile kept calling." He laments.

"And I _certainly _won't ever sit and listen to you take responsibility for the actions of _that _sick bitch. Understand?" I chastise.

"Understand." He says. Good. I thought I'd get more of a fight from that. 'I'm pulling more of my backing from her and I blocked all of her numbers from my phones."

"Well, that's good to hear." I say, my eyelids getting heavy. His head is starting to sink into my breast.

"Butterfly?" He says, sleepily.

"Hmm?" I respond.

"Will you marry me?" Okay, I'm awake now! When I look at Christian, I can tell that _he's_ not. So he's not even going to remember this conversation. I stroke his hair again as he is drifting off into sleep.

"Yes, Christian. When the time is right for both of us, I will marry you. Don't ever forget that." I say softly.

"Okaaay..." He says, slipping further into unconsciousness. I smile at him as his breathing regulates and he produces a very light snore. I cradle his head in my arms, and I am asleep in no time.

I awake in the same position I fell asleep. Nothing is tingly or asleep and I feel all snugly and comfy holding my man. The sun is up in the sky and I would guess by it's position that it's about 9:00. It's Gail and Jason's wedding day and we should get up to see if there is anything that they need. I was thinking to reach for my phone when it starts ringing...but...it's ringing Christian's ringtone. Christian is here with me...what the hell? As I am about to investigate, he shifts a bit and it starts to ring again. I wait for a moment to see if he's doing what I think he's doing. Sure enough, it stops ringing, I feel him shift...and it starts ringing again. God, he such a teenager!

"So now, I'm going to have 25 missed calls from _Baby_." I scold him. He lifts his head and looks at me.

"That's what I'm saved in your phone as..._Baby_?" He asks. I reach over to the nightstand and pick up my iPhone. After unlocking it, I go to "missed calls" and show him 32 missed calls from "_Baby."_ He laughs. "That's sweet." He says looking up at me. "May I kiss you?"

"Christian...of course you may." Why would he ask if he could kiss me? He puts his lips on mine and kisses me with reverence...and then with earnest. It's one of those kisses that suck the life out of you and infuse you with energy at the same time. I feel that familiar spark go through me as his hands stroke my back and his tongue explores my mouth. I thrust my hands into his hair and devour his kiss as much as he devours mine. I tighten my legs around him as I feel his erection rising between us. He moans into my mouth as he strokes himself against me once then stops.

"Oh, God, Baby, please..." His voice is tortured and thick with arousal as he breaks his kiss. "We have to get up. Gail and Jason have the whole day planned and we have to get up." I know he's right but he feels so good between my legs. I squeeze once more and grind my pelvis against him.

"Ah!" His grunt sounds painful as he grabs my ass to hold me in place. "Baby, please!" He begs and almost sounds like he could cry. I stroke the hair off his forehead. After what has happened with Gail and Jason, he probably just doesn't want to let them down today.

"Okay, Baby." I kiss him on his forehead and release my legs. He is breathing heavily and I know that he is so aroused right now that he can't stand it. I know that when he usually has bad dreams or trouble sleeping, we make love if I'm awake, but last night he just fell asleep in my arms. Today he is most likely climbing the walls, but we both want to be there for Gail and Jason so we will have to put our needs aside for right now. I don't know what the plans are for the day so I just don a robe and go in search of Gail.

"Well," she begins as we are sitting in the second-floor lounge, "I picked up a few things in the boutique yesterday and I really don't want to make a big fuss out of things. I want to have breakfast with you all, then I want to go on the beach walk that we were supposed to have on Sunday. Then the girls and the guys split up and get ready for the wedding. We'll meet at the church..."

"Church? You decided to have the ceremony at a church?" I ask.

"Well...yes." She says a bit bemused.

"I'm sorry. It's just that the last I heard, things were rushed and you were just going to have an officiant...and now you're having it at a church. I think that's wonderful!" I take her hand and she smiles.

"Thank you, Ana. I'm so glad you're here."

"Me, too." I squeak like a school girl. "So I guess we should get dressed and head out for the beach walk, then, right?"

"I guess so. All of this sun is doing wonders for me. I'm going to have to start taking my vacation time from now on. I've lived like a hermit for so long working for Mr. Grey that I didn't know what I was missing. He didn't force me to live that way, I just rarely got out."

"You're never going to be able to call him 'Christian' are you?" I ask, noticing that she is still calling him Mr. Grey. She shrugs.

"It will probably come with time, but old habits are hard to break." She says. "So lets wrangle these men and I'll meet you downstairs in twenty!"

A beach walk turns out to be just what it sounds like. We donned ourselves in bathing suits and cover-ups and went out to walk around and catch some sun. I was glad that Keri agreed to come back and join us for the day as this was going to be a day full of romance and couples things and Chuck would certainly have been the odd man out. No, I don't expect for them to go running off into the sunset and live happily ever after, but at least he has a companion for the festivities.

Around the noon hour, the girls went back to the villa while the men went off to parts unknown. Of course, Christian had the stylists from the Viceroy come to the villa and doll us up...simple styles and make-up, including the bride...and the mimosas were flowing and we talked candidly about the wedding night, with Jason and Gail foolishly decided to spend it at the villa instead of getting a room!

"Ana, it's such a waste of money...then I would have to deal with checking out at a certain time when we could just stay at this beautiful villa with the pool and the jacuzzi and the beach not 100 feet away from the back door! It's ridiculous to go to a hotel." She argued.

"I know, but it's your wedding night! I mean, you know...I don't know..." I chickened out trying to tell her that she might want to have some loud animal sex and not worry about what was said in the morning, but she read my body language.

"If you and _Christian_ can have your fun on the fourth floor and we not hear you, we can have our fun on the second floor and you not hear us." She took a large drink of her mimosa.

"Oh my God." I said, turning beet red and the three of us burst into a fit of giggles.

"What you wear for de wedding night?" Keri asks in her beautiful accent. Now it's Gail's turn to blush.

"Is it one of the things we got from Nordstrom?" I asked curiously.

"Yes..." she paused nervously. "The Joquil Casablanca." She said, shyly. I gasped.

"Oh my God, that's perfect!" I squeal. "Who would have thought we would have been buying that for your wedding night." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "What's wrong, Gail?" She sigh heavily and tears begin to fall.

"I love Jason. I truly do." I get on my knees next to her lounge chair.

"I know." I say taking her hand.

"Then why am I thinking of Douglas now...and of _our_ wedding day?" She says weeping.

"Him tink of you, Chile." Keri says, taking Gail's other hand. "Me no know who dis Douglas is, but him tink of you, now. Him gone to da uder side?" Gail looks at her sorrowfully and then drops her head and nods. "You love him...vedy much!" Gail nods again, the tears falling harder. "Dis a wonderful ting, Guhl! Many no find good love once...you find twice. Beautiful ting!" The young island girl speaks with the wisdom of Solomon.

"You stop dat cryin' now! Douglas love you. Him want you to be happy. Your Jason treat you good or Douglas make 'im pay!" She nods as she speaks with all seriousness. I think Jason better be good to Gail. I don't take that spirit thing lightly, especially right now with Harris haunting my nights. Gail nods again and pulls herself together.

"It's a good thing the make-up is simple because I now have to fix you up." I say and wink at her, eliciting a small laugh from her. I turn to Keri and mouth "thank you" to which she nods kindly.

Promptly at 3pm, Chuck returns to retrieve the ladies. Gail is wearing the maxi dress that I suggested and she looks stunning. It's double layered white chiffon with crystal beading that crisscrosses over the ruched breast then comes up around the neck in a halter. She is wearing diamond swirl earrings set in yellow gold that look a lot like her engagement ring and a diamond and yellow gold tennis bracelet. Her hair is in a front swoop gathered in the back in an intricate curly bun decorated with white flowers with a splash of red.

This turned out to be an extremely untraditional wedding as the men will be very casually dressed in that typical white shirt and khaki pants with comfy shoes that you see in many beach weddings, as evidenced by Chuck's attire when he comes to pick us up. What's more, Gail insisted that if she had to wear a white dress, we would be forced to wear one as well. I tried to tell her how ridiculous that was as she is the damn bride. Her response was, "It's no more ridiculous than my walking down the aisle at 38 years old in a white dress. Now chop chop, let's see what you got."

Beautiful as it was, Gail replaced Keri's lavender sundress with a simple white spaghetti string maxi Gail had picked up from the boutique yesterday. Keri was already wearing a pair of diamond and pearl drop earrings and a beautiful silver necklace with a small circle of stones and a pearl attached to the end. The hair stylist performed a fast miracle when they arranged at least two feet of impeccable dreadlocks into the most beautifully sculpted coif of natural hair that I have ever seen. They did some of that magic "Val" work because I only see two hair decorations in the back of this magnificent creation.

For me, Gail picked my white spaghetti string maxi dress that was almost identical to the one that she lent to Keri. Mine was decorated with butterflies on the breast and hip on one side and from the knee to the hem on the other side. I wore my imitation Maria Mancini diamond and teardrop pearl earrings and my South Sea pearl necklace with it. My hair was pulled into a side-back bun much like Gail's with a side loose bang in the front. They didn't have butterfly pins for me, but they had a cute dragonfly and two hairpins that looked like butterflies so that was close enough. We all wore satin ballet slippers acquired at the last minute for a little reveal when we got to the church...which means that I would spend a day being 8" to a whole foot shorter than everyone else. It's a sacrifice that I am willing to make today.

Chuck was pretty speechless seeing Keri in her white dress with her hair pinned up in this magnificent style. I knew that we weren't seeing anything long-term here—or at least I don't think so—but it was nice to see him so taken with her at that moment. We quickly loaded into the car and were off to Ebenezar Methodist Church. It was a beautiful little brick building with blue shutters and a steeple. There were several locals gathered outside and around the church. When we looked to Chuck for an explanation, he said, "Apparently, in these parts, if your wedding party and guests are less than 10 people, it's not a good sign." We looked at Keri and she nodded.

"My people come to bless de union. Come! Come! We go get your Jason!" She said with urgency. We quickly remove our ballet slippers to reveal our other last minute acquisition. We are all wearing barefoot sandals in a style unique to ourselves. Holding a small bunch of bougainvillea flowers, Keri was escorted into the church first on Chuck's arm. Her sandals are pearls and narrow beads with a double-string of pearls down the foot and tiny clear beads that wrap around the second toe. Mine were pearls and tiny clear beads around the ankle with a double-strand of tiny clear beads down the foot to my second toe—the strings held together by two white butterflies. Gail's were iridescent beads—tiny and small—around her ankle, down her foot, and around her second toe with a cluster of rhinestones at the top where the strands meet around the ankle in front of the foot.

I step in the door of the church with my flowers after Keri to see a few of the local folks sitting in the pews and smiling. I notice that Jason is at the front standing with Chuck but I can't see Christian. I find him standing inconspicuously off to the side as I enter the church. He starts to make his way to the back but gestures to me to walk on down the aisle alone before putting his fingers to his lips to "shush" me and then blow me a kiss. What the hell is he doing? I just follow directions and walk down the aisle alone.

When I get to the front, I see Gail walking into the church holding a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers. In a moment, Christian is by her side proffering his arm to her with a huge, 32-teeth blinding smile. "May I?" I hear him say, and it was everything that I could do to keep from bursting into tears at that moment. Gail wasn't so lucky. Her body is nearly shaking with sobs as she takes Christian's arm and allows him to walk her down the aisle. Behind the gentlemen, I hear a piano playing and a young man singing in a beautiful falsetto voice about letting go of past promises and two lovers facing the rest of their lives together...

_So tonight I lay me down to sleep...  
And pray my soul to keep...  
In that your love will rescue me, for the rest of my life...  
I live to say good bye...  
To all the promises left behind...  
Here we are you and I...  
A second chance... _

How appropriate.

I later found out that Jason chose that song especially for Gail as a surprise for her to be sung at their wedding.

When they reach the front of the church, Christian's again kisses Gail on the cheek and gives her hand to Jason before taking his place next to Chuck. I am looking at my man standing there smiling sincerely at his friends and all I can think is how much I love him. I'm remembering his words to me last night as he was falling asleep...

_Butterfly...will you marry me? _

I'm wondering if he remembers saying them. More so, I wonder if he remembers my response. I am pulled from my thoughts by a part of the ceremony that slipped everyone's mind...

"Who gives this woman to this man?"

Gail's head drops immediately as she doesn't know what to do at this moment...explain that there's no father of the bride? Badly hide the fact that she is now thinking of Doug? I look at Christian in a panic and he speaks to me with his eyes. I immediately read his thoughts and we nod at each other before looking at the minister and simultaneous saying,

"We do, Sir."

Gail is crying again as her free hand reaches for me and I grasp it tightly hoping to give her some strength. I see Jason extend his hand to Christian who shakes it firmly then covers Gail's hand with his. Once Gail was able to stop crying, the ceremony continued, and with the exchange of beautiful gold and diamond wedding bands, the world is introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Jason Taylor.

* * *

_**GREY**_

She's absolutely breathtaking.

I'm sitting at a table sipping fine rum from a sifter and watching her float around the beach dancing to a reggae/calypso mix with Keri, Chuck, and Gail...and whatever locals wander by and want to dance. It has been everything I could do not to run up and punch the last 12 guys in the jaw that have danced with her. Instead, I sit here sipping my drink and watching her enchant people like she always has.

Fifty eight days. Fifty-eight days ago, she wandered into my life. I looked at her and I _knew _that she would be mine. I thought she would be a sub, of course, but I knew that she would be mine. None of that heavy handed stuff worked with her...not even the heavy handed charm. She saw right through me. She turned those blue eyes on me and I was empty...and shallow...and hollow. There was nothing there—nothing there at all. She turned my whole world on its axis before I even touched her once. She's strong and classy, sweet and loving, when everything that has ever happened to her says that she shouldn't be. Everything that has happened to her says that she should be as fucked up as the Pedophile. Yet she has gone through all of this and has emerged as a shining example of what a human being - a real woman - should be, while Lincoln has always has the world handed to her in one way or another and turned out to be the scum of the fucking earth...

Kind of like me...but not...

I have the crack whore and her pimp..._and _the Pedophile to thank for my screwed-up sensibilities, that is until this tiny miracle breezed through my life. Five foot three with shining dark brown hair half as long as she is tall, now completely enchanted with butterflies since I gave her the nickname, dancing barefoot on the beach while the Caribbean breeze caresses her skin. We are at a restaurant named Mango's—excellent food and it sits right on the beach. This is where Mr. and Mrs. Taylor decided to have their reception, as it were...just food and music and whomever wanted to dance. Butterfly has had a couple of drinks again and now she is floating around, dancing, laughing, and having a wonderful time...while I sit back here in the restaurant afraid that my fifty shades of fucked up will ruin her once and for all.

"She's not going to disappear." I hear Jason say from behind me.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"She's not going to disappear. You're watching her like if you blink she'll disappear." He says, taking a seat and handing me one of the two beers he had in his hand. I take a long drag. Quite frankly, I was sick of that rum.

"Do I destroy everything I touch?" I ask him honestly. He looks at me and frowns.

"I think that's a bit drastic, don't you, Boss?"

"Could be, but those assholes never would have gotten their hands on her if it weren't for me." I drink more of the beer.

"You couldn't have prevented that. David was unstable before we even met him. Did you forget what we found out about Cedar Rapids?" Jason reminds me.

"That may be true, but if it weren't for me, he never would have hooked up with Harris."

"Okay, that's an altogether different kind of sick, Boss. I found out later that the reason he lost David was because he was getting blowjobs from prostitutes...three and four times a day!" Jason shook his head. "Man, my dick would fall off!"

"Mine wouldn't." I say, triumphantly.

"And _that_ is too much information." He says, taking another drink of his beer. "That woman, she will walk through fire for you. You could take her right to the gates of hell and as long as you hold her hand, she would cross that threshold with you. She loves you, Christian...no matter what. It doesn't matter what you do, or what you say, she loves you through and through. You're a brilliant man, but you don't make the most sound decisions all the time. As long as she's with you, I don't worry about you at all. Whatever you're thinking, know that you are going to crumble and die without her. I've watched you and I know that I'm right. You need to go dance with your woman instead of sitting back here trying to plan your escape." He knows me too damn well. Only, it wasn't _my _escape that I was planning. She has been through so much..._so _much...that I just can't help but wonder in light of the last few days, if she would just be better off without me.

"I'm going to go dance with my wife." He says, standing from the table. "And Boss...you've done some pretty good things in the time I've known you. Don't be so hard on yourself." He turned and joins the group dancing in the sand. I don't know about doing good or whatever else he's talking about, but I know he's right about one thing...I would die without her. Ever since I met her, I know what it feels like to have a soul. I know the feeling of being hopelessly joined to another person to the degree that you cannot breathe without them. I know that no matter what happens, I have to have her with me...near me...or I won't survive—that in all of my fucked-upedness, I have to make it work for us...because I love her more than I love myself.

I leave the table and walk over to my beloved Butterfly. Her back is to me and her hands are in the air. She's moving her round little hips the exact same way that she was that first night I watched her at the McElvoy. She mesmerized me then and she's mesmerizing me now. I outline her body the same way that I did that night, without touching her...only this time, she's mine! I can touch her. I start with her hands, gently touching them—holding them for a moment—and then slowly slide my hands down her arms from her wrists to her forearms to her biceps...

She feels divine.

She responds to my touch and slows her movements only momentarily, then she begins to sway in my hands. I point my fingers down and slide my hands along the sides of her body. She is so tiny without her stilettos or her wedges, but her bare feet look so sexy in that beach jewelry that she's wearing. Her gyrations continue against my hands and I slide them around her waist, pulling her to my body and matching her movements. She moans softly as I bring my lips to her shoulder, gently kissing the skin before resting my head there. Her eyes are closed as she leans back into me.

"My soul adores you, Anastasia." I breathe, helpless snared by her charms.

"And mine longs for you, Mr. Grey," she says as one hand tangles into my hair and the other covers my hands around her waist. I feel a warmth wash over me as she pulls me into her, our bodies still swaying to the music. I turn my head into her neck and inhale her scent. It's delightful. She turns her head to face me and our lips catch each other in a deep, passionate kiss. All of my synapses begin firing at once and all I can think is that I want to be _everything _for this woman. She makes my spirit sing—that dark place that I never knew was hollow and empty and lost, she has filled it with love, longing and hope.

"I love you, Christian," she whispers against my lips.

"Oh, Butterfly, I love you so much..."

* * *

Butterfly had another one of her nighttime walks last night. Apparently, the dreams of Harris are plaguing her much like my dreams of my childhood did. I wish I could comfort her and tell her that they will go away. The truth of the matter is the only thing that helps my nightmares is Butterfly. I still have them occasionally, but when I wake and she is next to me, I settle right back down and sleep. When she wakes, however, her rest is broken and she has to wander. What is she going to do when we get back to Seattle?

I didn't panic this time when I saw that she wasn't there. I just went out to the beach and watched her for a while...let her clear her thoughts of whatever was haunting her that evening—or morning I should say. When I went back inside to get water, she came in right behind me. After assuring me that she was okay, we returned to our suite to get some more rest. She still seemed a bit restless but settled down into sleep after a short while.

We still didn't make love last night and my body is yearning for her. This will now be day four without having her and my resistance is weakening, but after that session that I would much rather soon forget no matter how much _immediate_ good it did for me, I want to make sure that things happen on her time the next time. I would make love to her every night if she would let me, but it still has to be on her terms.

I finished looking over some contracts and sending notes back to Ros on changes that I want when my blackberry rang. It's Carrick.

"Hi Dad." I answer.

"_Hi, Son. How is Anguilla?" _

"Beautiful as always. There was a wedding yesterday." There was silence on the line.

"_Ana...?" _Oh, I guess that is how it sounded, huh?

"Oh, sorry. No, Dad. Gail and Jason exchanged vows. It was very nice."

"_Jason?"_

"Taylor."

"_Oh, how wonderful. I'm glad you are enjoying yourself, Son. Maybe now we can get you on a trip with the family where you might actually do something besides work." _He laughs.

"It's very likely, Dad. So what can I do for you? Is everything okay?"

"_Yes, Son, everything's fine except...well, Shane Hemstead was taken into the ER last night while your mother was on duty."_ I froze.

"Was it...?" I've blocked her from my phones and I'm pulling my backing from another one of the banks. I've cut all lines of communication with her and now the kid ends up in the hospital.

"_We don't know, but somebody has done a real number on this kid and he's not talking." _That sounds like her. _"Contusions, broken ribs, his nose may be broken..."_

"His nose?" Red flag.

"_Yes. He looks like he was put in the ring with someone. They worked him over pretty well."_

"Dad, is there any other bruising on him?" I ask. Something's not right.

"_He's got some old bruises on his wrists and ankles, possible signs of abuse on his legs and back." _

"You need to get him to talk. I'm telling you that the bruising on his legs and his back are most likely from Elena Lincoln as well as the ones on his wrist and ankles, but broken ribs and face injuries, that's not her signature."

"_Do you think he was in a fight?"_

"He was in _some_ kind of fight, but I don't know with whom. Have you had a chance to talk to his parents or his grandfather?"

"_Bob said his grades were improving...that's why he was in summer school. He did very well. He complained about it at first but then he went every day. Then according to Sarah, he had gotten a job somewhere and was buying all kinds of new clothes and things...iPads, phones. I had a feeling these were the things he got from Lincoln." _

"Most likely. What did they say about his behavior?"

"_He was fine up until about a week ago. He became very moody, stopped going to his job...what happened Christian?" _

"Just about a week ago, I rejected Elena Lincoln..._again_. She's been trying to talk to me...regain control...ever since the whole meltdown at Bellevue. Each time something happens with _me_, something happens to Shane. Now I don't know what happened this time because it doesn't have any of Lincoln's benchmarks."

"_He looks like he was beaten out of pure rage. I don't know how he was still standing—_if _he was still standing."_

"That _definitely_ was not Lincoln. Our intel says that she dismissed him a couple of weeks ago, we think it was in hopes of getting me back. She would have certainly brainwashed him not to tell his parents. She has no fear of exposure so there's no reason she would have to do this to him. She called my phone on Monday and Butterfly answered..." Butterfly answered my phone. _Nobody _answers my phone. She _knows _that. "I'm sure this has something to do with her, but I'm also sure that she didn't do it. Why don't you..." As I'm talking to Carrick, a call is coming in. It's Welch. Most likely to tell me about young Hemstead. "I have to take this, Dad. Talk to the Hemsteads again if you can. See if anything changed in the last few days."

"_Okay, Christian, let me know what you find out."_ I click over to Welch just before it goes to voicemail.

"What's up, Welch?"

"_Sir, Shane Hemstead was admitted to the hospital late last night. _

"Yes, my father just told me."

"_From what we can tell, he was attacked on his way home last night. He is...well, he saw Mrs. Lincoln again..."_

"Why didn't somebody tell me!?" I snap. He was back in the belly of the beast and nobody said anything?

"_Because nothing happened, Sir. They met up at McDonald's and he left. From the looks of things, they were planning to pick up where they left off and he was quite chipper when he left the restaurant. Then our next word was that he was hospitalized. We have double surveillance on Lincoln but minimal on Hemstead since he was homebound for a while." _

"So nobody saw what happened to this kid?" I ask.

"_No sir."_

"But we know that he wasn't with Lincoln."

"_Yes sir, we know that." _I'm quickly running through scenarios in my head.

"Where is Stampwell?" I ask about Lincoln's little lovesick stalker.

"_He's still around. Not much coming from him, but he is still stalking around."_

"Where was he last night?"

"_We didn't see him, Sir. We had close eyes on Lincoln and he was nowhere to be found." _

"I'm betting that he had something to do with this. See what you can find out. If he saw what you saw, he's pissed. And Welch, you need to move quickly on this. If Shane doesn't talk, they are going to remove him from the home on an investigation of abuse."

"_Yes sir."_ I end the call with Welch and turn around to find Butterfly standing just to my right.

"Hi. How long have you been standing there?" I ask.

"Long enough to know that the Pedo-Bitch She-Thing has her claws in another child." She says, angrily. I run my hands through my hair and nod.

"We've been trying to catch her. I know from experience that the kid isn't going to turn on her. So if we don't get good solid information to use in court, we can't do anything. And now, the kid has ended up in the hospital."

"So I gathered." She sounds really angry. "So did she do that to him?" I shook my head..

"It's not her style, but it had something to do with her. I think he may have been jumped by one of her prior admirers." I put my head in my hands. If I had said something before now...when she could have been arrested for what she did to _me_, I could have prevented God knows how many kids from suffering my fate.

"Oh, Christian." Butterfly comes over and climbs into my lap. "There has to be another way. I mean, she can't just keep molesting little boys like this. How old is this kid?"

"Fourteen." I say leaning my head against the chair.

"Oh my God." She exclaims, covering her mouth.

"I know. She has to be stopped..."

"Well, what does the little boy's parents say?" She asks. Oh, hell.

"They don't know yet." Her head jerks back.

"They don't know yet? How could they not know?" She is horrified.

"My parents didn't know about me, either, Baby." I say, clasping my hands around her waist.

"Yeah, but _nobody_ knew about you, Christian. Your whole security staff knows about this boy...and it's still going on?" How do I explain this to her so that it doesn't sound bad? I can't.

"We have to get some evidence on her that will stick so that we can put her away. If we don't—if we just open up and say, 'Hey, she's molesting this kid'—she'll just stop...until the next kid...and the next kid...and the next kid. She's a habitual pedophile, a serial child molester. We know that she has been molesting boys for at least 17 years. We don't know how much longer. So with no one ready to stand up and speak out against her—I hate to say this and I know how bad it's going to sound before it comes out of my mouth—one kid is going to have to be the sacrificial lamb so that we can save so many more."

She is glaring at me like she could truly hit me right now. "You're right! That sounds awful!" She spit. Then she sighed heavily. "...But I live in the real world, and I know how these things work. It's so unfair." She holds her head down.

"I know, Baby. Believe me, I know." She looks up at me with those beautiful, guileless blue eyes again. She puts her arms around my neck and plants a sweet kiss on my lips.

"Are you okay with this?" She asks softly.

"Honestly...no. I wish I had spoken up instead. I wish that all the boys that fell into her hands after me hadn't fallen. If it weren't for Elliot telling me what she did to him - and later, you talking to me - I would still be under her influence, and I don't know where my life would end up. The kid that I think is responsible for this...he's 19. He just 'aged out' of her clutches...and he didn't want to go. So we think he's the one that attacked Shane...or at least _I_ do. I know what it's like to be under her command long after you are no longer one of her _pets_. This kid can't cope with it. She wants a boy and he's a man." She sighs again.

"Well, at the risk of sounding selfish, I have been on this island for five days, and I am not getting the decompression that I was promised. Now we only have a few more days left and I want to have lots and lots of fun. So it's time to forget about spreadsheets and companies and crazy pedophiles and have a little fun for Christ's sake...or maybe even a lot a fun!" She says, defiantly.

"Oh, Ms. Steele, you _definitely_ have the right idea. Shall we rouse the lovebirds?" I say playfully. She laughs at me.

"The _lovebirds_ walked past you twenty minutes ago." She snickers. Yeah, it's definitely time to get the hell out of here.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Cyclops: Another creature from mythology (there she goes again). Evil giant with one eye in the middle of his forehead.**_

_**Solomon: Known to be the wisest man in the Bible and the richest of all the kings in the world (The Holy Bible: KJV - Books of I & II Samuel, I & II Kings, I & II Chronicles, Song of Solomon)**_

_**The wedding song is El DeBarge - Second Chance**_

_**Don't forget to check the Pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla / for pictures of the dresses, the rings, the restaurant, the hairstyles, the jewelry, and a video of Gail and Jason's wedding song. **_

**_Please review!_**

**_Love and Handcuffs!  
Lynn x_**


	58. Chapter 58: Fun Times Finally!

_**Haven't don't this in a while so...**_

_**Ana Desilva - cyclops - yeah, i know, right? lol.**_

_**Carol - my faithful Carol...thank you!**_

_**CG Girl - CG walking Gail down the aisle...it just seemed so right, didn't it?**_

_**Hannah - I wanted Sophie to be there, too, but hey - it was spur of the moment, so they just did it.**_

_**Hun - my sentiments exactly! Thank you!**_

_**Jaimini - My girl! Yes, Sophie does exist. We won't hear too much about her until later though. Ana has done something with the candy - it just hasn't been mentioned yet, but it will in a "Hey, what happened to all the candy" question. :-)**_

_**Jen/claudastar - I won't stop writing, Hon - just have to get prepared for Book II and for publishing**_

_**Mere - thank you so much-I'm rewriting to change the characters so that I can publish, the rest is just tweaking.**_

_**Michelle b - it would be 5:00 in Alabama if I'm on time - I'm on the west coast. ;-)**_

_**Teresaromance - thank you, Darling!**_

_**Tj - I will do my best not to make you suffer too long! Those barefoot sandals are the best, aren't they?**_

_**To my guest who thought it strange that Christian knew who the Backstreet Boys were - Remember, he's eclectic. He would have been a teenager when that song came out and even though I liked it, THEY PLAYED IT TO DEATH (egad, didn't they?) on the radio, so he wouldn't have missed it, lol. And thank you for your lovely review. :-)**_

_**To all of the above and my other guests that I wasn't able to PM or name, thank you as always for your support.**_

_**All disclaimers from previous chapters apply here. **_

_Chapter 58—Fun times...Finally!_

_**GREY**_

She has but to ask and we are out of the villa like...well, like we're on vacation. My baby wants fun so it's fun we shall have! Today, we shall spend the day on the water. I rented a 35' catamaran called Chocolat for the entire day until well past sunset. Davenport was set to go stag this day so as not to rock the boat (pun intended), but Gail and Jason are newlyweds and I have no intention of keeping my hands off Butterfly. So after a short stop to retrieve Keri, we were off to the Chocolat.

Our captian, Rollins Raun, showed us around the boat including the lounging trampolines that hung over the water and afforded the opportunity to relax and tan while feeling the cool breeze from the sea water underneath. I'm certain that all of the ladies were beautiful today—the caramel-colored native Keri as well and the glowing newlywed Gail...but I could only see my Butterfly. I so wanted her to be happy and enjoy the rest of this trip. It was my intention to have her relax and unwind, get prepared to face the world once her physical bruises healed. So far, I have failed miserably.

She looks breathtaking standing there at the bow of the boat as we set sail and get into open waters. Raun begins to give us a little history about the cays we will visit, but Butterfly is in her own world staring out at the water, wearing a passion purple long sleeved short beach dress and her Bvlgari sunglasses. She honestly looks like a fashion model. I stand back and watch her for a while, gazing out over the water as the catamaran glides through the Caribbean Sea. I take out my phone and snap a picture of her. I don't know why we haven't taken more pictures on this vacation except for those from the wedding, but we have a few more days to rectify that.

I step behind her and slide my arms around her waist. I was pleased that she was not startled but instead sank into my embrace, wrapping her arms around mine and laying her head back on my chin. She is amazingly peaceful near the water. I'm going to have to find us a house near the coast...she needs the water. It calms her. In the meantime...

"I'm thinking about having an aquarium added to the apartment somewhere." I say to her.

"Ugh! I hate aquariums!" She exclaimed.

"Huh!?" This from the woman who ran away from me two weeks ago and was subsequently abducted from an aquarium?

"Let me rephrase that...I hate _home_ aquariums." She said. I frown. I've seen some very beautiful home aquariums. I just haven't had a reason to get one before now.

"May I ask why?" I inquire.

"I had one with David. It turned me off from them." She responds. Hmm...

"What turned you off?" I ask. She sighed.

"I don't know. It just brings back bad memories." She says, sort of dismissively.

"When you looked at the fish?" I ask. She turns around to look at me.

"Why are you pressing this?" She asks, slightly irritated.

"Because you have been awakened two nights in a row now, and both times, you ended up at the beach. The day we quarreled about my phone, you ended up at the beach. The day you discovered that I had gone to Green Valley, you went to the aquarium, and just now before I came to hold your luscious body in my arms..." That earned me a little smile. "...You were looking out over the water like you would jump in and float away at any moment. This sounds like a woman who finds calm and peace near the water...not a woman who hates aquariums, home or otherwise. So I just want to know what it is about _your_ home aquarium that you didn't like so that we don't repeat it when we get _our_ home aquarium." I couldn't see her eyes under the sunglasses, but I could tell her expression fell. I didn't know if this was good or bad until she put one hand on my cheeks and stood on her tippy toes to give my the softest kiss.

"You are a wonderful and remarkable man. Please don't ever forget that." She says softly. I lean into her hand.

"As long as I have this extraordinary and astounding woman, I won't." I reply. She pulls me down to her and kisses me with enough passion to make me forget that there are other people on this boat, but not that we haven't made love in a few days. I gather her in my arms and lift her up, devouring her kisses hungrily. I release her lips and we are both panting.

"I love you, Butterfly. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Nothing I wouldn't give you." My eyes are closed as I rub my nose along hers.

"I know, My Love. I know." She says as she kisses me gently on the lips, her words and her gestures sending my heart soaring.

We stand there for a while discussing our aquarium. It turns out that the _idea_ of the aquarium is not bad as such, but the fact that her only experience was with David, and she doesn't want that memory.

"So let's make new memories," I suggest. "We design our aquarium, something that you will love—custom made, built into the wall, low maintenance. We hand pick out water settings and our fish, and I'll make sure the tank is properly cared for." She looks at me a bit uncertain. "I think the only reason that you don't like the idea is because your benchmark sucks. This is something that you love and you should have, and you shouldn't let that asshole ruin it for you." I add. "If you hate it, I'll rip it out the same day." She smiles at me.

"I believe you would." She says, caressing my face.

A short while later, we end up at our first destination, the Prickly Pear Cays. Six miles out in the Leeward Island, the north side of the cays are excellent for snorkeling, scuba diving, and beach combing. Raun drops anchor just off shore and Butterfly decides that she wants to do some snorkeling. Jason and Davenport opted for scuba diving while Gail and Keri decided to just relax on the beach. Snorkeling turned out to be a wonderful experience for us. I didn't think we would see as much as we would going scuba diving, but I was wrong. The reefs near the cays are close to the surface so that you get to see nearly as much marine life as if your were scuba-diving. Raun gave us a waterproof camera as he was certain we would want to know the names of the fish that we saw on our trip. I let Butterfly do those honors.

It was wonderful watching her amazement at the various types of fish that were so close to the surface, including a stingray with was nestled in the white sand of the reef. I was sure that you would only find those in deeper water, but sure enough, Butterfly captured a picture of one relaxing in the sand just off the shore.

We had lunch on the small cay at the Prickly Pear Bar and Restaurant. We feasted on lobster, chicken, and baby back ribs all cooked on an open grill along with seasoned rice and peas, coleslaw, mixed salad and sauteed potatoes. The ladies again indulged in rum punch with their lunches while the gentlemen had beers, except for Davenport who opted for a soft drink. The drinks were flowing and conversation was smooth and easy. It was a lazy morning—and early afternoon—so far.

We were all back on the catamaran by 1:00 and off to our next location. I was having a conversation with Jason and Davenport when I realized that Butterfly had disappeared. It's a large boat, but you can't just disappear.

"Excuse me, Captain." The dark chocolate man smiled a huge smile at me...you can't help but smile back. "Have you seen my girlfriend, the little brunette in the purple dress?"

"Check below, she probably go to de restroom." He says casually. I nod my thanks to him and descend to the inside of the catamaran to search for Butterfly. The boat has four separate cabins, so I thought this may take a while. However, in the second cabin curled up on a queen-sized bed, I find my Butterfly sleeping peacefully. I don't want to bother her as she hasn't been sleeping well these last two nights and an afternoon nap is probably just was she needs right now. As long as we don't miss the sunset, I'll be just fine.

I sit on the end of the bed and watch her sleep. She looks edible in this black lace bathing suit that she is wearing—one piece over her skin blacked out at the bra and panties. She almost purrs in her sleep. I hope she is dreaming of flowers and butterflies and not that asshole Harris. I look at her and I can see my future, and I mean _everything_...the house, the children, the dog—the whole nine yards. I could never see that before her, now it's all I think about—making her Mrs. Grey and filling her with my babies. God that sounds archaic!

I believe Butterfly would make a fantastic mother...she certainly knows what _not_ to do, case and point—Carla Morton. Ana is the most insightful, considerate, empathetic person that I've ever met. She is what makes me want to be better. She makes me want to fix all of my screwed-up shit and be the best man that I can possibly be. How can that happen in one month? How can one person have such a profound effect on you that they make you want to change everything that you ever wanted in your life...in one month?

She stirs a bit and I can tell that she's dreaming. Please don't be about Harris. Please don't be about Harris.

"Oh..." she murmurs in her sleep. _Oh? _"They are so beautiful." Okay, that sounds promising. "Thank you...I love them..." She mumbles and falls back into her sleep. I won't bother her. For once, I know that she is dreaming of something pleasant and I won't disturb her from that. A smile forms on her face and it stays there for a long time. I don't know how long I watch her beautiful slumber, but my Butterfly-gazing is disturbed by Jason's signature throat clearing. I turn to look at him.

"We're at Sandy Island, Boss." He looks at Butterfly. "Is she okay?" I leave the cabin and close the door behind me.

"She hasn't been sleeping well. She's having nightmares about the kidnapping." I'm sure if I say that her nightmares are directly about Harris that Jason would berate himself endlessly, so I leave out that little bit of information.

"Is there anything I can do?" He asks concerned.

"I don't think so." I respond, running my hand through my hair. "You all just go on ahead. I'll stay here with Butterfly and if she wakes up, we'll join you. Take some pictures for Butterfly just in case." He nods and goes back up to join the others. I go back into the room with Butterfly. She's the strongest woman I've ever met—or at least a close second to Grace Trevelyan Grey—but right now, she looks so small and helpless. I climb into bed facing her and gently put my arm around her. She sighs and reaches out for me, falling contentedly back to sleep once her hand makes contact with my chest.

"Christian..." she whispers. I kiss her forehead.

"I'll protect you, Butterfly. For the rest of my life, I'll protect you." I promise.

"Thank you..." she says, and she's gone again. Somebody up there must really think I deserve a break, because I really feel like my life is changing for the better. I have a beautiful woman who loves me and I was able to salvage a friendship with two people that I didn't know I needed until a few days ago. That relationship is going to take some real work, but hopefully, I still come out of the experience a better man no matter what. I snuggle next to my beautiful Butterfly and watch her sleeping.

* * *

I feel feather-soft kisses on my eyelids and I move to open them.

"Mmmmm," I moan before opening my eyes. She gazes at me with pure love in her eyes as she strokes my hair. "Hey," I say groggily.

"Hey, yourself," she responds, still stroking my hair. "We missed Sandy Island."

"We did?" I didn't know I had fallen asleep. I sleep more since I have been with Butterfly but it appears that she sleeps less. "I didn't want to wake you. It seems like you needed your rest."

"I did. Thank you," she says, still stroking my hair, her eyes dreamy.

"What are you thinking?" I ask.

"You take good care of me, Christian." She responds.

"I try."

"You _do._" She says softly kissing my lips.

"What were you dreaming about earlier?" Fear comes over her face as she knows she must have been talking in her sleep. "You didn't have any nightmares, did you?" I ask, immediately regretting that I opened the subject.

"Not that I remember." She answers tentatively. I sigh.

"Good, because I didn't think you did."

"Then why did you ask me what I was dreaming about?"

"Only because I was curious, Baby. There was nothing wrong." I assure her. She breathes a sigh of relief and answers, "Fish."

"Fish?" I say confused.

"Yes, fish. I was dreaming about the beautiful fish that we saw in the reef at Prickly Pear. I was thinking how I had never been snorkeling in my entire life and had only seen beautiful, tropical fish like these at the aquarium." She pushed herself closer to me. "I was thinking that this would not have been possible if it weren't for you, and that I wanted to thank you while we were snorkeling and looking at these beautiful creatures but I couldn't do it at that moment without risking drowning." She says with a small laugh before kissing me again.

"How do you manage to constantly say and do things that make me feel like my heart will burst?" I say looking into her eyes.

"What a lovely thing to say," she says softly, "creepy, but lovely." Oh, I want to make love to her right here and now, but that would be inappropriate...even for me. There are six other people up top, not to mention that I said I would let Butterfly initiate the next time we made love.

"Do we know what time it is?" I ask.

"About four." She responds. "We'll be at Little Bay any moment now."

"Are you up for more snorkeling?"

"I certainly am." She says with a smile.

Little Bay is one of the smallest beaches in Anguilla, but it is a very popular spot, nestled in a cove surrounded by a magnificent collection of cliffs. You can reach this cove by boat like we did, or by driving to a cliff right on Anguilla and propelling down a rope to the beach. Needless to say, we opted for the boat as did many of the guests currently enjoying Little Bay's beach. Again, I watched joyously as Butterfly snapped picture after picture of the exotic fish at Little Bay, including not one but two very large see turtles...again, something I thought that we would see further out in the water.

Dusk is threatening as we climb back on board the Chocolat for dinner and drinks. It has been a fabulous day and I am very happy that I was able to spend every moment with my Butterfly. Raun's second mate downloads our pictures for us and puts them on a flash drive along with a file that names all of the Anguillian-indigenous fish that we captured with the camera. We learned that my favorite fish was the Blue Tang, which is actually yellow when it's a baby. Ana calls this fish the "Dory Fish." I have no idea what she's talking about. When she tried to explain it to me, all I could decipher what that it has something to so with some movie about a clown fish named "Nemo." Not surprisingly, Ana's favorite fish was a beautiful black and white fish that we later learned was called the Banded Butterfly. Go figure.

I was elated to be able to watch the sunset from the trampoline of the Chocolat with my arms wrapped around my Baby. That's all I wanted to do all day. That's why I rented the catamaran for the whole day, to make sure that we would be here for this moment. The clouds have parted and look like they are dipping right down into the water, while opening to make room for the last of the sunrays. After a few more minutes, the clouds dissipate into streaks and the sky makes way for a perfect sunset. As the sun makes it's descent and begins to disappear behind the horizon, the sky has cleared and is casting a gorgeous shade of orange over everything. Butterfly looks on in amazement as the sky is painted a remarkable color while the daylight takes a bow and makes it's exit.

* * *

It has to be about 3am and I have noticed that Butterfly is missing again. I would have hoped that today's relaxation would have soothed some of the fears that faced her subconscious, but apparently that's not the case. I am about to rise out of the bed and go in search of her when she emerges from the en suite, completely naked...

Down, Greystone.

She steps into a flowy knee-length black halter dress and throws a soft gray wrap over her shoulder. I close my eyes just as she throws a glance back over to me. She has had another dream about that asshole, no doubt, and she needs the soothing of the water to calm her down. I peek just in time to see her leave the room. I wait to hear the ring of the elevator before I get out of bed. We've never talked during her nighttime walks—we just come back to bed. I'd like to know what's going on, what's inside her head when she gazes longingly out at the turquoise water. I will give her a few minutes to herself, but I really want to talk to her about this, I think to myself as I get dressed.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

It was a fabulous day. I got a chance to do some snorkeling which is something that I have never done, but always wanted to do since I have had such a fascination with the water. I was quite surprised when Christian suggested getting an in-house aquarium. Ultimately, Escala is his apartment and if he wants to get one, he should. I'm just not sure how I feel about him getting one _for me._

Edward and I had thought very carefully about about getting a fish tank. The damn thing was 50 gallons. We chose our tropical fish and our settings, even deciding where it would look best in the apartment. It was supposed to bring us hours of relaxation together. Instead, it brought me hours of depression alone. I watched the fish to calm myself, sometimes wondering what it would be like to have a memory that only lasted a few seconds—like a goldfish...or like that movie where the girl has to relive the same day over and over again because she lost her memory in a car accident.

Imagine never having to remember or relive any of the bad things that have happened to you—the hurts, the harm, the betrayals. The flip side to that is you would never remember the good times either. Is it worth the trade-off?

When Edward left, I couldn't _wait_ to get that damn thing out of my apartment! To me, it was a symbol of our relationship—a constant reminder of what I wanted from him but could never have. It scares me to embark upon that endeavor with someone else. It seems like a small thing—it's just an aquarium, it's not a kidney...but to me, it's pretty big. It's something that we shared and I thought it was special...and then he was gone, and I was stuck with that damn aquarium! Unless you're willing to just kill off the fish and flush them down the toilet, you have to find homes for them just like you would any other pet. That whole ordeal was traumatizing and I swore that no matter how much I loved fish and the water that I would not get another aquarium...and now Christian wants to get me another aquarium.

I love him for loving me so much that he wants to make me happy in every way. The trip started off great, then took a swift decline for a couple of days. Now it seems to be on the upswing again, with Gail and Jason's beautiful wedding and the wonderful day that we had today. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for smoother waters ahead as I lay next to Christian in our master suite drifting off to sleep.

_I'm sitting on the orange porch swing in front of the house that I shared with Ray and Carla. This is where I used to plan my life, where Allen and I used to come up with the ideas that would run the world someday. Ray bought me this dress when I was twelve. It was black and had red designs all over it with buttons strategically placed randomly in the designs. I loved the dress because Ray bought it, but I always thought that it was too "old" for a twelve year old. How odd that my subconscious reached for this dress at this time. _

_It's a strange feeling when you know that you are having a battle in your dream—that the participants are not really there, not even you, but it doesn't make the victory any less detrimental. I'm swinging back and forth, my feet are bare and a glass of lemonade is sweating in my hands. He's walking towards me across a field, like a suitor coming to call on a beautiful sunny day. He's just strolling like he doesn't have a worry in the world. Technically, he doesn't. He's dead—but I'm about to cut his lifeline to this world once and for all...literally. _

"_I see you're back. Couldn't stay away, could you?" He sneers._

"_Oh no, it's _you_ who can't stay away. You're dead, and you're pissed, and this is the closest that you can get to haunting me. You prey on my insecurities and my fears, but there's nothing of you left. That small bit of your consciousness that is still hanging on to this world, is only hanging on through me—through your hatred for me, and mine for you. But I'm here to let you go...to let you move on to that miserable hell that's waiting for you."_

_His face falls. I know I'm sounding crazy, but I know what I believe—and I believe that this demon, this remnant from my nightmares, only has the power that I give him; that every time he shows up, I allow him to do so; that he is squatting on my soul and I need to get him the hell away from me. _

"_You do sound quite crazy, you know." He says condescendingly. I snicker at him, because I completely know his game. _

"_Of course you know my thoughts, you ninny. You've attached yourself to my subconscious. You yourself _are_ my thoughts. You didn't expect me to know that?" He seems to be a bit pale now. Strange, he's dead. I thought he was as pale as he could get. _

"_You can't shake me. I'll always be in your mind. You're afraid of me because I victimized you when you were vulnerable and you'll never forget." He spits. _

"_You're absolutely right. I'll never forget how much of a chicken-shit ass coward you were. I'll never forget that when I was free I beat your ass down in the street, but you could only conquer me when my hands were chained. I never forget that you were never man enough to go head-to-head with another man—that you only fought battles against women because you thought we were weak, but we surprised you. Not only did one beat your ass, but another one actually took you down and sent your miserable soul to hell. You should have stuck with the men, you limp-dicked bastard!" He's even more pale...in a minute, he's going to be pure white. _

"_I'll never go away. I'll haunt your fucking dreams every night. You'll never get a good night's sleep as long as you live." His voice lacks the conviction it had at the beginning of this conversation. _

"_And I'll laugh at you every time you show up." I spit back. "You don't have any power over me, _Bob!_ The only power that you have over me is the power that I give you and I'm taking that shit away right now." I now realize that he's not turning white—he's turning translucent! _

"_You just remember that I destroyed your face for a whole week." He growls. _

"_Oh, I remember that well, and in the process my spirit was rebuilt. You reminded me that there will always be acts of cowardice in the world no matter how old you are, what you do, or where you go—and that people will get hurt from those acts of cowardice. But people like me...we're survivors. You can't take us down. You proved yourself that you will go down before I will! You're dead! You lost the fight, but me—_battle scars, Baby!_" I said with fervor, quoting the statement proudly made by my lover the night I left sex scars on his thigh. "No more squatting in my life for you, Buddy. You're a soul-sucking leach and I have no intentions of sharing my soul with you. Now take your miserable ass back to the pits of hell. You're too worthless to even occupy my imagination." He disappears completely with that statement, but leaves me with one final thought. _

"_You think you're rid of me, but I guarantee you, I'll be back. At your worst and weakest moment, I'll be back." _

"_I don't doubt that you will, and I'll be waiting here to send your sorry ass back where the fuck you belong." I snap. In only a few moments, I am sitting quietly back on my porch swing, the Montesano breeze blowing through my hair...just me and my "crazy."_

I open my eyes slowly, feeling quite rested though it's still dark outside. I fell asleep in Christian's arms still in my bathing suit when we got back to the villa. It was still quite early in the evening and with yesterday's afternoon nap, I am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed! I go to the en suite and remove my bathing suite. I quickly shower and wash my hair. It's been marinating in salt from the sea for hours so I condition it a little longer than usual. After I dry it, I come back into the bedroom to find Christian still sound asleep. I go to the closet and get my black chiffon spaghetti string halter dress and my pewter pashmina & silk shawl. I didn't bother with underwear...nobody's going to see me anyway. One last look at a sleeping Christian...my beautiful silent hero...then I'm off to sit by the sea for a while.

For some reason, when I wake in the night and hear the water, I am drawn to it. It helps me think. In these early morning hours, I am remembering the battle—if you can call it that—that I had with Harris. I am trying to release the anger that I have towards him. I don't excuse what he did, nor do I forgive him yet. I'm not sure if I will ever be able to forgive him...but he's dead now. He can't hurt me or anyone else at this point, and holding on to that animosity only serves to make me miserable—to keep living and reliving what he did to me, which is why he keeps visiting me in my dreams. What purpose does that serve? True, I have Maxie as my therapist, but I do need to draw on my own knowledge and help myself reason some of this stuff, too.

That massive meltdown that I had on Monday night is so much more significant than I want to admit. True, I wasn't prepared for the berating that I got from Christian, not by any means. But I'm not a child...so why did I _feel_ like one? It was wrong of me to answer his phone without his permission...I completely understand and agree with that now—but I still can't figure out what caused me to damn near regress into childhood when it was all over. I couldn't put together a single coherent thought. I had to think to keep from tumbling down the stairs. I bought 100 pounds of candy, for God's sake! What the hell was wrong with me?

I'm sitting on the beach contemplating going back to the villa and maybe getting a snack. Hell, I've got 100 pounds of candy! I wonder if I should have awakened Christian. He nearly had a stroke the other night when he awoke and I wasn't there. Where could I go? It's an island! I couldn't help it, though. The water was calling me. None of the beach lights from the villa are lit, so it's very dark except for the moon...but it's not so dark that I can't see the sand moving and rising a few feet in front of me.

What the _fuck!?_

Okay, I'm scared. The sand continues to shift and rise. There's no wind and I am too far from the waterfront for this to be settling moisture. Even if it were, it wouldn't be this animated.

What the ever-loving _fuck!?_

I'm watching the sand continue to rise...slowly...slowly...rising in places and falling in others in a small hill. I'm reminded of a scene from that mummy movie when the sand began to rise right before the man-eating scarabs popped out and I am ready to _run! _And when I say _run_ I mean take flight! But for this moment, I am slowly inching my way back from this rising sand, intrigued and terrified at the same time. It can't be the man-eating scarabs; those things aren't real...or _are_ they? I decide I don't want to stick around to find out as I have no intention on being their next meal.

Just as I am attempting to make my way to my feet, sure enough something black pops out of that little sandhill. All I see is movement and black things and I am freaking the fuck out!

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" I am crawling backwards on my ass, my hands, and my feet, trying to get away from the man-eating scarabs. I manage to scramble to my feet but I am walking backwards afraid that if I turn my back on the tiny carnivores, they might overtake me and eat me. I saw what they did to the people in the mummy movie! I'm quietly backing away from the moving mountain of black and bump right into a set of arms and a hard chest in the dark.

Oh my God...it's the mummy! I scream at the top of my lungs and the mummy covers my mouth. I'm dead, he's going to take my soul and feed my carcass to the scarabs.

"Anastasia! It's me! Stop screaming!" I recognize the voice and focus my eyes enough to see Christian.

"What are you doing here?" I squeal, hitting him on the arm.

"Ow! I could ask you the same thing! What's wrong? What are you running from?" I turn and point to the hill of man-eating scarabs rising out of the sand. Christian takes a few steps closer to it and I grab his arm.

"No. Christian, don't." I don't want the scarabs to eat him anymore than I want them to eat me. He turns to look at me, then back at hill, and begins to laugh.

What the hell is so funny? The world is about to end and you're going hysterical on me. And trust me, I'm not Rachel Weisz and he's hotter than Brendan Fraser, but still...

"They're turtles, Baby," he says trying to pull me closer, but I'm not convinced.

"Turtles? What they hell are they doing in the ground!?" I squeal.

"Come here. Come on, you may never get a chance to see this again." He holds his hand out to me and I take it. I still think they're man-eating scarabs, but I guess we'll die together. I pull my wrap tightly around me as we walk closer to the moving pile of sand. We stop a few feet back and Christian begins to tell me why there are turtles buried in the damn sand.

"They're sea turtles, Butterfly. Baby sea turtles. There was a nest down there, and it hatched." He said.

"Well, how many nests are out here?" I say, watching the tiny creatures scamper towards the water. Christian shrugs.

"I don't know. There could be several, or that could be the only one. I've never seen one hatch before...besides on television or something." I look up at him.

"How do _you _know so much about baby sea turtles?" I ask.

"Just some of that useless information that you pick up throughout life." He says. "I know a little bit about it."

"Like what?" I say, still watching the "March of the Turtle." He pulls me in front of him and wraps his arms around mine.

"Well, I know that they are endangered here on Anguilla, and they are very serious about protecting the reproduction of the turtles. That's why there are no beach lights on at night. The turtles follow whatever light bounces off of the water...usually the light of the moon...to get back to the sea. Other lights confuse them and they die of exhaustion before they get to the water."

"That's so sad." I say, thinking of a poor baby turtle lying dead on the beach after trying and failing to make it to the water.

_A minute ago, they were man-eating scarabs.  
_Not your moment, Bitch, go away!  
_Fine!_

"So, actually it's better if they hatch during the day...then they can see the sea." I say.

"No, actually it's worse. Do you see how far they are from the water's edge?" Yeah, they are pretty far. I nod. "If they hatch during the day, they get picked off by seagulls."

"Oh, good God, you're kidding me." I say. What a life...or _lack_ of a life. The light is not your friend. I watch them quickly making their way to the sea...as quickly as they can anyway. They're turtles after all, but they're moving surprisingly quickly...but still slowly since their legs are so short. "There are so many of them. What is that, like 100?"

"Could be 200." He says.

"So why are they endangered if there are so many?

"Because even when they make it to the water, not all of them live. There are underwater predators and dangers, too, you know. The males never come to land again once they get to the water, but the females come back to nest, and it takes a few decades for them to do that." He says.

"You're pretty smart." I say looking up at him. He smiles at me.

"Like I said, useless information. National Geographic or something." He walks back to where I bumped into him and gets a blanket that he had in the spot. He brings it back to where I was standing and lays it on the sand. We sit there, me snuggled between his legs, watching the turtles on their trek to the sea.

"You were just back there watching me?" I ask. I felt him nod.

"I woke up and you were gone. After the last couple of nights, I had a good idea where you were." He says, softly.

"No where else for me to go." I respond, watching two little turtles crawl over each other to get to their destination. They are almost all completely out of sight now.

"I see you struggling. I want to help you...but I don't know how." He says, kissing my shoulder.

"There's not much that you can do right now except...be there." I say wrapping my arms around myself as the last of the baby turtles disappear into the ocean. "They made it." I say, softly.

"Yep, they did." He rests his head on my shoulder. "We just saw the beginning of life. I hadn't planned on that. Pretty remarkable, huh?"

"Yes, it was." I giggle a little.

"What's funny?" He says.

"I can't even begin to think what would have happened if I had been sitting on the nest! I would have shit myself, Christian." I say laughing and he laughs with me. "That _was_ pretty remarkable, though." I add.

"I think the beginning of life from you is going to be _much_ more remarkable than this." He says, softly. My breath catches as I look over my shoulder at him.

"You do?" I say, just above a whisper.

"Astounding!" He breathes.

"Astounding?" I repeat in wonder, turning more to face him.

"Exponentially." He whispers. Way to make my ovaries burst, Grey! I reach up to his face and plant a deep kiss on his lips. I want to feed my soul to him in this kiss...make him feel what he makes my heart feel. I think it worked because he sunk one hand into my hair and put the other arm around me pulling me to my knees in front of him and returning my kiss with deep fever and passion. I whimper into his mouth as I cup his beautiful face in my hands. I pull away from him and sit back on my feet. I untie the halter of my dress and let it fall into my lap, exposing my breast and the top half of my body. Christian never takes his eyes off of mine.

"You'll get cold." He says, softly.

"You'll keep me warm." I replied. "Touch me, Christian." My voice was soft and needy, more than I expected. We hadn't been intimate for a few days and I needed his touch now...desperately. He put his hands on my torso and slowly moved them up my sides and down my back. I shivered at his touch and closed my eyes.

"Are you cold?" He asked. I shook my head.

"No. No, I'm not cold." I said, as I opened the remaining buttons on his shirt. His breath hitches when I place my lips over his scars and began to kiss him tenderly, sensuously. Almost immediately his hand went to my brand and began to lovingly stroke my scars. I felt so much emotion I almost couldn't take it.

"Butterfly." He whispered, his eyes closed as I plant open-mouthed kisses over his chest. I gently push him down on the blanket and move to his nipples, biting and licking them like he does mine.

"Ah!" He breathed when I sunk my teeth into his nipple, clenching his hands on my waist, still caressing my brand. "Baby." I feel his erection stiffen in his shorts under me. I want him inside me, I _need_ him inside me. I trail my mouth down his chest, his torso and his abs. I feel his stomach tremble as I lick his belly button. I can tell he is letting me set the pace. So I use my lips and teeth to apply sensual pressure to his penis.

"Ah! Ugh!" He moans, and his hands immediately tangle in my hair. His breathing is heavy and his bulge is getting bigger and bigger. I undo his shorts and let his erection spring free, and I immediately take it in my mouth. He gasps loudly and thrusts his hips forward.

"My God, Ana!" His head is back and his mouth is open, gasping for precious air. His body is hungry. His _sex_ is hungry. If I keep this up, he won't last long. I can tell. I release his shaft from my mouth and he is panting. I pull my dress up above my thighs and crawl up to him. Positioning myself over him, I slowly slide my sex over his shaft, relishing the feeling of him inside me.

"Ah! Ooooooooooo!" I moan, attempting to control myself as I feel I will come any moment from the fullness. Christian is still controlling his breathing while clutching to my thighs and I know that the feeling is just as exquisite for him as it is for me. I take a few deep breaths then put my hands on his chest to steady myself as I begin to move. A small groan comes from Christian's mouth and he bites his lip. I lean down and release his lip from his teeth and kiss him there, taking that lip into my mouth and sucking it gently. He groans again and wraps his arms around me, matching my strokes and creating a perfect, delicious rhythm. I thrust my hands in his hair and adjust my legs so that they are hugging his body as I ride him.

The birds are singing above us; the waves are playing a ballad, gently caressing the shore and taking our turtles out to sea; the breeze playfully brushes against our skin and causes our hair to do a delicate dance; and the sun only barely threatens to peek over the horizon...all as I make love to my man on the beach.

* * *

I lay cradled in Christian's arms as he gently strokes my hand. We have both found our release several times this morning...on the beach, on the patio, in the jacuzzi, and finally in the bed in our master suite.

"Do you need to sleep?" He asks, his voice deeply sated.

"Uh-uh." I respond, caressing his arm and equally content.

"Do you want to get up?"

"Not yet." I purr.

"You want to talk?" He asks.

"Sure."

"I've been thinking about the aquarium." Oh, boy. "I think I have a solution that you might like. I know that you had a wonderful time snorkeling today, and that made me happy. Something occurred to me though."

"What's that?" I ask.

"I don't want to bring back bad memories for you, least of all about that fucker David, but I see how you are so drawn to the water when you can't sleep. So I was thinking that instead of getting an aquarium, why not get a fountain...maybe a waterwall with a pool like the one we saw at DaVida's?" Oh my God, that's a fantastic idea! "If you want to put some exotic fish in the pool later, you can. If you don't, you don't have to. What do you think?" I lay on my back and look into his eyes.

"You really like me, don't you, Mr. Grey?" I say softly and playfully. His lips turn up in a boyish smile.

"Very much, Ms. Steele. In fact, I love you." He responds, rubbing his nose along mine. "So I take it the waterwall is a good idea?"

"It's a wonderful idea, Christian." I coo before pulling him in for a kiss.

"Now, we must get out of bed," he says. "I have something that I want to do today before lunch."

We are instructed to dress for vigorous water activities. I don an electric blue one-piece halter swimsuit with a plunging oval neckline and a simple black cover-up. Gail wears an Emma Cook black one-piece with shell designs and a white skater dress as a cover-up. The gentlemen wear t-shirts and Bermuda shorts with their swimwear underneath and we are off to an unknown location. After a very short drive across the island to Bowling Point, I see a very large square dock in the water about a mile away. Off in the distance you can see a beautiful view of St. Marteen. I soon discover that the dock is actually a pen as I am shocked to see dolphins jumping inside. I couldn't help thinking to myself how cool it was that I could see the dolphins from here. That's when Jason parked the car and I got a good look at where we were. The sign read:

"_Swim with the dolphins here on Anguilla"  
"Dolphin Discovery"  
"The experience of a lifetime"_

"No way!" I exclaimed, excited. We get to swim with the dolphins? Oh my God, I think I'm going to faint. I can hardly wait to get out of the car. I am too excited to function. Gail looks a little unnerved by the idea, but I'm so happy I could just burst. We met the manager Alejandro Raygoza who welcomed us to the dolphin experience and showed us where to change. Once the gentlemen were out of their street clothes and in their swimwear, we were given our life jackets and taken by shuttle to the dolphin pen, which was only two minutes away. Alejandro begins to tell us the history of the experience which was all pretty dull to me until he started talking about the dolphins. All four dolphins were born in captivity, but our two dolphins—Lilo and Colby—were born here in Anguilla. It turns out that dolphins born in captivity get lonely without human companionship because that is what they have become accustomed to. I didn't know that. I always felt like dolphins where trained and forced to entertain humans. It turns out that they actually enjoy it.

We have to walk to the end of a very long boardwalk where the dolphin trainers and the veterinarian awaited us. Alejandro checked our life jackets to be sure that they were secure. What he didn't know was that Dom Extraordinaire Christian Grey strapped me into my life jacket, so I was probably the most secure person on the dock.

"Good surprise, Butterfly?" Christian said to me as I watch the beautiful creatures swim around in the clear turquoise water.

"Excellent surprise, Baby!" I exclaim, squeezing his hand tightly. Gail is still looking a little sickly about the whole thing. I take her hand. "It'll be fine. You'll love it. Don't worry." She tries to smile but I can tell that she is still truly very terrified. She'll warm up to the idea once she gets in with the dolphins..._if_ she gets in with the dolphins.

Christian, Chuck, and I descended the metal stairs onto an underwater grate where we could watch the dolphins more closely before we interacted with them. Gail stayed timidly on the boardwalk and Jason stayed with her, not wanting to leave her alone. I watched as our graceful hosts gave us a wonderful show full of flips and tricks to begin our experience.

"Oh, Christian, they're beautiful!" I exclaimed. "Have you ever seen anything more exquisite in your life?"

"As a matter of fact, I have." He replies. I look up at him and he is gazing lovingly into my eyes. Go figure—only Christian Grey could make even a dolphin experience romantic. Once the dolphins finished their ballet, it was time for us to get up close and personal with them. I could hardly wait. Max was the primary trainer assigned to us at this time, and I wanted to make sure that I followed his instructions carefully, but I was chomping at the bit to touch one of those dolphins...so I did! Max instructed me to swim further into the pen. When I did, Lilo swam right over to me and raised her head out of the water allowing me touch her skin. It felt almost like rubber. I was so excited by the experience that I bounced up and down in the water like a schoolgirl. To my surprise, Lilo began bouncing, too!

"Oh my God, really?" I squealed, enthralled by this creature mimicking my motions.

"Dance. She will dance with you." Max says. Might as well. I begin to do a few moves in the water and, once again, Lilo mimicked my moves as much as she could to not have arms and legs.

"Oh my God, this is fabulous!" I squealed again. Christian and Chuck were having a great laugh at my expense, but I didn't care. This was one of the most exciting and thrilling experiences of my life. Not many people get to say that they traveled to an exotic island paradise and swam with the dolphins. Christian, of course, was not going to let me have all of the fun. He followed Alejandro's instructions to stand with a dolphin on either side of him. With a few sounds from Max's whistle, Lilo and Colby were underneath Christian's feet, pushing him at a fair rate of speed—enough to split the water as they moved forward. The look on Christian's face was priceless. He looked like a kid with a new toy, his arms stretched out in front of him like Superman. It was one of the most adorable things I had ever seen—that is, until the dolphins picked up speed, came up out of the water and launched Christian about 2 ½ to 3 feet into the air. He flailed for about a millisecond then quickly recovered, landing into the water with all of the grace the embodies Christian Grey.

Show off.

"That was fantastic!" I yelled as he emerged from the water and swam over to me.

"You like that, Baby?" He says.

"I love it, it was wonderful!"

"Why don't you try it?" Uh, I don't know about all of that. Although I liked _seeing _someone launched into the air by these glorious and powerful creatures, I can't say that _doing it _is my idea of fun.

"Why don't you try the dorsal swim?" Max asks.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Much less intimidating than the foot push. Come on, I'll show you." Max goes to the center of the pen and holds his hands out flat over the water. With a signal from his whistle, the dolphins come up on either side of him and he grabs the dorsal fin of each dolphin. Away they go around the pen, taking Max with them on a high speed ride. When his ride was over, I was concerned about the discomfort that the dolphins may be feeling with people holding on to their fins that way.

"Well first," Max begins, "you're lighter underwater, so it's not as much weight as you would think. Second, their dorsal fins are very strong. I can guarantee that they can take the weight that we put on them. Rest assured, we would never do anything that would cause harm to come to the dolphins." He says with a reassuring smile. After being assured that my inexperience and weight would not harm the dolphins, I followed Max's instructions and was soon being pulled around the pen by Lilo and Colby. Max was right—the dolphins are very strong and they move very fast! In no time, I found myself squealing in delight once again. It was an awesome ride.

Eventually, Gail became a little jealous of all the fun that we were having, so she decided to descend the stairs with her husband and see what all the fuss was about. I swam over to them for moral support while Christian and Chuck looked on, occasionally petting Lilo as she swam past them. Colby swam over to Gail who almost lost her nerve and jumped out of the water again. I swam behind Colby and, at the prompting of her trainer, Colby allowed me to pet her while Gail watched.

"Go ahead, Mrs. Taylor," Max encouraged. "I promise she won't hurt you." Gail cautiously stuck her hand out and petted Colby's nose. The dolphin bobbed her head in and out of the water in a nod and let out a dolphin "laugh," eliciting a little giggle from Gail. I couldn't help but join in her laughter as she interacted more and more with Colby—petting her, shaking her hand, even allowing Colby to kiss her on the cheek—but she wasn't up for any of the tricks that the rest of us tried.

I saw Chuck do the last trick with Lilo and I decided that I wanted to try it, too—the dolphin belly ride. The dolphin lies on its back and glides gracefully through the water while you hold on the their flippers. Effectively, you are belly to belly with the aquatic empresses coasting casually through the water. Because it was a more subdued activity, I was able to convince Gail to do it...but only once. I just couldn't imagine her coming to this fantastic experience and not be able to at least get one true idea of what it was like to actually _swim_ with the dolphins. While Christian did the foot push several times, this was my preferred mode of dolphin transport.

After a couple of hours of interaction with two of the Caribbean Sea's most graceful creatures, it was time for us to say goodbye. I was a little disappointed to be leaving my new-found friends behind, especially after the exhilarating morning I had with them. They shook our hands and gave us dolphin kisses as I reluctantly pulled myself from the water and back onto the platform. Since she finally warmed to the whole dolphin idea, I think even Gail was a little sad to be leaving. We went back to the office where we changed back into our cover-ups and the gentlemen in their street clothes (once we rinsed the salt water from our hair) and decided to see what souvenirs there were of our swim with the dolphins.

The souvenir shop was mostly full of trinkets and t-shirts. I grabbed a couple of t-shirts for the sake of having them and a keychain to go on my purse. Everything else was mostly chachkis and knick-knacks that would get lost in the dust of yesteryear. As I am looking at the various this and thats, I am stopped in my tracks by a very unique snowglobe. What the hell!? I did a double-take at the snowglobe of the...er, _mating _dolphins. I thought my eyes were deceiving me! Alas, there were not. The dolphins were _fucking!_ I had to call Christian over to see this. I couldn't believe they were actually selling this in the souvenir shop—where _families _come. It was appalling and hilarious at the same time. He, too, had to do a double-take and burst out laughing.

"Oh, I have to have that!" He exclaimed as he removed it from the shelf. I gasped.

"Exactly where do you plan on _putting_ that thing?" I ask, slightly appalled.

"I don't know but I'm buying it!" He laughs as he continues to look around. My husband is crazy.

_Come again?  
_What?  
_What did you just think?  
_That my husband is crazy! He is!  
_Who's crazy?  
_My hus...

Whoa! I'm getting carried away...I have to get a grip on this. Damn Christian for his nocturnal confessions! What if I do that out loud? I've only know this man for a month!  
_Actually is closer to two.  
_Even so, he's not my husband.  
_But he did give you a promise ring and he did ask you to marry him._  
That was in his sleep. He's still not my husband! We're not even engaged!  
_That's a formality, and you know it. It's a foregone conclusion. He wants to be with you forever and you with him. _  
Oh, please stop. He may wake up tomorrow and decide that the new, crazy me is too much for him and send me packing along with all of my emotional baggage.  
_I wouldn't count on it._

Keep hope alive.

"Butterfly?" Christian is standing in front of me trying to get my attention.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I say, promptly ending that ridiculously hopeful debate with the Bitch. "What were you saying?"

"Where were you just now?" He asked concerned. I roll my eyes and throw my hands in the air, more perturbed at myself than anything.

"Off in Never-Never Land, trust me." I say sarcastically...the world where all over you unrealistic childhood dreams come true. I throw a sideways glance at him. "Screwing dolphins." I say, shaking my head and mimicking disgust. He chuckles a bit.

"You were thinking about screwing dolphins?" He asks incredulously, his voice full of mirth.

"I was thinking about screwing _something_." I say seductively, throwing a look over my shoulder and walking away without stopping. His not so silent gasp let me know that I affected him. I smile to myself as I continue to the photo kiosk to see pictures of our dolphin adventure. Oh, I love the pictures of Christian and the foot push. He looks so carefree and happy. As a matter fact, so do I. Oh and the pictures of Jason lovingly holding Gail around the waist while she trepidatiously reaches out to touch the dolphin. That is a priceless reminder of the week they got married. I purchase three copies of all of the pictures. We can distribute them how we like later, but I want one of everything—including the one of Chuck flying through the air, his arms flailing like a madman.

"What are you doing? Put that away." Christian says as he sees me present my credit card to pay for the pictures. I just smile. This trip is on him...no need to assert my independence here.

"Yes, Dear." I say, putting my card back in my purse. His eyes become hooded and he pushes me against the kiosk.

"Why did those two words just make me hard?" He says gently kissing my neck. Oh, God Christian, not here.

"I don't know, but there are children here, so please don't make me drip." I say closing my eyes.

"Fuck, Ana." He says, one hand squeezing my hip, the other squeezing my ass. "Make you _drip_!? Shit!" He says as he bites the wing of my shoulder. Oh, hell. My breathing increases and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

"Christian, pleeeeease," I implore him, "not here." He moves his hands up to my waist and grants me a temporary reprieve while he plants and open-mouthed kiss on my neck then my cheek before looking me in the eyes.

"Don't ever say that in public again," he warns, "or I won't be held responsible for my actions." I can do nothing but nod. If he tried to fuck me right now, I just might let him.

"Okay." I say, just above a whisper as he plants a quick but delicious kiss on my lips. I bite my lip when he pulls back.

"Don't do that either." He says with a sensual growl, and I quickly release my lip. "You join the others. I'll get the pictures and try to tame the raging hard-on." I giggle and kiss him on his lips gently.

"Sorry." I laugh.

"Not yet, you're not. But I'll expect restitution later." He says as he winks at me. I try not to react, but it's no use. He affects me as much as I affect him.

We all pay for our trinkets and souvenirs and go in search of lunch.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Reference to the "Dory" fish and the clown fish named Nemo comes from the movie **_**Finding Nemo.**

_**The movie where the girl lost her memory in the car accidents is **_**50 First Dates.****_ It's considered either a date movie or a chick flick because even though it's kind of funny, I consider it really romantic. _**

_**The mummy movie Ana is talking about is where the scarabs come out of the ground is **_**The Mummy Returns****_ with Rachel Weisz and Brendan Fraser._**

_**How about I'm cheering while I am watching video of the turtles coming out of the nest? And then I am cheering while I am watching videos of the turtles catching a wave and going out to sea.**_

_**Okay so a lot happened in this chapter so there is a GAGGLE of pictures on Pinterest for you to see. Make sure you check them out at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla /**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_


	59. Chapter 59: Holy Epiphanies Batman

_**I have to address something that I saw in a couple of reviews and PM's to clarify where I am going with my story...**_

_**Yes, the trip has dominated the last 1/6 of the story at this point because this is a look into how the couple is coping with changes in their relationships as well as the tragedies that have just occurred in their lives. No one can go through what Ana or Christian has gone through and just say, "Yippee, I'm good, now on to the revenge part and the happily ever after!" I'm sorry if I led anybody to believe that was going to happen, but it's not. **_

_**This is why I keep mentioning that Book I is coming to an end...most likely in the next five chapters or so...so that everyone would know that I can't **_**possibly****_ write the Green Valley revenge plot, David's trial, the fall of the Pedophile, the other romantic storylines that are developing (Mia and Ethan, Elliot and Valerie, Gary and Marilyn, Maxie and Phil's wedding, James and Al), the revelation of the mole, who Melanie is, Marlow's story, Christian and Ana's continued journey...all in five or so chapters. I can touch on some of that stuff, but not all of it. I am fully aware that this story jumped the shark right around the kidnapping, so everything that you are reading now is getting you prepared for Book II. _**

_**Please let me write this story. If you choose to read it, I appreciate it. If you don't, I completely understand—but please, let ME write this story. I clearly know where I want it to go and I am tweaking what works and what doesn't work, removing what I don't feel good about, shortening some parts (like deleted scenes in a movie) and emphasizing others. Please note that telling me what I should write is only going to make me defiant. It's not going to make me write what you want me to write. It's only going to make me realize that I am the one with the pen—or in this case, the keyboard—and I am the one that will dictate where this story goes. **_

_**I already think Book I is long as hell—which is just fine for Fanfiction, but not if I'm trying to rewrite, publish and sell it—so I'm already toiling with what stays and what goes. I really don't need to add to that stress with someone telling me how to write the story in Fanfiction. I hope I haven't offended anyone—that truly was not my intention. This is NOT meant to be a zinger. :-(**_

_**I haven't had a chance to get through all of my reviews since I have been pressed for time lately, but I'll try to address you all in the coming chapters. **_

_**All previous disclaimers apply here.**_

_Chapter 59—Holy Epiphanies, Batman._

_**GREY**_

We all went to the Ferryboat Inn for lunch since it was right by the Dolphin Discovery. Gail and Butterfly laughed over the pictures of our dolphin adventure while I fooled around with my blackberry. Butterfly scolded me for working during lunch. I didn't tell her that I was inconspicuously taking pictures of them laughing and enjoying themselves. Pretending to be chastised, I put the phone away. Nothing else would upset my Butterfly for the rest of this trip, and I plan to do everything in my power to ensure that nothing disrupts her life once we return to Seattle.

"So, Chuck, no Keri today?" Butterfly asks as she digs into her garlic shrimp and sweet peppers over white rice. Davenport swallows his chicken marsala before answering.

"She had to go back to work." He says. "She works all weekend so we most likely won't see each other again before I leave, but we'll email and Skype, so..." He shrugs it off.

"It never ceases to amaze me how men seem to be able to let go so easily." Gail pipes in. "I mean, I didn't expect you guys to get married and ride off into the sunset or anything, but I guess I didn't expect it to be so...you know..._no strings attached._" Gail said, taking a forkful of her fish.

"Eh. We both knew what we were getting into when we met. It is what it is." Davenport adds. Gail just shook her head. "You don't approve?" He sounds a little affronted.

"Oh, please, Charles. This isn't the middle ages, and you're both consenting adults. It doesn't matter two shakes whether or not I approve. You just have to forgive me. I've never been able to wrap my head around the concept of casual sex because it's nothing that I've ever done. I'm not judging you, I'm just uninformed." That's a nice way of putting it.

"You've never played the field or sowed your wild oats?" Butterfly asked Gail, who casually shook her head.

"Douglas was my first love. When he died, I wasn't interested in love at all let alone interested in that sort of thing. It wasn't until Jason came along and swept me off my feet that I was even willing to entertain the idea of being with another man."

"I'm sorry," I interject. "Are you saying that you've only been with two men your whole life?" Gail nodded.

"Is that so hard to believe?" She asked.

"In this day and time, yes. No reflection on you, but you're a beautiful woman and I guess I just thought you would have...gotten around a little more." I add. She shrugs.

"Ehem! Ehem!" Butterfly does a bad imitation of clearing her throat by actually pronouncing the words. What? _She_ opened the door...I just walked in.

"I didn't say anything wrong this time...did I?" I look over at Gail who shakes her head confused.

"Not to me." She says. Butterfly is still glaring at me.

"What?" I ask, affronted. "She said I didn't offend her." I am clearly missing something.

"That's not why I'm 'ehem-ing.'" She says, and her glare has turned into the death gaze. I had better catch on quick...and then the light bulb goes off and I gasp and point at her.

"Ooooh, Butterfly, I'm so sorry, I'm such an idiot, I..." I'm saying everything all in one breath when Butterfly grants me a reprieve.

"Oh, quit your rambling, Grey, before your foot goes deeper down your throat!" She says with a snicker. Oh thank God she's not mad. I'm working hard not to piss her off for the rest of the trip.

"Did I miss something?" Jason says. Butterfly swallows her last bite.

"Yes, you did. I've only been with two men, too." Butterfly says, and Davenport nearly chokes on his chicken. I throw him a death glare because one look at him and I _know_ he's recalling that pancake incident from Saturday. Jason's fork stops in midair before he finally says, "You're kidding."

Butterfly shakes her head. "I don't count Whitmore and we all know why. After that tragedy, I—like Gail—was not interested, until the smooth snake devil incarnate Edward David showed up. I wasted nearly three years of my life on him and he mentally abused me to no end so, again, I was not interested. Just when I decided I wanted to get back in the game, Grey shows up..."

"Lucky bastard!" Jason interjects, causing the table to break out in laughter.

"You're fired." I tell him between snickers.

"Sure." He says, still eating his steak.

"Ana, if I may interject, who exactly is Whitmore and what happened?" Oh, shit! It hadn't occurred to me that Gail wouldn't be in the loop on this. I quickly grasp Butterfly's hand and she smiles.

"It's okay, Baby," she says, squeezing my hand. "I'm fine." She turns to Gail. "Cody Whitmore is part of the Green Valley gang. He raped me when I was 15 and took my virginity. That's why I don't count him, because it wasn't consensual." Gail's hand flies to her mouth.

"Oh Ana, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean..." Butterfly waves her hand.

"Don't worry about it, Gail." She says. She looks over at me and squeezes my hand, her eyes unmistakably full of love. "It's not so hard to talk about it anymore." She says, still gazing at me. I bring her hand up to my lips and kiss it gently and she blushes...the most beautiful shade of pink. I couldn't help but smile at her.

After lunch, we all piled in the car and decided to just do some sightseeing. This is a strange event in Anguilla, I think. Just imagine that you are sitting on your front porch, and someone drives by and just starts taking pictures of you. If you really think about it, that's exactly what's going on. To us, it's a Caribbean island vacation, full of beautiful white sandy beaches and turquoise waters for snorkeling and yachting and scuba-diving and swimming with the dolphins. For the locals, it's home.

At times, I felt like we were intruding, but they were so friendly. I'm a so-called "celebrity" in Seattle and I can't stand for the cameras to be in my face, but they are getting flashes snapped at them all the time. I can only assume that its something that they have become accustomed to, but I don't think I could take it.

Our first stop was right off the main road to Back Street. It's a little road that runs parallel to the main road along a cliff and it gives you a beautiful view of Sandy Ground and Sandy Island. Butterfly took several pictures of the village below us with her cell phone. We both kicked ourselves for not bringing a camera, but it was short notice and I don't take enough vacations to think to bring a camera. Nonetheless, the scenery was quite breathtaking, and I found myself taking yet another opportunity to snap a picture of my Butterfly while she wasn't looking.

She was standing against the rail along the cliff overlooking Sandy Ground. Her hair was blowing in the wind behind her just like that night I watched her waiting for Allen's car outside of the New Orleans. She is just as captivating and beautiful now as she was then. I'm remembering the hard time that she gave me when I first met her—boy, her balls were bigger than mine! I had never met a woman that I couldn't conquer until I met Anastasia Steele. Even now, in her weakest moments, she is stronger than I am because my fate is in her hands. She has the ability to bring me to my knees with only one word...

Goodbye.

Besides that, she has faced some of the most horrific demons I have ever thought anyone would have to confront in their entire life...and she's still standing. I see her struggles—her tears and confusion, her fears—I've watched her nightmares much like I have watched my own. Even in her weakness, she is strong. Even when she is facing her monsters, she won't let them consume her. Even in those unfortunate moments when I attempt to exercise my will on her, in reality she is the one in control and she knows it. She holds the reigns—all of the cards-and I will gladly give her and only her that power over me.

I know that she is feeling weak and fragile at this moment, but I am certain that she will conquer those feelings very soon especially with her will and determination. I hadn't noticed that while I was staring at her and admiring her strength and beauty, she had turned her head to face me and was now looking directly in my scope. I snapped the picture of her coyly gazing at me with the coastline far off in the background behind her. It was better than a postcard.

"What are you thinking, Mr. Grey?" She says as I snap the picture and put my blackberry in my pocket.

"That I'm a lucky bastard to have someone in my life as strong and beautiful as you." I say taking her into my arms. She looks at me skeptically.

"Were you _really_ thinking that?" She asks. I lean down and kiss her gently on the lips, then rub my nose along hers, my eyes closed.

"Yes, Butterfly," I say softly, opening my eyes. "I was." She looks up at me with those amazing blue eyes and again, I can feel the tremendous amount of love that she has in her heart for me. I so adore this woman. There is nothing that I won't do for her. If I can just put a leash on the asshole in me, maybe I'll get a chance to show her that.

"We had better join the others." She says, softly still gazing into my eyes.

"I know I'm an asshole, Anastasia, but please be patient with me...please don't give up on me." I beseech her. I couldn't help it. I felt so full of love...and fear...that I had to say it. She reaches under my shirt and pulls out the key that Flynn has identified for me as tungsten. She places it gently on my chest and outlines it slowly with her finger.

"I won't give up on you, Christian. I'm not going anywhere." She promises. I pull her into me and hold her close.

"Thank you." I whisper, as I kiss her hair.

Though I would much rather have stayed in this moment with my Butterfly, I begrudgingly agreed to rejoin the others and continue with our afternoon of sightseeing. After admiring it from the cliff, we paid a visit to Sandy Ground, which we discovered was actually a historic district in Anguilla. It is actually the small strip of land between the salt pond and Road Bay lined with businesses eager for tourist money. This is the district where the infamous Pumphouse can be found. Needless to say, we stuck to historical residences and architecture and chose to avoid that particular locale as our last visit found us beating down drunken assholes.

Sandy Ground is the location of the Anquilla Carnival or "August Monday" which is the first Monday in August. There's usually quite a lively bunch down here we were told. We will actually be leaving first thing in the morning next Tuesday if all goes well, so hopefully we'll be able to catch some of Carnival. Sandy Ground also turns out to be the largest port in Anguilla, so we stayed for a little while and watched the boats come and go. Again, I was just happy to be able to spend some time with my Butterfly, even if I was just sitting on the beach with her between my legs, her back to my front and mindlessly watching boats go by.

Since we wanted to see more of the island, we continued our lazy walk down Sandy Ground and stopped at a place called Johnno's. Once we refreshed ourselves with smoothies, we went back to the car and began the Anguilla Heritage Trail. It's starts on the east end of the island at the National Heritage Museum. This place is deceptively small, for Jason and I discovered that the ladies could spend _hours_ in this little place if not prompted to leave. Butterfly was fascinated listening to the curator talk about the history of the Arawaks, which is one of the original Caribbean tribes, and the geology of the island. She became lost in the tales of the island's history of slavery and the sugar industry artifacts of the islands first settlers.

For some reason, I was drawn to the story of the island's revolution. As Jason stepped behind me reading the various articles, I had to ask him a personal question.

"We're you active during wartime, Jason?" I ask.

"Yes sir." He answers, a little solemnly.

"How many times were you deployed?"

"Four. I even had stop-loss orders once." He says. I frown.

"Stop-loss?" I ask bemused.

"Long story short, I was forced to stay in the military beyond my term of service. It's sort of like being drafted, but you're already there." He says.

"Did you resent that?" I know I would have.

"Not so much. A marine serves his country...no questions asked. I didn't reenlist, though. I had done my duty and I felt like it was time for me to go. Strange thing is that I don't know if I would have made the same decision had I not gotten the stop-loss order, but I did 10 years so I really felt like I served my country well. I learned a lot from my tours and my training, made some friends I'll have for the rest of my life, watched a lot of good men die...but I still think I'm a better man for it." He says proudly.

"I think you are, too." I say putting my hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"For what, Sir?" He asks.

"For sharing that with me...and for your service." I proffer my hand to him. I'm not usually a particularly sentimental guy, but just looking at these articles and this history makes me really proud to be an American right now, and even more proud of people like Jason and Ray who fought for me to have the freedoms that I do. Jason smirks and shakes my hand.

"You're going soft, Boss." He teases.

"I know." I admit as we rejoin our women.

We continued our self-guided tour to the another one of Anguilla's historic villages, Old Valley. There we saw Anguilla's oldest building, the island's first hospital, and the Old Valley well. We even saw the ruins of the old courthouse and jail up on Crocus Hill. The location has a beautiful view all the way across to St. Marteen. However, for those prisoners who did not escape, the cells below were dark and humid and often drove their occupants to insanity.

We found ourselves headed back toward Sandy Ground and the Pumphouse which is part of the tour according to the Heritage Trail brochure. Now, why are the forces trying to get us to go back to that place? I gave those fuckers $100 and only drank probably $50 worth if that much, then I had to fight my way out of the joint. Instead, we moved on and took a few pictures of the Wallblake house, which was once the economic center of the island. The house has been there since the late 18th century when it functioned as a plantation and has since been restored. We weren't able to tour it, much to Butterfly's dismay, because it was closed and you had to have advanced notice for tours. Sorry, Baby.

After visiting the last stop on the Heritage Trail—the Cotton Factory, which now housed a realtor's office upstairs and The Stone Cellar Art Gallery downstairs—we went in search of sustenance since it was well into the dinnertime hour. As we are making our way back down to the West end, Butterfly demands that we stay the course on the main road as something has caught her eye several feet in the distance and she was told by the curator at the museum not to miss it. We pull by the side of the road because, for some strange reason, Butterfly simply _must_ get a picture of the famous pink cottage...with the goat. There is absolutely nothing special about this building. It's just a little charming Caribbean cottage...with a goat. That's it.

For once, we decided on cuisine that we could get in the States, in this case...Italian. We had dinner at a restaurant called Trattoria Tramonto, which was very close to the villa. However, once we got there, we discovered that this is not an Italian restaurant altogether. It's more of an Italian and Caribbean mix. I don't think anyone was particularly disappointed by this discovery, although we did expect an Italian restaurant. The food was very good and the restaurant sat right on the beach.

While we munched family style on Prosciutto di Parma & Melon, Antipasto, Half Moons Mozzarella & Ricotta Ravioli in a Shrimp Sauce, Lobster filled ravioli in a cream & white truffle sauce, Penne in a Tomato and Basil Sauce, Grilled Yellow fin Tuna Filet with Rosti & Caramelized Onions, Lamb & Vegetable Rolle in a Merlot Sauce with sliced herb potatoes, and Sautéed Saffron Crayfish Tails, we all talked about the trip so far and what we planned on doing when we got back to Seattle. My part of this conversation was pretty pointless because everyone pretty much knew what I was doing. I think the conversation was more to find out what the Taylors' plans were and where Butterfly's head was.

"I don't know," she admitted after swallowing her lamb. "It's hard for me to figure out what I'm doing tomorrow these days, let alone when I get back to Seattle. I need to jump back into my practice of course, but part of me wonders why I think I can help others when I'm so screwed up myself right now."

"Come on, Ana. You can't believe that your tragedies mean that you can no longer be an effective therapist. Do you really think that?" Davenport scolded her. Quite frankly, I was thinking the same thing.

"I don't know, Chuck." She says, putting her fork down and sipping her wine. "I want to believe that I can still do my job. All I can really do is try, but if someone comes in with a kidnapping issue, I don't know how effective I'm going to be." Eat, Butterfly.

"I can understand that. It must be scary having to counsel other people when you are fighting demons of your own." He adds, and Butterfly's face starts to turn a little pale. It's time to change the course of this conversation. I take Butterfly's hand and kiss it gently.

"I'm sure that Ana knows what she'll be able to tolerate." I begin. "Whatever the situation, if it becomes too much, my baby knows to step back and re-evaluate. She's brilliant that way." I smile a full grin at her. She smiles back at me and the color returns to her face as she picks up her fork and begins to eat some of her pasta. Mission accomplished!

"I'm sorry, Ana. I didn't mean to..." I throw a glare at Davenport who appears to be about to take this conversation right back to were I tried to leave it. Apparently, the Christian Grey Death Glare stops him right in his tracks and he immediately drops the thought. "Sorry, Ana." He says, like a chastised puppy. The next thing I know, Butterfly whacked the hell out of my arm. I mouthed "ow" at her while flinching and rubbing my soon-to-be-bruised bicep.

"Christian!" She scolds while whacking me. "Stop antagonizing Chuck! He has valid questions!"

"Well, he may have valid questions, but it's obviously upsetting you. You put your fork down and stopped eating!" I protest. I said that if I could help it, nothing else was going to upset my Butterfly and that's what I meant! She must have seen it in my eyes because she put her hands on my cheek and smiled at me.

"Thank you," she says, gently stroking my cheek. "I'm fine." Aching for a change of subject, Davenport turns to Jason.

"So, what about you guys? I know that you're staying on, but do you plan to get a place of your own now or what?" He asks Gail.

"There's really no need." She responded. "There's only me and Jason and the servant's quarters has plenty of room..."

"Oh, God, I hate that phrase!" Four sets of eyes wait for Butterfly to explain her protest. "_Servant's _quarters." She says with no small amount of disdain. "Why can't we just call it _staff_ quarters or _guest_ quarters or...anything but _servant's _quarters. It makes it sound like you're indentured!" She shivers. Gail laughs a bit.

"Why don't we just call it..._our _apartment?" Gail suggests. "We don't own the penthouse, but that little part of it is allocated to us."

"Oh, that sounds so much better." Butterfly agrees. I love how they're making these decisions and nobody asked me what I thought. Would now be a good time to approach Butterfly about moving in with me? I'm already talking about building her a waterwall. There will be renovations to the penthouse when we get back to Seattle that will assure her that I want her to stay with me. She called it "her home" before we left for Anguilla. I don't want to ambush her in front of everyone, though, so this is a conversation best had at another time. Butterfly's phone rings and she looks at it and frowns.

"It's Val." She says as she answers it. "Hi Val...I'm still in Anguilla...we're having dinner now and I'm at the table with four other people. Is everything okay?...Oh...really...wow...Well, I'll tell you what, you're three hours behind me, so why don't I call you when I get back to the villa and we can talk then...Okay, I'll talk to you then." She hangs up the phone.

"Val?" I ask. "As in Valerie that Elliot is crawling all over?"

"One and the same."

"Is everything okay?" I ask. She nods.

"Mm-hmm. Just girl talk." I raise my eyebrow at her.

"Butterfly, 'girl talk' would not have that woman calling you in Anguilla." She cocks her head at me.

"Since when did you become an expert on girl talk?" She asks, skeptically.

"When I became an expert on _girls._" I respond matter-of-factly.

"Well," she said, rolling her head in the most defiant manner, "_This _is definitely 'girl talk,' Mr. Grey. So don't worry your pretty little head about it. Okay?" Ah, Ms. Steele, you are playing with fire.

Or is she?

The strangest thing just happened. Normally, that behavior would automatically have me thinking of different ways to punish her for her defiance: spanking, flogging, orgasm denial. A sub wouldn't dare roll her head at me or take that tone with me...but Butterfly is definitely not a sub. I'm feeling...differently about this situation, now—that's the best way that I can describe it. There is a conflict going on inside of me right at this moment. The synapses that I have become accustomed to are saying that _Anastasia _needs to be punished for her attitude and behavior. New synapses, however, are battling that _Butterfly_ can't be punished for being Butterfly.

And now, I'm at an impasse.

I never expected to feel like the thing that has been engrained in my composition and behavior for so long would feel like the _wrong_ thing to do, but after that disastrous session a few days ago and that conversation with Flynn...

_"__You need to put playtime on hold for a while and learn to control yourself._"

_"__It's time to graduate a bit, Christian."_

_"__You need to take a page from this remarkable woman's book and start handling your demons in a more productive way now."_

_"__It's okay to exercise the lifestyle that the two of you enjoy, but the moment that one of you doesn't enjoy it, it's not okay anymore."_

It becomes blaringly clear the things that used to work for me will not work for me anymore—not only because of the conversation with Flynn, or how horrible I felt after Butterfly told me that she felt degraded, or even how she couldn't relax that night after playtime until I showed her tenderness. Selfishly, I'm going to have to change because of the conflict that I am feeling at this very moment...because of how uncomfortable _I_ feel with causing Butterfly any discomfort. I mentally kick myself for managing to make even a supposedly selfless act all about me.

"Baby? Are you okay?" Her sweet voice breaks me from my train of thought and causes warmth to flood my entire body. I can only imagine what my facial expression must have been. I take her hand and kiss it gently.

"We'll talk later, Baby." I say softly kissing her on the cheek. She's not convinced and her brow furrows.

"You're not upset about the 'girl talk' comment, are you?" She asks concerned.

"Absolutely not," I say leaning in closer to her. "I just need you to work through something with me. It just came to mind while we were having the conversation about Valerie." I look into her eyes trying to reassure her. Her face softens but she still looks concerned.

"Are you sure that's all it is?" She asks. I stroke her cheek.

"I promise, that's what it is." I respond, purposely replacing her word _all _with my word _what._ This is not a small thing for me, but I am definitely going to need my Butterfly's help to work through this, especially since this is our relationship we're talking about here. I never want to do anything again to make her feel uncomfortable or unhappy with me...with _us_. So I think it's time for Christian Grey to make some serious changes.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Is he worried about his brother and his relationship with my friend? Did my little crack set him off? He has a tortured look on his face like he has had some frighteningly painful revelation and it's scaring the hell out of me. He assures me that everything is okay and that he just needs my help with something, but I'm not so sure about that. That expression says a whole lot more than he's letting on.

During the short ride home from dinner, he held my hand in his, stroking the skin softly like he was petting a cat or something. He never looked at me, though. He kept his eyes trained out of the window looking off into nothing. Luckily no one noticed but me, and if they did notice, they didn't say anything. When we got back to the villa, he helped me out of the car and led me inside with the others like normal.

"You give Valerie a call. I'm going to do a little time on the treadmill and we'll talk later, okay, Baby?" He said softly.

"Okay." I said, still feeling trepidatious as he kissed me on the cheek and took to the stairs—not the elevator—on his way to our suite.

"Is everything okay?" Gail asked as I watched him climb until he was out of sight.

"I don't know." I respond. "He says he's fine and he just wants to talk to me, but I'm a little worried." This week should have been relaxing, but the first part of it was a damn powder keg. So I don't know what to expect now. I guess the first thing that I should do is return the call that started all of this.

"_Hey, Ana. I'm sorry I called during dinner much less on your vacation, but I'm just a little out of my realm here and I need some help." _Val sounds a little desperate.

"Okay, well, why don't you tell me what's up?" I ask, folding my legs Indian-style in one of the chairs in the great room.

"_Well_," she begins hesitantly. _"I think Elliot is the one." _Hold the phone. The _One? _Valerie Ann Marshall is talking about _any _man being _The One?_ Am I in the Twilight Zone here!?

"Um, Val, are you sure about about that?" Somebody is going to get hurt here if these two are not absolutely certain about what they are saying.

"_Ana, he's the sweetest guy I've ever met. He's funny, gorgeous, and fabulous in the sack!"_ She raves.

"More than I need to know, there, Val." I scold.

"_I'm sorry,"_ she says contritely, _"but he really is a wonderful guy. Can you fall for someone in a matter of weeks?" _Oh my God, is she seriously asking _me_ this question?

"Valerie...seriously? You're really asking this question of a woman who is across the world in the British West Indies with a man that she met just over two months ago...and we haven't even been together _that_ long."

"_Uh...yeah, okay. I see your point." _She says before sighing heavily. _"I've never felt like this for anyone before in my life..._ever_. What do I do?" _

"Val, you're acting like this is a bad thing. This is wonderful. Someone has finally pierced the heart of the Ice Queen!" I cheer.

"_It is the bad thing if he doesn't feel the same."_ She says forlorn. Oh, I have it on good authority that he does.

"There's only one way to find out..."

"_Oh, please don't say it."_ She pleads.

"I'm going to say it."

"_Ana, I can't!"_ She protests.

"Tell him." I push.

"_Ana. Seriously. I can't. I've never done anything like this before. I wouldn't even know what to do...where to start. Seducing a man, I can do that with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. Feelings? Not my forte at all!" _Good God, she's a female version of Christian! _"I simply can't ask him, Ana. I can't take the chance that he doesn't feel the same...I'd be crushed." _

"So why did you call me, Val? You knew that I would tell you to confront your feelings, but you don't want to. When you called earlier, even Christian referred to you as 'Valerie that Elliot is crawling all over.'" The line is quiet for a while.

"_He did?" _She asks and I can hear the smile in her voice.

"Yes, he did. You're blind if you can't see that man feels something for you. Everybody else sure can."

"_Well of course he's crawling all over me!" _She declares. _"I'm gorgeous, hot, sexy, and brilliant...they all crawl over me! That doesn't mean that he has feelings for me." _She's starting to sound desperate again and I just want to get the two of them in a room and bang their heads together!

"Valerie, will you please just ask the man!" I say, flabbergasted. "What's the worse that could happen?"

"_Oh, only that he doesn't feel the same way and he runs away from me screaming, leaving __me completely and totally crushed and humiliated."_ She says sarcastically. I want to scream at her _but he won't, you airhead, just fucking ask him! "__He just broke up with that Kate girl. He can't be ready for a relationship so soon."_ Yeah, I thought the same thing until he called me four days ago professing his feelings for you.

"Valerie, you won't know if you don't ask." I say, my voice controlled.

"_I'm scared, Ana. I don't think I could take it if he rejected me. I've never been rejected...not romantically anyway." _Yep, she's Christian.

"I know. It's scary. But I still think you should tell him. You're in limbo right now wondering how he feels about you. Do you want to stay in limbo, because if you do, we're having this conversation for nothing."

"_No, I don't want to stay in limbo."_ She says reluctantly.

"Then put on your big girl panties and go ask that man how he feels about you. You said it yourself—you're gorgeous, hot, sexy, and brilliant. Any man would want you given the chance. How many man have you given the chance to have you...not just be with you, but _have_ you?" I ask.

"_None_." She answered meekly.

"Well, you obviously don't know until you try, right?" I press.

"_I guess so."_ She respond.

"Valerie, talk to the man. He's a good person...really, he is. If it turns out that you feel the same way about each other, this could be a beautiful relationship—and you could be very happy together."

"_Do you really think so, Ana?" _I could hear the hope seeping back into her voice.

"Oh, Valerie...I really think so. Look at me...I got the emotionally stunted brother with all the baggage that we won't discuss, and I'm the happiest I have ever been in my life...even with all the bullshit going on around me. And come on, we never thought Anastasia Screw-'Em-All-I'm-Through-With-'Em Steele would ever get back in the game, now did we?" I could hear her smiling.

"_Okay, Ana. I'm going to talk to him—but I swear, if he turns me down, I am camping out on that big white couch in that palace in the sky that you're living in with his hunky brother for three weeks wearing nothing but sweats and a tank top and gorging myself on Haagen Dazs, do you understand me?"_ She is quite serious as she is breaking down her plan in great detail.

"Just do it, Val. I doubt that you'll you need the white couch in the palace in the sky." I assure her and she sighs.

"_So how is your trip going? You must be having a great time down there on that beautiful island where the rich and famous go to unwind."_ Do I tell her the truth...that at this very moment, my boyfriend is in the workout room sulking or thinking or whatever he's doing while I sit here on the phone trying to figure out what's wrong with him; that this trip has been an emotional roller coaster ever since we got here; that half the time I don't know what the hell is going on because I'm a certified basket case? I decide to go for honesty.

"It's been some up and some down, Val. I've had some pretty rough times but some pretty good ones, too." I respond.

"_Well, of course you have, Sweetie. After what that snake-ass bastard Edward and his even snakier sidekick did to you, it's a wonder you still have your sanity in tact! How's Christian holding up?"_ Always my supportive friend.

'Again, some good and some bad. This is all pretty new to him and he really wants to be there for me, I know, but he's a little out of his element here...much like you are with Elliot. It's going to take some patience and love on both our parts, but I think we'll be okay. I...gave him the necklace." She gasped.

"_Oh my God! You did!?"_ She exclaims. I nod before I realize that she can't see me.

"Yes, I did. It felt right..._feels_ right. It's where it belongs now." I say contented.

"_Wow...Annie Rose...this is serious." _She says. She has resorted to that name that she used to call me in college when she really wanted to get my attention.

"Yes, Valerie Ann, it is. He gave me a ring, too."

"_Oh my God...a ring!?"_ I know what she's thinking.

"Not _that _kind of ring, Val. He gave me a promise ring."

"_A promise ring? Don't you think that's a little old fashioned?" _She asked.

"Not for me...it's perfect. It's something to solidify our commitment without everybody staring at me and wondering why we got engaged so fast while waiting for the _due date!_" I laugh.

"_Well, describe this ring to me." _She asks giddily. I describe my beautiful platinum and diamond promise ring to her and she nearly swoons.

"_Oh, Ana, I can't wait to see it." _She croons._ "It's sounds dreamy." _

"It _is_ dreamy. This is it for me, Val. If he's not the one for me, I don't want anybody else." My chest tightens momentarily at the thought of being without him, but I shake that away immediately. "He's my walk into the sunset."

"_Ana, this is such a serious step. I mean, you sound like you are obsessed with this guy." _She warns.

"To a degree I am." I admit. "It's not an unhealthy obsession, but yes—I'm obsessed with his love, his touch, his presence, his health and happiness...and I don't care who knows it or what they think of me." Val giggles.

"_Well, then, I say go for it!"_ She says. _"Hell, if anybody deserves some happiness these days, it's you!" _

"I'm grabbing it with both hands, Val. We've got some obstacles to overcome, though."

"_Like what?" _

"Let's just say I'm not the only one who's obsessed with him." I say bitterly.

"_Oh good grief, not a psycho ex!"_ She laments.

"Yes and no. I can't say much without betraying a confidence, so I won't, but this bitch is batty as fuck. They were involved many years ago and they still stayed in touch. Now there's no room for her and she is not pleased!"

"_Did you tell him that he had to choose?" _

"No I didn't. I had nothing to do with it...except to maybe help him see how unhealthy the relationship was, and he had already come to that conclusion on his own."

"_So she's just sour grapes now." _Val points out.

"In the worst way." I admit. "She just can't let go and their relationship hasn't been romantic for many, many years. He's pretty wonderful after all. I can see why someone wouldn't be able to let go."

"_I'll say he's wonderful! Rescues you in a helicopter, protects you in one of the most coveted buildings in Seattle, whisks you off to a tropical paradise so that you can regroup...he's a dream come true!" _

"He's _my_ dream come true," I say wistfully. "Sure, we still have some things to work on, but I'm here to stay." She sighs dreamily at my confession.

"_Well, let's hope I find my dream come true in his brother."_

"Here's hoping, right?" I smile.

"_I'm going to let you go and get back to having a great vacation. When are you supposed to be back in Seattle?" _

"Probably Tuesday afternoon, barring any fires, floods, hurricanes or other natural disasters." Or _unnatural _disasters for that matter.

"_So will we be doing 'food and libations' next weekend?" _

"Oh, that is _so _my plan!" I confirm.

"_Good. I'll tell the gang that I talked to you and you are doing fabulously and I'll see you when you are stateside again."_

"Okay, Babe. I'll see you then."

_Emma_ strikes again!

Now would be a good time to give Elliot a little push. It's Friday night, around 6:30 west coast time—no doubt they'll be seeing each other later. I dial Elliot's number.

"_Ana Montana! What's good! You sick of my brother and his billions already?"_ Ah, Elliot—the only person that I know who has a joke for every occasion.

"Ha, ha, very funny. Actually, I was calling to see how it went with Val." I already know my answer, but I let the heavy silence make him think I was clueless. One, Mississippi...two, Mississippi...three, Mississippi..._ "Elliot?"_

"I haven't told her yet." He confesses.

"_You haven't told her yet!?" _I ask, sounding affronted. _"Why the hell not? It's been four days." _

"I don't know, Ana. I'm scared."

"Scared of _what?" _I ask.

"_Rejection! Of losing her! I don't want to chase her away!" _Oh good Lord, would that I could teleport through this phone and choke my boyfriend's brother...

"Elliot. Tell. Her." I say through clenched teeth. These two are going to let their lack of action cost them something that they both desperately desire.

"_Ana, what if she doesn't want that?"_

"Then wouldn't you rather know? Or would you rather just wander through this thing waiting for the ax to fall?" There was another pause.

"_If I can be with her, I'll take what I can get."_ Oh this is worse than I thought. How can I get these two together when they both want each other but I can't tell them?

"Elliot, you are going to give me premature gray hair, I swear." I say exasperated. "Tell the woman how you feel. You're a grownup. If you say that she could be the one, why would you deny her by not telling her how you feel? Or are you still nursing feelings for Kate and you don't want to admit it?"

"_No, that's not it, honestly." _He sighs. _"Losing Kate hurt, but it wasn't because I lost Kate. It was because I lost what we had...or what we _used_ to have. It died a long time ago. We just finally decided to give it a proper burial. I know I'm not making any sense..."_

"On the contrary, you're making perfect sense—but now I have to ask you this. Are you transferring those feelings that you once had for Kate onto Val or is what you feel for Valerie genuine?"

"_Shit, Ana. I think I love her and I sound like a damn stalker. Valerie is fucking gorgeous. She is everything you would want in a woman. I normally go for for blonde and the occasional redhead—but the minute I saw those dark curls flying at me at Christian's that night, Man, I was gone before I even knew who she was. It was like somebody hit me in the chest—hard—and knocked the damn wind out of me. I was a goner before we even had our first date. Even I convinced myself that it was residual feelings for Kate just so I could have an excuse to enjoy it guilt free without getting attached, but it's not! I know it sounds crazy..." _

Actually it doesn't sound as crazy as he thinks it does, but it doesn't sound really healthy. I picked up on something in that rant that he may not have thought I did. I get up from the living room chair and grab my purse. I take out a small notebook I keep there and a pen and sit at the dining table, moving one of the place settings to give me some room. This has become a bit of a session for the elder Mr. Grey and I need to take a few notes.

"Elliot, I just heard you say that you convinced yourself that your reaction to Val was residual feelings for Kate so that you could avoid getting attached. Is that true?" Again, silence. "Why, Elliot? Why do you want to avoid getting attached?" Out of his mouth comes the words that I find most men have the hardest time saying...

"_I don't want to get hurt again." _

I now know that he may not be ready for another relationship because although he may have gotten over the love he felt for Kate, he hasn't gotten over the pain of the breakup. Like Val said, it's only been a few weeks...and I just spent the last twenty minutes or so convincing Valerie to tell Elliot how she feels. Fuck me. My hand goes to my forehead.

"If you want to love someone, Elliot, you have to be prepared for the possibility that you may get hurt. You hope for the best but prepare for the worst. That doesn't mean that you live your life waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it does mean that you accept that fact that there could be some rain on that journey when you're always hoping for sunshine. If you can't do that, if you can't accept that there could be some heartache in your future and know that this is a healthy part of life...then you're not ready to move on yet." Shit. Shit. Shit. I hate to do this, but I have to do what's best for my patient in this case...and prepare for sweatpants and Haagen Dazs.

I hear Elliot sigh on the other end._ "I don't want to live like this anymore, Ana. I don't know what to do. Kate and I were over weeks...no, more like months before we finally put that horse down...and I feel like she's still running my life."_ I can imagine him holding the back of his neck. _"I don't need to force her out of my life and my heart because trust me, she's already gone, but the fear of giving my heart to someone else and they hurt me again...maybe I'm paying for all of those woman I dogged in my life."_

"Well, I have to say that I do believe in Karma, but I won't live my life waiting for her to bite me in the ass, and neither can you, Elliot. I mean, look at me. I've lived what I consider a good life. I haven't purposely harmed anyone for any reason..." yet, "...and I still seem to run upon spells of bad luck, whereas my fucking psycho ex-boyfriend has parted more legs than a gynecologist, brutally beaten two women that I know of and kidnapped a third..." me, "...and the only reason why he may be facing any justice for his crimes is because my _current_ boyfriend came running in with a helicopter, body guards, and police—and the fucker _still_ might get off if they buy his 'temporary insanity' bullshit. Where's the Karma in that?" I ask flatly.

"_Shit, Ana. That's some tale."_

"You haven't even heard the worst of it, and I don't have any time to tell you. I'm just saying that if the fear of getting hurt is what is holding you back, then you're never going to experience anything worthwhile again for the rest of your life. Everything worth having has a risk attached to it—some kind of opportunity cost, something that you have to give up or risk losing altogether in order to have it. You have to ask yourself if you want to play it safe—for a while or forever—and never move forward. You can't do anything you're not ready to do, though. You have to be ready to take a leap before you jump."

"_How do I know if I'm ready?" _He asks solemnly.

"You'll know that you're ready when what you could stand to lose by _not _taking action is more detrimental to you than your fear." That's it. That's all I can give you.

"_I can't lose Val, Ana."_

"But you're too afraid to tell her how you feel." I say.

"_That's _why_ I'm afraid, because I can't lose her."_

"If she doesn't know that you don't want to lose her, she has no reason to stick around. If she's afraid of you wanting to be with her, do you really _want _her to stick around? Can you deal with her being another 'wham-bam-thank-you-maam' and then leaving for the next guy?"

"_We agreed there would be no strings attached..." _

"And how's that working out for you?" The long silence again that speaks louder than words. "You could tell Valerie how you feel and she decides that it's not what she wants, or you could tell her how you feel and discover that she feels the exact same way that you do. I can't tell you what will happen..." not because I don't know, but because you are my patient and I _can't tell you_, "...but I can, in good conscious tell you this. Valerie is my friend, and she is a good person. She has never mistreated anyone, mislead anyone, or deliberately hurt anyone in all the years that I have known her. She is a beautiful, confident woman, but she is not cruel, conceited, or self-centered. She's a straight shooter and whether she tells you what you want to hear or not—she will never blatantly hurt or misuse you. She is a wonderful catch for any man and you might as well throw your net in the water if she is what you want. Hell, Elliot, some lucky guy is going to win that woman's heart one day...why not you?"

"_You and my brother have a perfect relationship, don't you?" _He asks, his voice filled with mirth.

"You know better than that." I scold. "We're working on it though. We're a work in progress." I say stifling a yawn.

"I heard that, Ana Montana. I'm going to let you go now. I know it's late on that side of the world. I need to be meeting Val shortly anyway."

"Think about what I said, Elliot. You only live once, Man."

"_You're a great therapist, Ana...and a great friend."_

"I do my best." I say with a smile.

* * *

When I get to the master suite, it is nearly 10:30 and Christian is already in the shower. I'm not completely exhausted, but playing Dr. Love has taken a bit out of me. I forego the shower, strip naked, and step into a Joquil In Bloom pink pleated chemise with embroidered top and a sheer empire waist with a drawstring. After I plug my iPhone into my charger, I bring my laptop to the bed and decide that I need to begin to work out my schedule for next week. I need my glasses for this since I will be looking at the computer screen for a while, so I fish them out of the case where they have been hiding the entire vacation and pull my hair back into a high ponytail. For some reason, those small gestures were comforting and made me feel more like myself again.

I look at my schedule and realize that I have missed four sessions with Luc. For the past few days, there has been no swimming, no running, no yoga, certainly no krav magna...no nothing. I'm going to have to rectify that and soon. Maybe I'll hit the punching bag in the morning and follow that with a few laps around the pool. In the meantime, I send off an email to Luc apologizing for missing my sessions and explaining that after the kidnapping ordeal, I went straight out of the country on vacation. I assure him that I will be in touch when I am back in Seattle as I don't want to get flabby or lose any muscle tone.

I catch an email from Raymond Steele. I didn't even know Dad had an email address. We never communicated that way. I'm assuming that he did so to keep in touch with Mandy while she's in Seattle and he's in Montesano. He says that he just wanted to check on me and to give me his new "electronic mail" address. This is going to be cute watching Dad's learning curve. He's a hands on kind of guy...hence the letter he sent me a month ago instead of a phonecall or "electronic mail." I think Mandy will make him more youthful, more hip...and that makes me happy.

I respond to my father to tell him that I received his _email _and that I am so glad that he has joined us in the 21th century. I tell him that I love him and I will be back in the States next week. As I am starting to puzzle-piece my week together once more to get back to some sort of normal, Christian comes out of the en suite wrapped in a towel and drying his hair. I didn't even hear the shower go off. He freezes when he sees me sitting in the bed with my laptop.

"Hey," he says softly coming over to the bed and sitting on the edge, still drying his hair. "What are you doing?"

"Answering some emails, looking at my schedule for next week—just preparing myself to get back to work." I reply.

"Are you sure you're ready?" He asks, concerned.

"We'll see. I can't hide forever." I say, turning back to my computer and updating my schedule so that it simultaneously shows up on Marilyn's calendar. For some reason, I had her pegged for Chuck. I wonder how she and Gary are making out...making out, interesting choice of words.

_Down, Emma.  
_Yeah, I know.

I continue tapping away at my laptop, answering emails and feeling a great sense of accomplishment as my inbox starts to dwindle down to double digits instead of triple digits as Christian dries the last of the water from his hair.

"I miss your glasses. They're sexy." He says as he leans into the bed, still wearing just his towel.

"You like them, huh?" I say, teasing.

"Yes. It reminds me of the first day I saw you at the community center. The way they sat on your nose and you looked at me over the frames...I thought my dick was going to explode." Is he serious?

"That far back?" I say, looking at him in just the way he just explained. "It went back all the way to the beginning?" I asked in disbelief and he nodded. "You were such an asshole! How could that be?"

"From day one...and remember, I wanted you as a sub first. Cocky Mr. Grey thought he would be able to get you to heel. When he couldn't, he had to do a background check to find out what planet you were from."

"Ah, the planet of women who could stand up to Mr. Grey's charms...or lack thereof at the time...and you sound very strange talking about yourself in the third person." I jest.

"And you're looking over your frames at me again." He says, putting his hand on my cheek and gently taking my lips with his—a soft, tender kiss that satisfies you and makes you want more at the same time. "Would I be presumptuous to tell you to put that away? I need to talk to you." Ah, yes, here it comes. I close my laptop and put it on the night table, my glasses on top of it.

"Today at the restaurant when Valerie called, you rolled your eyes at me and you took a very defiant tone." Oh hell, where is this going? Does he want to punish me for my tone? I'm not sure I can let him do that. "Normally, my first instinct is to punish you for your insolence." I knew it...wait a minute..._normally? _"When you did it today, I did think that way for a fleeting moment. Then I began to see you curling into yourself like you did that night during playtime...and shaking uncontrollably trying to fall asleep." He sat up on the bed and ran his fingers though his sexy wet hair. "For the first time, I realized...I couldn't do it."

"You couldn't do it," I repeated, more of a statement than a question. What does he mean he couldn't do it? He couldn't do it _with me?_ He couldn't do it _at all?_ What does this mean for our relationship? "What are you trying to say, Christian?"

"I talked to Flynn the other day." Oh, good Lord. "He brought some things to my attention that I didn't see before...or maybe I didn't want to see them. I could clearly see that you were suffering, Ana, not enjoying what was going on...you were tormented, bearing the brunt of what I was doing for my benefit, for my enjoyment, to help me regain control. If you remember, our first playtime was nothing like that." He's right. It was sensual and sexy and orgasmic. He introduced me to new heights and tested my limits, and when we were done my body and soul was singing! This time, I was aching...mentally and physically...so much so that the hint of it just a moment ago made me want to deny him for the first time in our relationship.

"I have to be honest and say that I still love how it makes me feel and that it gives me the control that I seemed to lose in certain situations, but it just doesn't feel right for us...not for that reason anyway. I still love to play with you and test your limits and have you dominate me when the time is right—all of our horny, kinky sexy-time is amazing...but in the end, when I need to regain control...the trade-off doesn't seem like it's worth it. After the session on Monday morning, I felt like we were pulling apart instead of coming together...it's just not worth it for me, Butterfly. It's not worth it if I feel like there's a chance that I might lose you because of it."

Okay, I got a mixed message from what he just said. On the one hand, I hear clearly that he doesn't want to go too far and risk losing me or our relationship over the need for control. On the other hand, I hear him saying that he loves the feeling of regaining control through playtime. These are conflicting messages and I'm not sure what to make of them.

"Talk to me, Butterfly. I need to know what you are thinking right now." I sigh.

"Well, you know that I was never into this before you. This is all very new to me, but I was..._am_ willing to try it...not only for you, but also to explore _my_ limits and the pleasure that it brings _me_. When you told me why you do it, I wanted to do it for you...to help you regain control when it was slipping through your fingers...like the other night when you sat out at the pool for hours. What was going through your head all of that time, Christian?"

"I asked you first." He scolds.

"I know you did, and I swear I'll answer you, but I really think it's relevant to what I want to say." He looks into my eyes, examining them for a moment.

"I was thinking that everything that I knew seemed to be unraveling and I didn't know how to bring it back together...that I was beginning to lose myself in all of the crazy events that have happened over the last weeks and I wasn't sure how to ground myself again." And that's what I was afraid of.

"So if I can't play the role that you need to release those feelings of helplessness and confusion—to help you ground yourself again—where does that leave me? What happens when you lose control again and I am unable to help regain it?" His face contorted in a way I have never seen before. It was like pain and anger and fear all in one.

"Butterfly, are you trying to tell me that you've been doing this because you're afraid that if you don't do this for me, I will go somewhere else?" He asks. Hearing the words come out of his mouth hurts me more than my own fear. That wasn't the _only _reason I was doing it, but it had a huge influence on the situation. I drop my head, unable to answer his question. I suddenly feel..._shame_. Why, I don't know, but it's consuming me at this moment.

"Oh my God." He groans and he pulls me into his arms. "Why did you never say anything?" Tears are falling as I am trying to find my words.

"If I'm afraid that I will lose you because I can't be what you need, exactly how can I tell you that without risking losing you?" I answer honestly.

"Talk to me. Please. Tell me everything. I need to know." He begs me. I shudder a moment realizing that this is going to be a turning point in our relationship one way or another. "Please. Butterfly. I love you. I need you to tell me." I screw my courage and tell him.

"I can't do another session like the one we had this weekend." I spit out all in one breath. "I lost a lot of myself and I was confused and unhappy...and I didn't enjoy myself. Yes, you made it all better in the end and I loved that, but I just can't go there again, Christian. I can't. Everything was wrong about it. Just...everything. When I woke a few hours later and everything hurt...it wasn't just my body. I had so many questions in my head that I couldn't answer and feelings that I couldn't verbalize. I think that might have been part of the reason that I fell apart Monday night, I don't know." I choke a little bit as he holds me close to him and my tears fall on his shoulders. "Christian, I love you and I don't want to lose you, but I can't do that again."

"Then we won't." He says tightening his arms around me. "John is right. It's time for me to graduate. I've been using the same coping techniques since I was a teenager...taught to me by a fucking pedophile...and now I'm trying to impose them on the woman that I love." He buries his face in my hair.

"It can't be that easy, Christian. You can't just decide that you don't want to do this and not do it anymore. Besides, I don't want to push the lifestyle away completely, just the intense part that causes me to feel like I'm losing myself, like I can't cope." I sniffle.

"Well, then," he pulls me back to look at my face, "we'll have to find some compromise so that we don't lose the things that enhance our relationship, and we don't do the things that could weaken it." He wipes my tearstained cheeks with his thumbs.

"How do we do that? Where do we start?" I ask.

"We're going to have to do some research together...look into some things and try some new stuff. It's going to be new for me because I never explored the scene as part of a couple—only as a Dom. As a sub, the Pedophile wouldn't let me out of her sight. I was even on a pretty short leash when I went to college for a year—pun intended. This way, I'm looking at things from a completely different perspective...and like Flynn says, I need to find new coping mechanisms when I'm losing control." He runs his hands through his hair. "Good God, that scares me. I've never known anything else, I don't even know where to begin to deprogram that thinking." Hell, I don't either, and I'm the professional. I know the first part of deprogramming is recognizing the problem and all of the damage it has caused or can cause, but I'm not his shrink, and I hate to cross that line with him.

"Maybe you should talk to John some more about what you want to do and how you should go about doing it." I suggest.

"I'll need your help, Butterfly." He confesses. "It affects you, too, and I couldn't do this alone if I tried." I sigh because I know that he's right, but being a psychologist, I know how dangerous this can be if the lines get blurred between us. I will have to approach this situation very carefully.

"I will be right there with you every step of the way, Baby." I assure him. I will be there in whatever capacity he needs me. There's no question about that. He sighs, relieved.

"Well, since we still like our playtime, we will have to examine some of the rules that we have established. You are one of the strongest people that I know, and you were at your complete wits end with that last session—emotionally and physically. You clearly didn't know what to do with yourself. You woke up the next day unable to move without pain. You are a master at withstanding orgasm refusal, and I would love to have a repeat performance of your skills, but we agree that it can't be to that extent ever again. There are times when you have to withstand it—like when I am inside of you and I am about to come—but to have to withstand it for hours is clearly not something that you can do without dire consequence, and it's certainly not something that I want to put you through ever again. So, I have the perfect solution...the solution that you gave me and we should have thought of this long before. A sexual safe word."

"Won't that diminish the pleasure for you though? I don't want to be right back where we started with the whole 'lack of control' thing." I ask.

"Does it diminish the pleasure for you...giving _me _a sexual safe word?" He asks seductively.

"Hell no!" I exclaim.

"Exactly. Knowing that pretty little clit is throbbing and your insides are shaking and clenching and burning so bad that you have to ask me to stop so that you don't come...that shit makes me hard right now." He says, closing the small space between us. "Choose your sexual safe word, Anastasia."

"Ladybug." I breathe.

"Ladybug." He repeats.

"Yes," I breathe, "ladybug." He kisses me gently running his tongue through my mouth only once while moaning his approval.

"Why does that sound so sexy coming from your lips?" He says, breathing on my lips and sending sexy chills down my spine.

"I don't know," I say, breathless.

"Well, no matter, because now, I want to fuck you, and I want to make you come...several times...really, _really_ hard." He says as he stands from the bed and the towel drops from around his waist.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Emma is Jane Austin's character who constantly played matchmaker—very unsuccessfully—in the book "Emma."**

**I had more pictures of the Heritage Trail, but they somehow got lost and looking for them would mean that my chapter would have been posted even later. So maybe I'll look for them again later. Until then, I have other pictures on my pinterest page for your viewing pleasure at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla /**

**For all of the Elena haters, if you haven't checked it out already, check out my one shot, "They Still DO That?" It's a response to my Facebook group on gruesome ways to kill the Bitch-Troll, or as my Ana affectionately calls her..."stank-ass, slutty, nasty, filthy, slimy, Pedo-Bitch She-Thing demon from hell." :-)**

**Please review!**

**Love and handcuffs!  
Lynn x**


	60. Chapter 60: I'm A Woman Of My Word

_**I'm sorry I'm so late, folks. Real life threw me a few curve balls like you wouldn't believe. I still haven't had a chance to read all of my reviews...again, real life. This chapter is very long, something like 15,000 words. It was actually longer and I split it where I could. So be warned, get a glass of wine because it's going to take you a while to read it. **_

_**A couple of chapters back, a reader asked if there was a male version of the French Kiss. I don't know that there is, only because men's and women's genitalia are so different. Women need rhythm to climax...men only need friction. So the little scene at the end of this chapter is the closest that I could find to what would be the Male French Kiss. I actually had to adjust it for Christian because - without giving it away - you can actually go a little further than this which results in extreme pleasure for the man, but we just weren't going to do that this time. Okay, that's it for the A/N...the chapter is long enough!**_

_**All previous disclaimers apply here. **_

_Chapter 60—I'm A Woman Of My Word_

Christian made love to me last night in every way imaginable. I don't know what got into us but we were all over that damn suite! I came so many times, I absolutely lost count, and I am certain that Christian held out because he only came once. Granted, it was pretty cosmic when he did, but it was only once. We both know that I'm quite multi-orgasmic. I might have to see just how multi-orgasmic my boyfriend is. For now, I put on a pair of workout shorties, a sports bra, and my athletic shoes and head for the gym to make good on my promise to do some working out before my muscles get all wimpy.

The third floor gym actually had a punching bag which was right up my alley. Oh, joy! I let out some steam on that puppy and it felt great! I imagined the Pedo-bitch's face, David's balls, Carla's head, Stephen's gutt—it was fabulous, cathartic even. I don't know how much work I had put in but I had worked up a good dripping sweat when I hear "Yoo hoo" off to the right of me. I stop and catch the punching back to see Christian standing in the door, looking delicious in black jean shorts and his signature linen shirt.

"Hey," I said, jumping from foot to foot to cool down and trying to catch my breath. "Why are you standing way back there?" I pant.

"Because the last time I got between you and a punching bag. I ended up with a black eye." he said entering the room. Oh yeah, I forgot about that. "You hit that thing with some serious precision." I dance around a bit more swinging at the air.

"Yeah. Luc's a pretty good teacher...when he's not being a pompous, chauvinistic asshole, that is." I start to cool down and catch my breath.

"I think he has a thing for you." Christian says.

"Not for me, just my skills." I say, matter-of-factly. "We talked during our last session. I told him that if he ever pulled that macho bullshit on me, I was going to break his neck. After the workout, he admitted that he was sure that I was good enough to go pro and he thought that I would. So that whole exhibition room workout was just him and his sour grapes." I'm stretching now as my breathing has regulated and I am starting to feel the pull in my muscles from the workout. I'm definitely going to need the hot tub. Hmmm...indoor or outdoor?

"Good God, Ana, do you usually sweat this much? You work out like a man." I shrug.

"I tend to overdo it sometimes, especially if I am working off some aggression." I answered.

"Yes, I've seen that. What aggression would you be working off today?" He asks cautiously.

"Same shit - thoughts of the Mortons, Pedo-Bitch, that bastard Edward David..." I say, taking a swing at the bag again.

"Can I see the strength of your strike?" I'm assuming he wants to use the target focus boxing mitts.

"Okay." He puts the mitts on and takes stance, one foot behind the other and bending his knees so that his hands are at a height comfortable for me. "No unexpected moves, Grey. I'll lay you out and not even know that I hit you." I warn. He chuckles a bit.

"Really?" He responds with mirth.

"Yes, _really. _I've done it twice before with big guys who didn't think I could and I've already given you a black eye once." I'm a little affronted. Are you being a chauvinist, too, Mr. Grey? He shrugs.

"Duly noted." He says, taking his stance again. What is it with men? They look at my stature and automatically assume I'm too weak to defend myself. That's right. Underestimate me. _Please!_

I put my fists up and decide to show Mr. Grey a thing or two. He went a round with Hysterical Me who probably—like any hysterical person—has the strength of 10 men. He's never gone a round with, well, just _Me_.

Remembering Luc's instructions about force and pressure, I let loose on those focus mitts, laying into Christian's hands with everything I've got. I hit with pinpoint precision every time, right at the palm—strike, follow through, and snatch back—with my best speed and strength. Halfway through, I notice that he has to stiffen his stance. He didn't prepare for the hits to be so hard. I tried to tell you—don't let the bite-sized body fool you. I continue to pound mercilessly on those focus mitts, never making eye contact with Christian and never giving his palms an opportunity to rest before the next hit came. I was concentrating so deeply that his voice actually startled me.

"Okay, pause," he says a little sternly, and I stop, surprised. "Jesus! Did I piss you off?" He asks.

"Huh?" I say, successfully feigning confusion. He takes his hands out of the mitts and flexes his fists back and forth.

"Hell, it feels like you were trying to take my hands off!" He says, accusing.

"That's how I hit!" I say, my voice going up an octave or two. "Didn't you see me with the punching bag?"

"You said you were picturing people that you hate with the bag. Is that what you were doing with my hands?" See? That's what you get for underestimating me, you big pussy!

"Christian," I shift my weight to one leg and fold my arms, "this is one of my workouts. In case you don't know, you have to punch with some force and drive otherwise you're just wasting your time. I'm not playing 'patty-cake' here, you know."

"I know you're not playing 'patty-cake,' Anastasia. That just seemed a little personal." _Anastasia. _Okay. It _was _personal, Grey. You laughed at me, but I think I made my point now.

"You know what?" I say, laughing sarcastically and ripping off my gloves. "One thing I'm not going to do is stand here and argue with you about how hard I hit. I'm going to take a shower." I turn around and march out of the workout room, taking the stairs two at a time. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you presumptuous, condescending idiot.

After a quick shower to wash off the grime, I put on my black strapless bikini with fashionable holes lining the top of the bra and all along the sides of the panties and my Raybans, grab a bag of my candy and go to the outdoor hot tub to relax my muscles a bit. I kept about eight pounds of the chocolate and nuts and sent the rest back with Keri to give to kids or whatever. What the hell was I going to do with 100 pounds of candy? I rarely eat candy as it is!

The hot water and the jets are relaxing my muscles and I am lying back, eating my candy and gazing at the thin fluffy clouds in the sky when he walks into my line of sight and looks down at me.

"May I join you?" He asks.

"It's a free country." I respond. I'm still a little salty with you, Grey, but not salty enough to send you away. He sunk down into the hot tub, gasping a bit as he relaxed into the heat.

"Admit it, Ana. You were purposely putting a little force behind those strikes, weren't you?" He asks.

"I was a little miffed at your disparaging me, but that _is _how I hit. You said yourself that you wanted to see my strength and I wasn't going to go easy just because it was you." I respond.

"When did I _disparage _you?" He asks innocently. I raise my head to look at him.

"Cut the crap, Grey," I say, calmly. "The only person you're fooling is yourself. You know damn well that you were snickering at me when I told you not to make any sudden moves." He snickers again. "And there it is." I said, pointing at him.

"I'm sorry, Baby. I had this little woman telling me that she would lay me out," he says, snickering again.

"Um-hmm, and that's why your hands hurt," I say, laying my head back again and closing my eyes this time. The laughter stopped.

"Touché," I hear from the other side of the hot tub. I hear the water splash a bit and when I raise my head, he's in front of me, his hands on either side of me.

"Forgive me?" He says, his face breaths away from mine.

"I'm not going to screw you in this hot tub, Grey." I say firmly.

"Mmm, that's a lovely idea, but I hadn't planned on it," he says, kissing my neck and stretching his arms so that his hands reach mine, entwining our fingers, "and stop calling me _Grey_."

His tongue runs up my neck to my ear and he gently sucks the lobe between his lips. I gasp and instinctively push my chest forward, nearly forgetting what I said about refusing to screw him in the hot tub. His tongue follows around my jawline to my chin and he gives it a little nip, eliciting another little gasp. I open my eyes and he looks at me, expecting.

"Christian," I say, just above a whisper, and his mouth gently finds mine, his lips molding against my lips and his tongue seeking entry. I open my mouth to accept the intruder and he hungrily devours my kisses, causing me to moan salaciously against him. His hands slide back up my arms and into to water, landing on the seat on both sides of me. He pushes himself between my thighs and I instinctively wrap both of my legs around him.

"I'm not screwing you in this hot tub, Christian." I repeat.

"No, but you will come in this hot tub." He says as his hand quickly slides into my bikini bottoms and finds my sex. I gasp loudly.

"Christian, no!" I exclaim quietly, trying to move away from his delightful hand, but there's actually nowhere I can go as he has me trapped against the tub and the seat.

"Yessss," he hisses, as his fingers search my folds and find their destination."

"Aah!" I gasp as his index and middle finger sink into me, immediately finding that magic spot and making me tremble.

"Ssssshhh," he coaxes, "someone might come outside. You don't want them to know what I'm doing to you." No, I don't want that. His mouth finds mine again as he massages me with his fingers. I don't have much room to move so I can only absorb the feeling as his fingers thrust in and out of me rubbing that spot on the inside that makes me burn while his thumb stimulates the pleasure center on the outside.

"My God, Christian!" I whisper, fighting to keep from crying out.

"You like that, Baby?" He says against my lips.

"Yes, oh yes." I gasp.

"I like that, too." He moans. "I love the way you feel...all of you...in my hands, on my dick, in my mouth. I can't get enough of you." He breathes. Oh hell, his words are doing as much to bring me to orgasm as is hands are!

"Christian..." I breathe, lost in the ecstasy he's wrapping around me. I bring my hands up to his shoulders and wrap my arms around him.

"That's right, Baby," he says softly in my ear. "Hold me. Let me feel you." He kisses me on my neck, then my shoulder blade. His tongue follows my collar bone around to the other side where he repeats the process, kissing the exposed skin while continuing the intense massage of my core. "I'm addicted to you. If I could kiss you and make you come 100 times a day, that's all I would do...watch you come apart in my arms, taste your flavor on my lips and feel you wrap around me and pull the juices from me with your magnificent body." Oh, fuck...I felt that in my chest, and I can't cry out. The things this man makes me feel are insane. His voice can make me wet...I wonder if it can make me come? No matter, because I'm about to come in a matter of moments.

"God, Christian...you drive me wild," I whisper as I sink my hands into his hair and throw my head back.

"Then we're even." He says as he slips his free arm around my waist and pulls me against him, assaulting my mouth again with his. The warm water swirling around me, Christian's hard body pressing against me, his delicious mouth and tongue teasing mine, and his skilled hand thrumming my ladyparts while he releases a hungry, vibrating moan into my mouth—I'm gone. I explode from all of the mental and physical stimulation, crying out into his mouth almost weeping from the pleasure. I tremble against his hand and shake out the last of my pelvic spasms. He starts to kiss me softly, repeatedly as I come down from my orgasm. Good God, how many orgasms have I had in the last 24 hours and this man has only had one!? That's it. I vow to myself that at some point during this weekend, I'm going to make him come so many times that he will have to beg me to stop.

"I'm going to pay you back for that, Mr. Grey." I say, completely satisfied. He pulls back to look me in the face.

"Is that a threat?" He says almost humming.

"Oh, no," I say in the sexiest voice I can muster, looking at him with _I'm going to fuck you _eyes before closing the space between us and licking his mouth salaciously, moaning as my tongue rolls over his kiss-swollen lips. "That's a promise." I whisper, stretching out the "s" a little longer. He gasps and I feel his manhood twitch between us.

"You said I couldn't fuck you in the hot tub," he warns.

"You can't...and we won't," I say, my voice still dripping with sex, "but when I do get a hold of you, I _am _going to make you scream."

"Sweet Mother of God, can I possibly love and want you any more than I do right now?" He growls.

"We'll find out."

* * *

Christian has decided that we will spend the rest of the weekend alone. I thought my promise may have prompted this decision, but he assures me that he had this planned from the beginning. He told me to pack for overnight and to include something nice to wear, but to wear something casual and athletic for the day.

Hmm...okay.

I have plans for my beloved boyfriend. I have worn my _angel outfit_—now it's time for my _naughty outfit_, which I quickly pack into my dress bag with my evening dress. I go to his underwear drawer and grab the restraints. Mr. Grey will be quite the happy camper when I'm done with him. I then noticed that he had brought more toys than I thought he had—some of them still in the packaging. I looked among them to see if there was anything that would assist in my plight. Besides the flavored massage oil, I thought I'd bring the blindfold and...what's this? A wand? Dirty little thoughts went flying though my head at the speed of light. Oh yes! This is perfect! I shove the toys into the overnight case with my toiletries and we take off.

Christian informed me that he wanted to take me to the top of this cliff that he hiked the other day. When I told him that I had no desire to do any cliff walking—yes, I heard him—he told me that there was a way to get there that didn't involve cliff walking, but it meant that we had to walk through the brush. We left our bags in the car and parked just before the thick brush that surrounded the road to Anguillita. Christian had a picnic satchel on one arm and held my hand tightly with the other. Before going into the brush, he pointed out the route that he had hiked a few days earlier. I'm not afraid of heights but I don't prefer them. So I told him that I would take his word for it without looking over the edge. He smiled at me and led me through the brush to the end of the long trail and oh...my...God.

The water was so blue and we were up so high, you could see clear across the island.

"That's Anguillita." He says, pointing west to the little cay just off the shore.

"That little patch of land there?" I ask. I was expecting it to be so much more, especially the way that he talked about it. I was quickly reminded by a tropicbird soaring overhead that this experience was not about the size of the island, but about the journey getting there actually being able to see it. I stood there for a moment looking out over the beautiful blue water and a little blue bird with a white chest landed on my shoulder. This moment seemed a little surreal to me. I mean, seriously...birds don't just come and land on your damn shoulder. I'm not Cinderella, for Christ's sake.

Am I?

Christian is setting up our picnic lunch. Picnic on a cliff...imagine that. He hasn't noticed the bird on my shoulder. "Christian!" I call quietly but earnestly, trying to get his attention without startling the bird. "Christian!" I call again.

"Yeah, Baby, what's up?" I hear him say behind me.

"Look." I say, straining my neck to look over at the little bird. I hear Christian quietly come up behind me. "What is it?" I ask.

"It's a bird, Butterfly," he laughs. Don't make me slap you, Grey!

"I know that! I was asking if you knew what _kind_ of a bird it was," I snap quietly.

"I know, Baby. I was just teasing you. I think it's a partridge...no, maybe a sparrow..." he guesses.

"Are partridges and sparrows common in Anguilla?" I ask, still standing quite still so that I don't disturb my new friend.

"I'm not sure. I think sparrows are pretty common here. So I'd say it's a sparrow." I smile at my little friend.

"I'll call you Bleu," I say, straining my neck a bit to see him...or her. "Simple enough, right?" Bleu does this little chirping thing and I got a bit too comfortable. I lift my finger towards the sparrow, but I knew before I did it that it was a daring move. Sure enough, Bleu quickly spread her little wings and took off into the brush. I smile at Christian in disbelief.

"Nothing like that has ever happened to me before," I gasp. "A bird landed on my damn shoulder!" I was feeling a little giggly.

"You attract good things, Butterfly," he says, sliding his arms around my waist and pulling me against him. "Good things happen when you're around." He kisses my hair. I wish I could believe him. "Talk to me, Butterfly," he says, instantly noticing my tension.

"Well...I just..." I sigh. "Bad things keep happening _to_ me, Christian. _Horrible _things. I can't help but wonder who I pissed off up there that unthinkable things keep befalling me." I shake a little at my own words. "I was raped and tortured. I have the worst mother in the world...well, maybe not the worst, but pretty damn bad. A whole town of people conspired against me. Now I get kidnapped by my psycho ex." I drop my head. "I've never been the 'woe me' type, but I seriously want to know when I'll be able to just take a breath and live." Christian turns me around to face him.

"I want you to be happy," he says, his eyes soft and caressing mine with his love. "I want to be one of the reasons _why_ you are happy. I want to love you and protect you...and make sure that these bad things don't cross your path ever again. We will take down every last one of those Green Valley bastards and David's ass, too. Then we will make sure the world knows that the invincible Anastasia Grey is no one to fuck with." He smiles then gently presses his lips to mine. I tangle my fingers in his hair and sink into his embrace.

Then it hit me.

I quickly pulled away to make eye contact with him. He is at first confused, then worried.

"What's wrong, Baby?" he asked.

"Christian, did you hear what you said?" I ask, searching his eyes. Still confusion.

"Yes. Did I say something wrong?" Now the worry is back.

"Did you hear what you called me?" I ask softly, trembling a bit in his arms. I can see him playing the conversation over in his head, then realization dawns and he looks down at me.

"Well, you said you would marry me," he replies, his eyes now content boasting a beautiful sleepy gray. I gasped.

"You remember." I squeak, fighting back the tears. He pulls me closer to him again.

"Of course, I remember. The love of my life said that she would marry me...when the time is right. A guy doesn't forget something like that." He says dreamily.

"Oh, Christian!" I jump into his arms and we fall back on the blanket he has laid out for our picnic. God, I want to fuck him right here, but I'll have to make due with some serious Christian Grey petting and making out. That will do me just fine...for now.

* * *

_**GREY**_

Anastasia Grey. I called her Anastasia Grey. Thank God she didn't run away screaming. It just seemed so natural, so perfect.

My wife.  
My baby.  
My Butterfly.  
Anastasia Grey.

I could never tire of hearing it, but I certainly don't want to pressure her before the time is right for us. There is so much that we need to do to get our lives on track and going in the same direction. We had a wonderful talk during our picnic on the cliff...after all of the kissing and groping, that is. I can't help wanting to touch her so much. She has this little bite-sized body that fits into my hands so perfectly...insane muscle tone that allows her to climb me like a damn tree; a delectable, round ass that I can cup with a whole cheek in each hand; and her breasts. Good God, her breasts! She is the smallest D-cup I have every seen! You would think they would be to big for someone so petite, but not Butterfly. They fit perfectly on her beautiful toned body, and they are so round and flawless—natural and exquisite. Women pay good money to have breasts that look like that. She has them naturally...and they're all mine to play with!

I want to put her in a plexiglass box and lock her away from the world and everything that could harm her, but I am the first person to know that Butterfly is a free spirit and cannot be tied down that way. That's one of the things that drew me to her, as much as I didn't want to admit it. The fact that she didn't want me and couldn't be controlled by me made me want her more. It's also one of the reason that, even though I am afraid, I am ready to let go of the way that I used to cope with things. I can exercise all the control that I need in the boardroom, and as much as is necessary in the bedroom. She loves that, and so do I, but I will need her help to make sure that I don't go too far.

We enjoyed the breeze and the sea air as we lunched on grilled chicken salad, crab cakes, fresh fruit cocktail, gourmet cheese and crackers, and wine spritzers. We talked for hours about her fears and mine and how we would tackle them when we got back to Seattle. It turns out that, for the most part, we want the same things. We both want a house and a family before we get too old to deal with teenagers. We are both open to how many children we want, agreeing that nature should take it's course depending on where we are in our lives. She wants to me help through what she knows will be a difficult and delicate transition, but she is afraid of blurring the lines between girlfriend and psychologist. It's something that we have both agreed that we will need John's help with, though I still don't think Butterfly completely trusts him. She'll do it for me, though, and I only ask that she give it a chance before she writes poor John off completely.

I ask her, cautiously, if she wants to go back to her condo anytime soon...as in, to live. I would prefer that she stay with me and won't pressure her to stay or go either way, but I would like to know if it's something that she planned on doing any time soon. David is in jail and he can't hurt her now and Harris is dead. Though there's still the Mortons to be concerned about and the paparazzi since everyone now knows that she's my girlfriend, I would worry myself sick if she left and went to that condo alone. I'm so accustomed to having her with me every night, I would probably just follow her anyway, like I was before all of the back-to-back fiascoes started happening. She indicated that she wants to go and check things out, make sure that the neighbors don't think she has moved away completely, but she has no interest in staying on the condo at this present time.

"I still love my condo," she assures me, "I just don't want to stay there right now...if that's okay."

Of course it's okay! I'm having a wall taken out in my bedroom so that your clothes can fit in my closet! Elliot is already examining the apartment to decide where to best install the waterwall, and I'm hoping we can find some local art pieces here that you can put in your office...and anywhere else you choose. Of course, I don't say these things out loud. I'll suggest the art pieces when we are shopping tomorrow. Nonetheless, for the most part, Butterfly has already moved in with me, and that's how I'll see it until she tells me otherwise.

We made our way back through the brush and down to the car around 3pm. We stopped by the villa to get Davenport and he dropped us at the airport with our bags. We will take a charter plane back to St. Maarten where we will get a flight through Winair to take us to Saba Island for the night. I have given the "staff" instructions to enjoy the evening and to pick us up tomorrow just after lunchtime so that we will have time to do some shopping. Nothing will happen to us on Saba Island. The entire island is only about eight square miles.

The trip is very short to Saba Island. It's only about 30 miles from St. Maarten, so the flight was 15 minutes tops. Butterfly had a hard time with the flight as WinAir's plane was an older propeller plane and the ride was a little bumpy. The landing, however, was the worst part.

We watched Saba Island come into view from the windows of the small propeller plane. Saba Island is a dormant volcano, most of which is usually in the clouds as the highest point of the island is 3000 feet. However, as you approach the Saba Island "airport" for lack of a better word, you can see the entire landing strip from the window of the plane! The damn thing is only 1300 feet long I would later discover (most runways are 5000 - 7000 feet long), with "X's" at the end of each end of the runway. The "X's" are actually there to denote that the runway is closed to all air traffic except for those aircraft given waivers from the Netherlands Antilles' Civil Aviation Authority.

The pilot later told me that you had to land between those "X's" which is actually only 1000 feet of runway - _not_ 1300. On the other side of each X—should you miss the mark—is a cliff and a 200-foot drop into the Caribbean Sea...no pressure, though.

Oh, but it still gets worse. The moment that the loud, buzzing, antiquated airplane hits the runway, it stops. I mean it stops on a damn dime! It hits the ground and _brake_! You don't know if you crashed, or something malfunctioned or what. Poor Butterfly couldn't wait to get off of this thing, and I have say that I shared her sentiment. I hate to see what kind of adventure taking off tomorrow is going to be.

A taxi is waiting to take us to our overnight accommodations—the Carolina Cottage. Butterfly's eye bulge out of her head when she sees the size of the place.

"I thought you said this was a cottage," She says, taking her bag from the taxi.

"It _is_ a cottage," I say, looking at the large white edifice.

"This is not a cottage, Christian. This is a house! A _big_ house! Boy, you go big or go home, don't you?" She says with mirth.

"To be honest, I didn't know it was this big either. That explains the price." I take her bag from her as we enter the "cottage"—living room, dining room, media room, kitchen, two bedrooms, three bathrooms, grilling area, terrace and a hammock porch...not to mention the full-sized outdoor pool. Butterfly was right, this is a house.

"Well, it's kind of late, close to dinner. What would you like to do?" I ask, remembering her threat to make me scream.

"We should have dinner, Mr. Grey. You're going to need your strength." She says, coyly before grabbing her dress bag and overnight case and sashaying her round ass off to the bedroom. Fuck! My dick is getting hard already!

Thirty minutes later, I am waiting for Butterfly in the living room. I was banned to the guest room as I was not allowed to interfere with her while she was getting dressed.

Now I know why.

Butterfly emerged from the bedroom in a sexy long-sleeved lavender wrap mini-dress, black sheer thigh-high stockings, and a pair of Louboutin leather purple peep-toe stilettos. I can tell that the stockings are thigh-high because every time she moves, I can see the top of the stockings in the split of the wrap.

"Butterfly...you look stunning." I breathe.

"Thank you," she says, walking over to me. "Are we ready?"

"Taxi will be here just a few minutes."

"Good," she says with a smile and turns to walk away from me. That's when I see that those stockings have a black seam up the back...and my dick is hard again.

She's going to torture me all evening.

We had dinner at a restaurant called Eden. How appropriate as I felt I was going to be taking a bite straight from the forbidden fruit tonight. The moment we were seated, Butterfly sashayed off to the ladies room, literally assaulting me with a view of her irresistible curvy ass leaving the room, those seams a road map to the promised land. Sure as hell, I look around and several men in the restaurant are watching her walk away as well...including men with dates. One of them turned around and caught my glare and immediately buried his face in his menu. When she returns to the table, I watch her glide back into the dining area. I can tell that she feels sexy because of how she is carrying herself—and that sexy walk...subtle but sassy. Her breasts are sitting up beautifully and perfectly in that dress and her ass is swaying back and forth with just enough tease for you to want to see what's under the gift wrapping but not enough sway to reveal the forbidden fruit.

"You have to stop doing that," I warn as she takes her seat.

"Doing what?" She purrs. Shit, even her voice is sexy tonight.

"Walking and moving your ass like that. I'm going to have an incurable hard-on all night if you don't stop and so is every other man in a 50-foot radius," I growl, gently stroking her thigh and quickly moving my hands.

"Well, I can't help every other man, but you...that's my intention," she states, never taking her sensual blue eyes off of me.

"Anastasia, if you don't stop, I'm going to grab your ass—blatantly and openly—and hold it until that wiggle calms down." Her eyes get big, then she leans into me and says,

"Just use a soft grip." She quickly runs her tongue across her bottom lip then to the corner of her mouth before sinking her teeth into her lip...and I am about to explode out of my pants.

"Anastasia," I warn, attempting to adjust my painful erection, "you're going to unleash something that you can't tame."

"Oh, I can tame it...and I plan to prove it," she says, now looking at her menu. I'm a dead man.

She teased me all through dinner with that dress. I pulled every trick in the book to try to get the upper hand and she just played off of every little thing I did.

I reached over during dinner and seductively stroked the exposed skin of her breast.  
She opened the dress a bit so that I could get a peek of whatever sexy-as-hell purple and black lingerie she's wearing.

She had some chocolate mousse on her lip and I sensually licked it off.  
She took her fork and put some of the confection in the valley of her breasts. Once she brought it to my attention, she scooped it out with her fingertip and stuck the finger in her mouth, suggestively sucking her finger clean then seductively saying, "Mmmmm, delicious."

After that, I had her sit next to me so that I could torture the tender meat of her inner thighs. She opened her legs and moved my hand to her crotch, stroking it up and down on her thong.

"Much better, isn't it?" She says, trying to hide her arousal. Oh, but now you're playing with fire Butterfly.

"You know I will make you come in this restaurant." I threaten, pinching her clit through her panties. She gasp.

"I'll just do the same thing to you," she says, and her hand is squeezing and rubbing my dick through my pants...hard! "And I won't be discreet." She growls and I notice that she has worked my zipper down and has her hand inside my pants, now working her way around my boxer briefs. When I feel the skin of her hand against me, I know that she is dead serious. I grab her wrist with my free hand and pinch her clit once more before ending my assault.

"Okay, okay, I believe you." I removed both of our hands from each others genitals. "What has gotten into you?"

"You," she said without missing a beat, "several times, last night. For whatever reason, you only came once. I intend to rectify that. " She takes another sip of her Cabernet Sauvignon.

"You know you don't have to do that," I say. Our relationship has never been quid pro quo in that sense. I make her feel good because it makes me feel good. Not coming just means I last longer.

"Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Grey, I look forward to it," she says, licking the rim of her glass. That's it for me...

"Check please!"

* * *

I did everything I could to get the upper hand, but tonight, I was out of my league. Butterfly means business, and I am about to discover that this is a night that I won't soon forget.

The bedroom is dimly lit and we are standing on opposite sides. She is leaning against the wall looking at a me and I am standing with my hands in my pocket gazing at her.

"Take off your shirt," she says softly. When I don't move, she repeats herself, enunciating every word.

"Take. Off. Your. Shirt." Okay...she means business. I pull my shirt out of my slacks and remove my cuff links. I unbutton my shirt and take it off.

"Drop it," she commands, and I let it fall to the floor. "Your shoes and socks." I quickly kick out of my shoes and remove my socks.

"Now your t-shirt," she says, emerging out of the shadows and moving closer to me. I see that wiggle and I get hard..._again_. I remove my shirt and it joins the rest of my clothes in the pile on the floor. She walks over to me and places open-mouthed kisses on my chest.

"Butterfly," I moan as I take in her scent and the feel of her kissing me.

"I'll take care of these," she says as she rubs my dick again through my pants. Shit, that feels good.

"Sssss, Baby..." I warn. You've been teasing me all night. I don't know how much more I can take before this party starts without you!

"Oh Christian, we're just warming up." She says as she undoes my belt then my zipper and bottom and drops my trousers for me. She pulls my face down to hers and kisses me deeply while she grabs my ass and I return the favor. She steps back from me then sticks her hand down the front of my boxer briefs.

"Oh Hell, Ana..." I almost can't think with her hand grasping me. "Shit, Baby."

"You like that?" She asks, pumping my erection.

"Oh yes, very much."

"Well, there's much more where that came from." She says as she moves her hand around and removed my underwear.

"I'm going to restrain you. Is that okay?" Huh?

"Restrain me with what?" I ask.

"I brought the restraints." She brought the restraints. Ms. Steele has made a plan and she is serious. So, let's see where this takes me.

"You can do anything you like, Butterfly. Where do you want me?" I ask softly.

"Anywhere and everywhere I can get you, but right now, I'll take you in the chair behind you," she responds shamelessly. I turn around and there is a metal reclining chain with a black frame and gray padding. Something is underneath the chair and I am assuming that's where she has the restraints. I follow instructions and sit in the chair.

"Put your hands on your lap," she says and I obey. She attaches the adjustable straps tightly to each armrest then she produces the restraints.

"Your wrists, Mr. Grey," she says, her voice husky and sexy. I hold my wrists out to her and she attaches the wrist restraints. She clips each restraint onto an armrest and then bends over in my face, planting deep wet kisses on my mouth.

"You're wearing too many clothes, Ms. Steele," I say, aching to see her out of that dress.

"I know," she says backing away and running her hands up her body, "a situation that I intend to rectify right now." She brings her hand to the sash on the hip of her barely decent mini-dress and slowly starts to pull. "I was going to blindfold you," she begins, prolonging the agonizing process, "but I think you might want to see the freaky things that will be going on tonight."

Fuck! Those words have my dick throbbing already! It's a good thing I'm already free of clothing.

"Move your ass to the edge of the seat. Don't worry, it's sturdy enough for my requirements." Her requirements. She really _has_ planned this out. The last time she planned something out this meticulously, I was begging to come all day...and it was fabulous!

I scoot my ass to the edge of the seat and sit back. The chair reclines just slightly, but not enough to lift the foot rest. "Open your legs," she commands, "I want to see my dick."

Sweet hell, she is something else today! I can tell she's not in Domme mode, but she's pretty damn close, and I'm going to obey like she is because she is so close to the edge that she can slip in at any second. As she pulls the last sash, her dress falls open and she lets it fall the the floor.

"Oh...my...God." Those are the only words that I can get out of my mouth. She looks edible. She is wearing purple and black striped structured corset and her perfect breasts are nearly spilling out of the top of it. She wearing a purple thongs with shiny silver accents and the damn thing has a large hollowed-out butterfly stretched across her pelvis and down to her pussy. The thigh highs have no suspenders, so nothing is blocking my view those soft, slightly bronzed, sun-kissed thighs...and she still wearing those sexy purple stilettos.

Greystone is at full attention and my legs fly open almost involuntarily. He wobbles around a bit to take in his surroundings and I swear, he stops to stare at Anastasia.

I know, right?

She goes over the her purse and pulls out her glasses. What? She puts them on and slowly walks over to me and bends so that those perfect breasts are in my face again...and I can't touch them. She looks at me over those glasses and licks her lips. It's a good thing she tied my down, otherwise I would be balls deep in her at this very moment.

"I'm going to make you come many different ways tonight until you beg me to stop," she says, her mouth breaths away from mine so that I can feel the heat of her words against my lips. "You can use your sexual safeword if it becomes uncomfortable for you. Otherwise, you can just tell me to stop and I will stop. When it gets good to you, whatever I'm fucking you with, I want you to fuck me back. I want you to thrust until whatever is satisfying you because I want to see those sexy abs ripple in ecstasy. Do you understand?"

"Baby, you are beautiful and you are sexy and you can do whatever you want to me. But if you make me come while you're wearing those glasses, I'll never allow you to wear them in public again." At first, she looked affronted, just for a flash. Then she fought a snicker, took the glasses off, and put them on the nighstand.

She comes back to stand in front of me and says "I wish I had brought one of your collars." I _knew _she was a sneeze away from Domme mode, and it's driving me wild. She reaches down and grabs my erection and slowly begins to stroke me.

"Ah!" I moan. I was aching for her to touch me. "Shit, that feels good." She smiles at me.

"Oh, Mr. Grey," she laughs softly, "the night is young." She steps back and slowly rubs her thighs. She brings her hands up her body, pausing momentarily to moan and appreciate her sweet pussy, but then continuing up to her luscious breasts. I am pulsating violently as she pushes those two ripe melons together and the first hook comes open on her corset.

"Oops," she says coyly and she moves her hands down and squeezes her body again, popping the second and then the third hooks. She's fucking torturing me. Greystone is having a temper tantrum, begging her to come and play with him. He is getting harder and pinker by the second. Once she is out on display, her corset half open and her beautiful tits calling to me, she drops on her knees in front of me and pushes my legs further apart.

Here we go.

She reaches under the seat and produces a bottle of massage oil. Oh hell, Grey, you are going to come tonight. She puts an ample amount of oil on her hands and spreads it over her breasts. As she pinches her nipples and they become taut, she moans in pleasure and bites her lip.

"Fuck, Baby, you're killing me here," I complain, my manhood now banging viciously against my stomach.

"Oh, really? Well, we should do something about that." In a second, her oily hand is gripping and stroking my dick—deep and hard.

"Goddamit!" I growl, and my hips rise out of the seat. "Damn, damn, damn!" This feels so good, but it's over almost the moment it starts. I see the look in her eye and I am hopeful as hell for what is coming next. Is she going to do what I think she is!? Oh, please tell me she is. Good God, she is positions herself over me and I know what she's about to do.

She going to let me fuck her tits...  
or fuck me with her tits...  
Who cares? She going to make me come with her tits!

I'm like a little kid at Christmas! I can barely control my breathing as she positions me at the valley of her breasts and pushes them together over my manhood. Then she starts to move, slowly at first pushing me up between those soft, juicy, oily, beautiful balls of flesh. The visual almost made me lose it completely.

"Oh, Ana, this is...so...hot..." I grunt as I feel my hips stiffening to allow her more access to Greystone, who keeps happily peeking out of the tops of her breasts.

"You like that, Baby?" She asks as she pushes her breasts together and begins to pick up the pace.

"Ugh! Oh, God, yes!" I grunt again and start to move my hips to match her strokes. "Ah, fuck."

"That's it, Baby. Fuck my tits." She growls, and with those words, I'm off. My hands are gripping the chair and she is skillfully holding my legs open with her body. There is nowhere for me to go but deeper into her breasts, which I do gladly. I am wildly stroking between her lady mounds, once again, a perfect fit. I get a little carried away and my dick slips out of its happy place. That's no problem for the beautiful Anastasia. She grabs my dick and rubs it between her left breast and her hand.

"Ah, fuck!" I exclaim as the feeling is so good and I know I'm going to come any minute now. She replaces Greystone into Happy Valley and continues to fuck me with her breasts. I stroke deeply and I know my explosion is not far off.

"Open your eyes," she commands. I didn't know I had closed them. "Don't look away. I want you to see this." I train my eyes on her and watch her bend down and suck the head of my dick into her mouth each time it pokes up between her breasts.

"Ah! Aw fuck!" I'm a goner. Watching that shit and feeling the suction on my head from her mouth and the oily friction on shaft from her tits, I am pumping like a jackhammer, coming ferociously and watching my seed squirt into her mouth. I grunt loudly with each stroke as I watch her accept long squirts of my release in her mouth and it spurs me on further. It is so fucking hot and I sound like a damn animal—grunting out my orgasm. Her strokes slow and I finally try to get a handle on my breathing.

"My God, Anastasia. That was incredible," I choke out between breaths. I love titty-fucking and I didn't know if or when I would get the chance to do it with Butterfly. She rises from her knees.

"You get a moment to compose yourself," she says before gently kissing my lips. I taste myself in her mouth and it is so arousing. Greystone slightly starts to twitch again and I know he is getting himself ready for round two. She moves off to the right of me somewhere and then I hear music start to play. I hear a woman's voice, high-pitched and sexy, and my Butterfly is back in my view. The song is old and the woman sounds like she is ecstasy, talking about loving to love.

Butterfly begins to sway in front of me and all of a sudden, I resent being in these damn restraints. My baby can move and she looks so sexy and I just want to touch her so badly. She sways back and forth in front of me and rubs her hands over her body, making the same sounds as the woman in the song. She stands with her legs apart and throws her head back. When she makes eye contact with me again, she squeezes her body once more releasing the last three hooks on her corset and this sexy ass song is still playing. She picked the right music because it is doing things to me and Greystone is starting to respond again.

She releases her lovely body from the corset and I get to see these pretty panties that she's wearing while she caresses her body again, twisting her nipples and licking her lips.

"Beautiful."

The word escapes my lips before I know it and Butterfly responds by straddling me. The music changes tempo a bit and I am now getting the most luscious lap dance as Butterfly grinds her hips and her panty-clad sex over my erection.

"Ugh!" I grunt at the stimulation. She puts one hand on the chair over my head and the other on my arm to steady herself and she is grinding into my dick. "Oh, yes, that is so good, Baby."

"I know," she breathes and I know she is aroused. Her lips come down on mine and she bites my lip before sucking it into her mouth. Oh, God, I'm going to expire. She runs her tongue through my mouth then moves her lips to my ear. "I'm wet, Baby," she pants. "Can you feel it?" Fuck yeah, I feel it! Your panties are drenched.

"Yes," I growl as she bites and licks my earlobe. She stops her movement suddenly and grabs my face, her eyes closed.

"No...no..." she breathes, more to herself than to me, her forehead on mine. I know she just stopped herself from coming. Oh, hell. Is she going to deny herself every orgasm? This is going to be intense. Just as she rises off of me, the song changes and a base beat fills the room shortly followed by a male group talking about getting freaky and licking someone all over. Right at that moment, Butterfly bends over and sticks her ass out at me as she slides her panties down her legs.

I think Greystone just squirted a bit.

She backs her ass up against my dick and sits right on my nuts. I have this delicious view of my dick—erect and hungry—between her ass cheeks as she starts to rock a little bit. My erection sways from side to side between her butt cheeks and her wet pussy is squeezing and massaging my nuts, literally twitching on my balls. The feeling is phenomenal and I am losing my breath again, panting because I can feel her core tightening on my balls while her ass is rocking back and forth on my dick.

"Oh, damn, Baby," I breathe as she moves in time with the music and I'm watching my dick throbbing against her ass, rocking and growing. She's supporting her weight on my knees with her hands as she grinds into me. When the music changes and Maxwell talks about screwing until somebody calls the cops, she shifts to pull me between her thighs teasing me again by stroking my dick with her wet folds, driving me wild again. I drop my head back and absorb the pleasure as, once again, I can't go anywhere. She is so fucking good, and she was about to show me just how good she is.

She closes her legs and start to slide up and down ny erection, just in that space between her vagina and her thighs. "Oh shit shit shit!" I groan and my cock it hard as a damn rock. She drops some more oil between her legs and make it good and slippery. Then she leans back onto me, clasps her hands on my wrists to steady herself, crosses her legs at the ankle and start to stroke.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! She is squeezing my my dick in the gap between her sweet, hot pussy and those insanely muscular thighs and she is stroking like she is fucking and chasing an orgasm. She's even moaning!

"Ana...shit!" I pant. Here comes number two. I can't stop it. She's enjoying herself too much and Greystone doesn't stand a chance. "Ana! Ah, shit!" As instructed, I thrust hard into that opening between her thighs against her pussy. I now realize that she is getting some stimulation from the friction which is why she is moaning...which in turn is making me stroke faster and harder, ensuring that I'm will blow any fucking second! It is hot...and slick...and tight...and it feels so good.

"Oooooo, Baby," she mewls, "that's it. Stroke it hard, Baby. Mmmm, come on, Baby. Come for me." She says as she lays her head back on my shoulder and bites my earlobe, squeezing her thighs together even tighter—as if she could. The shot of pain from my earlobe goes straight to my dick. I look down her body and see my engorged head popping up between her legs with each stroke. I feel my legs trembling a bit and I explode, thrusting myself hard between her legs and cursing shamelessly as my second orgasm burns through me. She grabs the head of my dick around the sensitive rim with just her fingertips and squeezes hard as I am cursing out my release and I swear that with this explosion, Greystone is down for the count.

But my Sex Vixen has other plans.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

That's two, and with that last violent shake, I think he may need motivation before I get a rise out of him again...but he hasn't begged me yet, so I'm not stopping.

That last one almost sent me over the edge, feeling his hard dick between my legs, the friction and pressure heating up my clitoris. I couldn't stop until he came and its a good thing he did because I was almost there..._right_ there.

I take a moment to compose myself because what I plan to do next will have me coming in an instant if I don't wait a moment. The product of his orgasm has squirted all over my stomach and we both are struggling a bit to catch our breath.

"You make me so hot, Christian." I whisper as I reach behind me and tangle my fingers in his hair. I smear some of his seed on my finger and move down to my clitoris, gently spreading his wetness there while making him watch. It's almost unbearable and I hear him gasp. He leans down and bites the meat on my shoulder.

"Ahaa!" I moan and fuck if he didn't almost make me come. I snatch a handful of his hair and pull. Naughty boy!

"Stop it!" I say through clenched teeth, still stroking my clitoris. He gasps and hisses and I know he's getting aroused again.

"Yes. Yes. Okay. Sorry." He whispers, and I feel him twitch underneath me again. He's responding but he's not quite there yet. I slowly rise off of him slap him gently across the face. His eyes turn glassy and sharp, desire and heat buried dangerously therein. I stand over him and grab his hair again, jerking his head back hard. "Ah!" He breathes as I bring his eyes to meet mine.

"Don't touch unless I say that you can!" I hiss. That did it. I felt him jerk straight up and the head of his dick brushed against my pussy.

"O...kay..." he breathes, barely able to contain his arousal. This is why we have to tweak our BDSM lifestyle but we can't get rid of it altogether because we like it too much. Christian loves to be handled roughly—pain turns him on. A small sting gets me going but pain is his aphrodisiac. We are going in for round three, folks. Three is usually his limit, but I have learned that Christian Grey is an extremely virile young man and his dick can almost respond on command. Lucky me! I reach under his chair, grab the cloth that hid my "tools" and cleaned his seed from my stomach. His erection is staring at me, expecting—not as hard as it has been tonight, but hard nonetheless. In a moment of spontaneity, I slap it to the side.

"Fuck! Oh, fuck!" He jerks from his chair and drops back to his seat. His fists are clenched and he is breathing hard, nearly growling like an angry animal. I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing until he growls,

"AGAIN!"

He startled me so badly that I reflexively slap the shit out of his dick.

"GOD! Oh God!" He flexes back in the seat, his dick sticking straight up at me. He looks glorious—tortured and aroused, begging me to slap his dick and cause this exquisite pain he yearns.

"Again, oh God...Ana...again...please..." Far be it from me to deny the man his request. I slap him again a little harder this time and he cries out, his head back and his mouth hanging open. Before he has the chance to ask me again, I slap it again, and again, and again until he is nearly wailing and I see pre-cum present on the head of his dick. Fuck, I can't take this shit anymore. He looks absolutely fucking irresistible. I drop to my knees and slam his dick into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat, down to the balls.

"AaaaahaahaahaaaaooooohGod!" He cries and if the arms of the chair were not metal they would be broken. My little move hurt my throat a bit—I was too anxious. But I adjust myself after I quickly wipe away my gag tears and now I am ferociously attacking this delicious penis-pop, sucking and slurping like my life depended on it.

"God! Godohgod! God, yes! Yes!" He's banging his head against the back of this chair. I am working him too hard and too fast for him to even thrust into my mouth. I am using every move I know on this man at this moment because this dick feels and tastes damn good.

Cupping my hands just under his balls to push them up to my mouth, I run my tongue roughly and salaciously over his balls while giving open-mouthed wet sucking kisses up and down the side of his shaft, deliciously running my lips hungrily along his length.

I clamp my hands around the base of his balls and the base of his dick and lick continuously with long strokes from the bottom of his nuts to the head of his dick. He rises out of the chair each time I get to the head. The last time I get to the head, I clamp down on it and suck hard and now he is thrusting into my mouth, calling out to a higher power and begging me not to stop. I reach both hands up to his chest and scratch hard while I clamp onto his dick with the full intent to bring him to his third orgasm.

"Baby! Baby! Fu-uck!" He cries as I scratch him again and he thrusts a few more time into my mouth before his dick throbs his release down my throat. That's three.

I release him with a pop and he now has his head down...again...trying to catch his breath. I push a large ottoman over in front of him and sit down, waiting for him to tell me that he's had enough. I'm sitting there in front of him, wearing only my stockings and stilettos and waiting for the magic words, but he doesn't say them.

"I'm okay," he says, "I just need to...breathe for a second." That's as close as I'm going to get to surrender, I'm sure...for now anyway.

I lean back on the ottoman and grab the massage oil. I squirt it down my naked body and start to rub it into my skin. I like my Anguilla tan. I've always been so pale and I never thought about tanning or anything, but I look pretty damn hot with a little glow to my skin. I may be looking into tanning when I get back to Seattle. I run my hands along my skin, across my breasts, down my tight stomach, admiring my muscle tone in my pelvis and my thighs. My vagina has a light dusting of hair as it has been a little minute since I got my last Brazilian wax. I run my fingers through the hair there and make the mistake of grazing my clit.

"Ah," I breath as the heat from the refused orgasm ignites again. I press my hand down over my sex, one finger sliding inside and I sink into the stimulation. "Ah!" I whimper again as I throw my head back and lose myself. The feeling is exquisite and I am on fire. I thrust into my finger, wondering at the feeling I am bringing myself.

"Fuck, you look so good." His voice almost broke my concentration. I actually forgot he was there.

_Right, Steele, you have a mission here. Enough wiggling your bean._  
Just a little longer...I won't come.  
_Yeah, good luck with that._

I throw my legs over his arms still tied down to the armrests and I pleasure myself while sitting on the ottoman in front of him. "Oh, Ana, you are so wet," he encourages. "Go deeper. It looks so good."

I follow directions and go deeper and cry out from the ecstasy.

"It's so hot, Christian," I say, "and tight. It feels so good." I'm breathing heavily and I start to sweat a bit. I lick my lips and pinch my nipple and right before I come, I stop. "Ah! Ah! No, no, not yet." I pant. That was fucking close. I make eye contact with Christian and his eyes are fire again. That drove him nuts because I just denied myself an orgasm...for the third time.

I rise from the ottoman and straddle him again, pushing my boobs together and pressing my breasts into his mouth.

"Suck!" I say salaciously, and he obeys, pulling a nipple into his mouth sucking and licking expertly. I don't know where I got this bright idea because this can make me come, too. His skills bring me to the edge like they always do and now I'm all hot and horny which of course makes _him_ hot and horny.

"I can smell your arousal, Baby," he says against my breast.

"Of course you can smell me. I'm unbelievably hot for you," I state the obvious. I reach down and grab his cock, pumping it with my fist between my legs. He groans and intensifies his technique on my breast. Oh shit...

"Stop," I say soft and longing and he releases my nipple immediately. I moan a little as I sit down on the ottoman, his semi-erection still in my hands. I concentrate on his cock—his beautiful pink cock. I put a little more oil on my hand and set out to give him a full hand job while R. Kelly is telling us to bump and grind.

"Oh Ana," he breathes as his semi-erection becomes a full erection. I work my oily hands up and down his shaft in opposing circles, first soft and fast and then strong, tight strokes from base to tip. He's going to have to give in soon because dammit I want to come and I said I would wait until he did. This is starting to kill me.

"Damn. Your hands are magic!" He groans as his dick pulsates in my hands. I work him some more, stroking that beautiful piece of meat in my hands and loving every minute of it. I've slowed down enough that he can stroke into my hand and I see his leg tremble a bit. Time to wrap this up. I grab the head of his dick and stimulate—stroke and squeeze—just the top half and most sensitive part, from middle to head. With my other oily hand, I massage his balls.

"Christ! Oh, Christ!" He stiffens again, his hips thrust forward to absorb the pleasure. "Oh...G...God, Ana...y...you're...magnifi...cent!" He chokes just before his orgasm. Yes, I know.

"Look at me," I command as I clamp both hands on his dick again and pull repeatedly. He opens his eyes just in time to watch his come spray over my tits.

"Oh fuck! God, b...Baby! F...fuck." He stutters as his leg bounces violently and he chokes over his release. I'm not even giving him a chance to recuperate from this one. What I have planned next will do all the work for him _and_ blow his fucking mind.

Time to pull out the big guns.

I have waited for _years _to be able to do this to someone, so I am extremely excited to see how this turns out. I reach for the cloth again and clean my breasts and then push the ottoman all the way against the foot rest of the chair. I recline the back a little more which causes Christian's hips to go forward and up a bit. He looks at me puzzled as I open my legs around his recliner. I pull him forward and rest either of his legs on top of mine so that his legs are wide open and his dick, balls, perineum, and anus are fully exposed.

"Oh good hell," he says softly, because he knows that he is at my mercy now and that whatever I'm about to do it going to be very intense and quite memorable. I can tell that he is preparing himself for sexual torture, as well he should. Once I have him in position, I reach down and reveal the wand.

His eyes have become a glassy gray, almost clear, and I can tell that he's not thrilled about the idea of having this kind of toy used on him. I can only assume that it has something to do with She-Thing and her sub training, but I don't want to think about that, and I don't want him to think about that either. If this goes as planned, this will be the grand finale. So I can guarantee that he doesn't want to miss this.

"This will be all for your pleasure," I say seductively. "I would never do anything to emasculate you or make you feel uncomfortable. Do you trust me?" He pauses for a moment and I can still see uncertainty in his eyes. Nonetheless, he nods hesitantly. "Good. Now I want you to sit back and relax, Baby. Remember, if anything becomes too intense for you, use your sexual safe word. If you are uncomfortable with anything, just tell me to stop, and I will stop immediately. Okay?" He nods again. "I need to hear you say it." I tell him, putting my hand gently on his cheek.

"Okay. Yes, I understand. I will tell you to stop if I do not like it." He says softly, almost like a child. What did she do to him? Part of me almost doesn't want to do this, but the sexual sensual Bitch is jumping up and down and _daring _me to back out now. I kiss him gently on his lips then his chest and then his stomach before I push his shoulders back to recline the chair then sit on the ottoman in front of him—my legs open and his legs open. He is laid out in front of me like the sacrificial lamb. If he has anything left after this one, I will declare him the winner and sex his brains out. I have let three orgasm pass me by so that I could keep my passion and my nature up and I would screw a damn light pole right now! Let the sexual torture begin!

He is completely flaccid because he had his most recent orgasm not 10 minutes ago. I cover my hands with the massage oil and gently caress his balls. He is watching me carefully and he is still unsure about this. He is going to have to relax. I move one hand further down and back to his perineum and his anus, only spreading oil on the skin on the outside. I know that his prostate is right behind the perineum and ultimately, the most intense stimulation would be a finger in his butt and a direct massage of the prostate. However, I have a feeling that She-Thing has done something cruel or unthinkable to him—something that made his beautiful gray eyes turn white at the mere thought of a toy near his genitals—so invasive ass-play is out.

I continue to gently massage his testicles, applying a small amount of pressure as I rub the perineum. I look seductively into his eyes and lick my lips as I massage him and I feel his body relax just a fraction with that gesture.

"Only for you pleasure, okay?" I say softly. He nods again.

"Yes...okay." He responds, his voice barely audible. I can hear the simultaneous fear and arousal when he speaks. I reach under his balls and tickle his anus and he stiffens again. I stand and place a gentle kiss on his lips.

"Relax," I whisper.

"Okay." His voice is shaking a bit. I put more oil on my hands and massage his testicles some more. When I hear his breathing slow a bit, I begin to gently massage his penis with my oily hands—no stroking, just gentle rubbing. He's starting to twitch just a bit, so I continue to rub the oil on his penis and testicles, holding my hands vertically on his manhood and allowing it slide between my fingers as I bring my palms back down to his balls. After a few moments of this massage, I can feel Christian start to relax and his sex starts to respond to my touch.

Now it's time for the wand. When I turn it on, he immediately tenses again. I don't make eye contact with him this time. He has to know that I am confident that he will enjoy what I am about to do. I set the wand on its second lowest setting and place it gently on his perineum just under his balls so that his scrotum and his prostate get a nice little humming vibration from the outside. He jumped and tensed for a moment, but with the chair slightly reclined, there was nowhere that he could run.

I didn't make any sudden moves...and still no eye contact. I gently move the wand over his perineum, rubbing the top of his scrotum and softly pressing them into the wand. He slowly starts to relax again and I think he's beginning to enjoy the sensation. Good, I knew that he would. He seems afraid to close his eyes—he wants to watch. He doesn't want any surprises, but he is starting the clench the arms of the chair slightly and after a minute or so, his balls start to jump. They are once again getting hard along with his shaft and starting to fill the nut sack.

I guess he finally decides to trust me because his head falls back and his chest starts to rise and fall intensely. The flag will be flying at full-staff once again in just a few moments. Every so often, a deep quite moan escapes with his breathing. That's right, Baby. Let it happen. I'm going to make feel so good...and forget about whatever it is that bitch did to you.

I increase the setting on the wand just one notch, and I know that he is getting a good and constant vibration on his prostate. I know it's not high enough to be uncomfortable, but I have to wait to see if it high enough to be productive since I'm massaging from the outside and—let's face it—this is my first time trying this. I know what's _supposed_ to happen, I just don't know if it will. I move it around just a bit and apply a small amount of pressure. I think it is having the desired result because Christian starts to twitch a bit—a little reaction to the stimulation. His eyes are screwed shut and I can see the sweat starting to form on his chest, which is rising and falling faster than before.

"Do you want me to stop?" I say softly without removing the wand or ceasing the rotation.

"Yes...! No...! I don't know...no! Don't stop!" His voice is very breathy and he never raised his head. His fingers are stretched out straight and his palms are flat...hard onto the armrests like they are stuck there. This is a new feeling for him, I know. Allowing someone anywhere near his prostate would put him at their mercy...in a position of weakness, so to speak—and Master Grey does _not_ do weakness, nor are you likely to find him at anyone's mercy. Yet here he is, trusting me not to violate him when all of the signs indicate that he has been violated this way before. I am even more determined to make sure that he never forgets this experience, but I have to be careful not to make him come too soon. We just want the milk...the orgasm comes later, and it will be insane!

Christian is now panting and his dick is getting harder and harder, but I won't touch it because that stimulation is sure to lead to his release. I am still only massaging the prostate with a gentle stroke every now and then on the balls. His dick is once again turning that shade of pink with the purple veins and now, he's so aroused that his dick looks like a tree truck—every veins is protruding from his skin. Careful, Steele, that bomb is going to blow before you're ready.

I lean down and blow gently on the head in an attempt to tame the monster.

"Ah! Ana!" He mewls. That's different. He mewled! Hmm...I think I'm going to like this. I know that his penis is tender from the number of times that he has already come which is why I'm almost sure this will be our finale, but the pleasure that he is feeling right now is overriding any tenderness or discomfort. What's more is that he can't do anything to stop this arousal because I am stimulating one of the three glands that is the direct cause for arousal and ejaculation. The other two are building up nicely in his balls for the final "presentation."

Christian is gently pressing back against the wand intensifying the depth of the vibration to his perineum and subsequently, to his prostate. He is now sitting on the very edge of the chair and his legs are open as far as they can go. This is delicious! He looks so sexy and vulnerable like this and it's everything I can do not to stick a finger into my pussy and just come all over his sexy ass! I push the wand back against him, giving him the pressure that he is seeking and here comes the first milking.

Wow! I did it...without having to invade his asshole!

It's white, like I expected, but very watery—not thick at all since the other two components of come are not present—and there are only a few drops of it escaping from the slit at the mouth of his erection, maybe five or six drops at the most. Now I've done my research and with each milking, all of the milk has to come out and sometimes it needs a little help. I take my free hand and run my thumb against the length of his penis over that thick vein in the front, then squeeze the rim of his head gently to release the drops of watery white fluid. There is no stroking or groping or this party will be over. This feeling is supposed to be pleasurable and refreshing, but not like an orgasm.

Sure enough, Christian is moaning gently between pants, his head thrown back almost in a state of comfort and resignation, beautiful sun-kissed red hair hanging from his scalp over the back of the chair. He has never had his prostate milked before and I am certain that this is a whole new experience for him. He's not jerking or twitching at this moment. He is holding very still, riding out whatever sensation there is from the massage and the milking. There is no tension in his body whatsoever—except of course the rock-hard dick—and he begins gently pressing against the wand again for that penetration to his prostate. The look on his face, his body reaction, and even his gentle moaning, is almost like he's in a subconscious state all by himself...and I don't say a word. I'm only going to bring him pleasure and he's going to take from this experience what he needs.

When his first milking is over, he slowly raises his head trying to breath. His breath is staggered like he has been holding it for a while. He relaxes his hips for a moment while he tries to take in oxygen.

"How does it feel, Baby?" I ask softly. Watching his reaction is making me so hot, I am only too certain that my voice is dripping with sex, but my boyfriend is too far gone to notice.

"Good...It feels good...it feels good..." He whispers between pants before dropping his head back again. Now I've seen the videos where men have used stimuli to milk themselves up to eight times in a session. We won't be doing that to Mr. Grey. This man has already come four times. My hat goes off to him, he's a fucking machine—pun intended. A few more minutes of gentle stimulation and one more milking and we should be reading to put the icing on the cake, so to speak.

I increase the setting on the wand once again and gently rub his penis, just enough to bring the blood a little more to the surface, but not enough to cause the volcano to erupt. Now he's back to gripping the arms of the chair again and the sweat in forming more and more on his body...his hair starting to turn dark brown where it has come in contact with his perspiration. I can tell that the intensity is starting to get to him. Now I am alternating between my oily hand and the wand on his perineum and his balls. While massaging his balls with the oily hand, I have the wand on prostate. When I run the wand up the perineum to his balls, I rub the prostate area with my oily fingers. He actually yelps at the feeling since my finger occasionally wanders to bundle of nerves that is his anus, but I don't break the barrier, and the wand is now stimulating the sack that will empty for our "swan song."

"Oh, Ana...oh my God...oh, that feels so good..." Again...different...his voice is probably three keys higher than I am accustomed to and he almost sounds like he's softly whining. I have never in my life heard this man this aroused...I swear, he sounds like _me._ He is working to control his breath and still moaning his pleasure. He starts to jerk again, and soon the milky watery liquid is dripping from his erection again.

"Oh...oh...oh...oh...oh..." he moans with each breath. He sounds like he is floating! I'm a little jealous! This man is off on a sexual starship and he has left me behind! Oh well, the show must go on.

Once I have jerked the rest of the milk from the head, I know it's time for the big one. I increase the speed of the wand once again. It is now set on the setting below its highest setting. The highest setting might send him to the moon and he's already on a starship! Maybe we'll test that theory... I start working the wand slowly up his dick. Now he's really starting to squirm since the vibrations are directly on his shaft. He's thrusting forward a bit and his legs begin to tremble. His feet are flat on the floor and his butt is actually starting to rise out of the chair. His abs are rock hard, tensed beautiful and on display, and he is completely at my mercy. His head thrown back and high-pitched—well, high-pitched for Christian anyway—cries of ecstasy shamelessly escape his throat while his erection is subjected to my will and the vibrations of the wand.

As he obviously is approaching his orgasm, his body is tensed and almost completely straight in this recliner, his feet still on the floor and his dick still thrusting forward into the vibrations of that wand. At one point, he actually picked up the chair...which is pretty lightweight anyway. His poor dick is pulsating and bouncing around like crazy. Purple is an understatement...he's so engorged, he's almost blue! I am still relentlessly running this wand slowly up and down his erection and now picking up speed the closer I get to his head. I sit the wand at the base for a few seconds, and he's standing again, his mouth hanging open...

"Ah...(pant)...ah...(pant)...aah...(pant)...aaah.. .(pant)...aah..."

I got him on the run now. I roll the palm of my free oiled hand around on the head of his dick and there's nowhere that he can go, although I'm sure that he would have taken flight at that moment if he could.

"Mmmmmmmm! Mmm! Mm! Mm! Mm!" Oh, he can't take much more of this, I'm sure. His nuts are literally dancing now! I lean down and lick them salaciously, running my tongue over every part of his exposed skin and pulling them gently into my mouth, one by one, teasing them with my tongue and letting them pop out through my lips—all while moving the wand along the bottom half of his dick and my hand around the head. His legs are shaking violently and I don't know how they are holding him up.

"Ana..h..h...God...h..h...Ana..." his voice is barely a whisper and he is all of a sudden drenched in sweat...like someone threw a bucket of water on him! I switch my hand and the wand...hand at the base and the wand at the head...

...and my boyfriend becomes a bitch.

"Aaaaaaaaaahh!" He is wailing! When I say wailing, I mean mourning widow wailing! I think it was more from the surprise at first and then from the sensation. I mean let's be realistic—blue-purple highly engorged aroused penis head meets powerful wand on its second to highest setting. Hmmm...

I squeeze the base of his dick, stroking madly, still licking his balls while I run the wand on the underside of his shaft from the center up to that little sensitive spot right under the head. He is shamelessly lost in his arousal. His cries are higher than I have ever heard and his dick is harder than I have ever seen. Time to end this torment.

I put the wand on its highest setting and stabilize his dick with my free hand, pressing the wand against the vein and the head at a faster pace to push him to orgasm. We had to build up to this because if we had jumped to this in the beginning, he would be hurting before his release. As it stands, I expect for him to not be able to do _anything_ once this is over. Each time that wand moves up to the head, I get a high-pitched moan out of him, so I know he's about to come. I know there was a tiny buildup in his balls now from the fluids that weren't released during the prostate milking. So although I expect an ejaculation, I don't expect it to be huge.

Boy, was I wrong!

I don't dare stop moving this wand or release my hand and right when I see that the pulsating has reached the fever pitch and he is about to let go, I move the wand right to the underside of the head to that sensitive part at the rim and leave it there.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH GGGOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD!" He cries out high and loud and explodes wildly! I could hear him echoing off the mountain! I swear, they had to hear him on the big island! And he is spurting...hard! I'm moving the wand up and down at the head only about an inch and his first spurt shot clean up to his chest, leaving a trail from his chest to his stomach. He spurted like that six more times, each spurt a little shorter than the last. I kept that wand going until he stopped screaming and trembling, because his dick was still hard and he was still pushing against the wand. He is now sitting back in the chair, his head drooped forward, completely out of breath, drenched in sweat and covered in his own come.

"Stop...stop...no more...please...no more..." And there it is. I told you that you would beg me to stop. I turn off the wand and drop it on the floor.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Sountrack for this chapter:**_  
_**Donna Summer - Love to Love You baby (extended version)**_  
_**Silk - Freak Me**_  
_**Maxwell - Til The Cops Come Knocking**_  
_**R. Kelly - Bump N Grind Remix**_  
_**Marvin Gaye - Sexual Healing and Let's Get It On (not mentioned in the story)**_

_**When I did the French Kiss, I gave you a link to medical diagram of the vagina. If you would like a medical diagram of the penis, it is here:**_  
_**en dot wikipedia dot org/wiki/Human_penis**_

_**I searched a lot of sources, but if you are interested in learning more about prostate massage, some good information can be found at these two sites:**_  
_**www dot tease-n-please dot**_  
_**goaskalice dot columbia dot edu/male-hot-spot-massaging-prostate**_

_**You'll find some good videos if you search on YouTube as well (yes, really!).**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs!**_  
_**Lynn x**_


	61. Chapter 61: The Butterfly Effect

_**Going right into the chapter, it was another long day...**_

_**One quick note to remember...when you open yourself up to ANY one extreme emotion, you open yourself up to them all.**_

_**All disclaimers apply here.**_

_Chapter 61—The Butterfly Effect_

_**GREY**_

Oh...my God. I can't take anymore. My dick is going to fall the fuck off.

She fucked me—literally _fucked_ me—with her tits, her ass cheeks, her thighs, her mouth, her hands, and a wand. I have been so thoroughly fucked, more fucked than I ever have been in my whole life. I don't ever remember coming that hard, ever...ever..._ever_! Greystone has grabbed a teddy bear and is curling up to go to sleep.

"Stop...stop...no more...please...no more..."

"Okay, Baby," she says softly and I hear wand fall to the floor before she disappears into the bathroom. I am taking small breaths trying not to have a damn heart attack and Greystone is lying pitifully off to the right, drooling a bit in his sleep. Goodnight, Buddy.

There's water dripping on my chest and mixing with my cum, and I realize that it must be sweat from my hair. Damn, that's serious.

Butterfly comes back into the bedroom and I am still in the restraints. I'm in no hurry to move right now anyway

"Cool," she says and I have no idea what she's talking about. When she starts to wipe my body down, I now realize that she was trying to tell me that the washcloth was cool. I jump at first contact and she continues to lovingly clean the sweat and cum off of my body. She uses a second washcloth on my face. When she reaches for Greystone, I immediately panic.

"Anaplease!" I say it like one word. She quickly put the cool cloth on my tender, flaccid penis and I nearly jumps out of my skin.

"No more," she say softly. "You told me to stop, so no more. Okay?" I nod and barely raise my head to look at her. She puts a glass of water to my mouth and I empty it. She puts the glass on the night table and walks back over to me.

"I would say that I have satisfied you, Mr. Grey. Wouldn't you?" She asks. I nod, still barely coherent in my post orgasmic haze. "Good. Now you need to satisfy me." I raise my head and look up at her. She loosened one of my restrains—just enough to turn my hand around. Then she lowered herself onto my finger. She is hot and wet on the inside and even though I couldn't possibly fuck her right now, my body still yearns to touch her. I stiffen my finger and move it in that circular motion that hits all of her vaginal walls and she grinds into me.

"Mmmmm...yes." She moans, throwing her head back. "You were so delicious...so horny and beautiful...I had to stop myself from coming three times." She confesses, now fucking my hand.

"Three times." I repeat. My voice is coming back after all of that bitch-screaming.

"Three times," she confirms and I feel her tightening like she is about to come on my hand. She has given me an immense amount of pleasure this evening. She has played this body like a fine instrument...like I have done to many women in the past, but no one has ever done it to me.

And she has done it again. Along with the many firsts that this evening has brought, she has eliminated the memory of the Pedophile and her brutal and vicious strap-on and replaced it with an extreme, erotic experience with a wand...the wand that I brought to use on her! The student has become the teacher.

Now that sexy little body is stroking my hand and moaning in pleasure, chasing orgasms that she denied herself to once again bring me pleasure. Fuck, she is hot! As she rides my hand, all I can think of is all of this luscious juice going to waste. Some cosmic-sounding song is playing now and all I can make out that they are saying is "deep inside." It's a sexy sounding groove and she is grinding against my hand, looking quite edible, and she still has me tied down.

"Oh, Baby, _please_ release me so that I can eat you." I beg. She brings her head forward and continues to ride my hand.

"You sure about that, Mr. Grey?" She asks, arousal thick and heavy in her voice and her breathing.

"Please, Baby, let me taste you." I implore her. She rises from my hand and simultaneously releases my wrist restraints. I grab her by her ass lifting her off the floor and quickly bounce her onto the bed. She yelps at my swift movements and I waste no time diving into her hot core. She gasps in a loud breath and comes immediately.

"Christian!" She shrieks, fisting violently into my hair as I suck her tender clitoris. That was the orgasm she kept denying herself, and it was knocking at the door just waiting to get out. "Aaahhh!" She cries as she raises her hips and rides out her first orgasm. "Oh, God Christian, please!" She begs, as I feel her trying to wiggle away from me. Oh no, Baby, I've got you now! I clamp my arms down around her hips, forcibly holding her thighs apart as she tries to get away. She is pushing at me with her hands, begging for reprieve but I continue to suck and lick that delicious pussy deeply. After a couple of minutes, she has resigned herself to her fate and begins to moan lustfully again.

"Oh, my God...oh, God..." She breathes and she is fisting my hair again. I moan into her most tender parts.

"Oooooooooh, Christian!" Her legs begin to tremble and I know she will be coming again soon. That's right Baby. Give it all to me. I crave you. I ache for your touch, your smell, your flavor, and I don't intend to stop until I'm full. I am devouring her juices like a starving man at a buffet. She is decadently delicious. It seems like forever since I have tasted her even though it was just last night. The hunger is insane and I must have more. I stick my tongue into her opening and roll it around her walls, taking in all of her sweet, sweet juices. Her hips rise off the bed again.

"Fuck!" She squeals as she pumps feverishly against my tongue. Oh yes, Baby! That's it! Feed me. "God! I'm gonna come!" I'm not stopping you. I feel her muscles quiver around my tongue and her hips are suspended in air as she screams out her second orgasm. I lap up her nectar as it drips from her center. I'm still not satisfied. The beast must be fed. She made me come so hard so many times that I must give her just one more—three orgasms for the three that she suppressed. I know she's tender, so I gently run my tongue around her folds while she shivers out her aftershocks.

"Christian, please...!" She begs as she tries to catch her breath, pushing her hair from her sweat-drenched face. One more, Beautiful Girl, just one more. I gently blow on her pulsating bud and she shivers in response. "Please..." she whimpers. I don't touch her there because I know it will be more pain than pleasure right now. Instead, I taste her skin on her thighs, her pelvis, her naval...

"Christian..." She is still begging for reprieve. Don't worry, Baby. I know your body. I know what you need. I won't hurt you.

I kiss up her beautiful trembling body to her plump, full breasts. She whimpers as I hover over her and take one in my mouth. Her hands are in my hair again and I fucking love that shit! "Oh, Baby," she whines as she pushes her breast into my mouth. That's it, Sweet Butterfly. Give your body to me, Darling. I switch to her other breast and she gasps like the sensation is unexpected. "Oh, God, Christian. What are you doing to me?"

Getting your body ready so you can come again. I leave her breasts and kiss up her chest to her neck where I plant open-mouthed kisses there and on her ears until I get to her lips.

"Open you mouth." I command. Realization dawns and she opens her mouth, allowing my tongue inside to do that sensual dance we invented when I couldn't kiss her bruised, swollen lips. Oh, she tastes divine and I allow my tongue to explore every part of her lips and mouth while we stare into each others eyes. Unable to take the passion anymore, she whimpers loudly before taking my face in her hands and devouring my lips and tongue in a deep, searing kiss.

Oh my God, Anastasia.

I snatch her off the bed into my arms and kiss her until we are breathless. We were being serenaded by a beautiful woman's voice singing, coincidentally, about kissing.

"You are so beautiful," I say, brushing my lips against hers when I lay her down again. "I can't get enough of you.".

"Oh Christian," she breathes as she pushes her hips against mine. That's my cue. I start kissing my way back down her body again. She immediately starts to shiver the closer I get to her sex. When I have finally reached my goal and gently lick her folds from top to bottom, she trembles violently.

"Gently...please." She begs me.

"Yes, Baby." I promise. I softly lick her warm core and she moans her appreciation. My tongue travels the same courses it did during the French Kiss, only not so slowly and with a little more pressure.

"My God, Christian." She moans, still gently thrusting her hips forward. I think you're ready for just a little more, Butterfly. I wet my middle finger and gently slide it into her anus while I am still tasting her.

"Oh, yes! Yes, Baby...that's good." She breathes as she pumps down onto my hand and into my mouth. Oh, Butterfly, you are going to come _hard_. Reading her signals, I stick my thumb into her scorching core and she literally lifts off of the bed.

"Jesus Christ!" She yells as her body is thrusting wildly against me. Damn, Baby! I wish Greystone wasn't out of commission for this! But I'll take it as I can get it. I am mercilessly jamming my finger into her ass while my thumb massages the inside of that hot pussy and my tongue licks that delicious clit, my free hand pressing down right at her pelvis.

"Oh, fuck, Christian!" She screams before she damn near sits up on the bed. She has one hand tangled in my hair, the other propping herself up in the bed. She is grinding into my mouth and riding my hand with intensity and precision, using the hand in my hair to steady herself, pulling mercilessly at my locks. If I weren't already so sexually sated, I'd be coming right now from this shit, it is so hot! I can tell by her stroke and the pulsing of her clit that she is close..._very _close.

Come on, Love. I need dessert.

A few more intense whimpers and hard strokes and she is growling out her orgasm, her head thrown back and she is coming all over my hand. Yes, Baby! That's it! She is bucking on my face like a rodeo princess and I am sure to let her ride out her release before I remove my fingers and lap up her delicious juices. Oh yes, she's done.

She is wheezing as her hands knot in my hair once more while I'm kissing up her body again, this time bypassing her sensitive breasts and going straight for her pouty lips. She pulls me to her and matches my passion, causing me to moan deeply in her mouth. I don't know why we hold our breath when we kiss, but we do...we _both_ do. It's like we have to concentrate on what we are doing and breathing gets in the way.

When we gasp for air, I immediately bury my face into her neck. I still need to taste her. I can't stop myself from devouring her skin. She wraps her legs around me and exposes her neck to me fully and I am insatiable. I am gnawing at the tender skin on her neck, shoulders, and breasts.

"Do you know how much I love you?" I say between bites.

"Yes." She breathes, still knotting her hands in my hair. Thank God for that. I don't think I have the words right now.

"Ana...Baby...I need to stop..." I'm going to mark her if I don't.

"No...don't..." she whines seductively, pressing my head into her skin. I groan loudly and continue to nip and suck at her skin. "Oh, Christian." She moans as if I were making love to her, and I feed on her flavor as if she were making love to me.

"Mine!" I growl as I bite into her skin once more.

"Ah!" She cries out at the bite. "Yes, Baby. Yours...only yours..."

* * *

A while later, Nora Jones is wafting through the air as we lie tangled in each others arms and legs fondling each other, very content and completely sated.

"That was insane." I say, softly.

"But magnificent!" She adds.

"You're going to have hickeys." I warn.

"I know" She laughs. "They already think we're two horny teenagers. Now we just proved it." I look at her bemused.

"'They' who? What are you talking about?" I ask.

"That night? The make-out session by the pool?" She reminds me.

"Oh my God, who saw us?"

"Everybody in the house saw us, Christian. We were too absorbed in each other to care." I let out a hearty laugh that matches hers.

"I don't even know what to say about that," I snicker.

"There's not really anything that you _can_ say, is there? Especially since I'll be walking around for the next couple of days looking like I was attacked by a vampire," she laughs. I gently stroke her cheek.

"You know I wasn't trying to mark you, right? I just got caught in the moment."

"Of course, I know." She says softly. "So did I. It felt as good to me as it did to you, if not more. We got carried away and it's something that we shouldn't do _all_ the time but...I liked it," she admits and I smile.

"You did?" I ask, almost shyly.

"Oh, very much, Mr. Grey," she says with a smile. I stroke her hair out of her face.

"You do things to me that no one else has ever done," I say looking into her eyes. "You make me feel things that I have never felt..._ever_. Sometimes it scares me." She rolls over and props herself up on her elbow.

"Why are you afraid?" She asks and I sigh.

"For a lot of reasons. I'm afraid that I might hurt you or chase you away. I'm afraid that I might get carried away in what I feel and our relationship becomes destructive. I'm afraid that you might wake up one day, see how fucked up I really am, and decide that you can't deal with it. The list is endless." She quietly stares at me for a moment, then she climbs on top of me, straddling me.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" She asks, her voice soft. I nod silently. "I don't think you do," she corrects me. "You are _beyond_ everything to me. You are where I begin and where I end. If you're fucked up, then what does that make me? All of my issues and problems..." She sighs heavily. "Christian, I don't know how to function without you anymore. I don't care if it's crazy or obsessed or whatever it is, but I can't remember the time _before Christian. _I can't remember the feeling of your not being present. You were always there, we were just waiting to find each other." She takes my hand and presses it against her chest. I feel her heartbeat.

"Do you feel that?" She asks and I nod. "That's you," she says and a lone tear falls down her cheek. She opens my hand and places a kiss in my palm before placing it on her check. I cradle her face in my hand and she leans into it with her eyes closed. "If your heart stops, mine would too, because it doesn't know how to be without you anymore. Don't you see? I could never, ever hurt you...because I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear the pain of causing _you_ pain and I couldn't take the chance of ever being without you. I'm in love with you, Christian. I'm madly, deeply, hopelessly, and frighteningly in love with you." Her tears are flowing freely now.

She's in love with me. This beautiful, remarkable girl is in love with me. I feel a clenching in my chest, almost to the point of pain and I know it's that string that is attached to hers, edging me closer to her—even closer than we are now, both naked with her lying on top of me. I sit up with her in my arms, my hand still cradling her face. She gasps without opening her eyes. I kiss her lips gently, repeatedly. I remember a saying... _The person that makes you the weakest is the same person that can make you the happiest._ I never understood that until this moment, holding this little woman and knowing that she can cause me not to eat for five days _or_ cause me to take on a whole city of villains to defend her.

"My Ana," I whisper. "I can't breathe without you. I can't _be_ without you. What am I going to do?" I meant to say that last part to myself. I feel lost and afraid and I'm not used to this.

"Let me love you...please...just let me love you," she breathes, her eyes closed and her fingers tangled in my hair. "Feel what I feel...love me..."

"Oh God, Butterfly, I do," I say pressing her possessively against me, my hands spread across her back. Her warmth is comforting to me. Her tears are still falling on my shoulders. "Please don't cry. You are my soul...my everything. Please don't cry." She clings to me like a drowning woman, her weeping is silent. I rub her back and find my solace in her skin. Before I know it, we are making out again...but it's different this time. There's no hunger or lust in our movements. There's reverence and love, an attempt to get closer, to meld into one another. Her skin is my skin, her lips my lips, and we connect on a molecular level. I entwine my fingers in hers as we kiss and I feel connected with that small gesture, like no one could come between us.

"You belong to me," she whispers between kisses. "You are mine. Say it."

"I belong to you," I repeat, "only you."

"I'll never let you go. I'll never leave you..." she breathes. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes," I whisper honestly, overwhelmed by what she is making me feel.

"Then say it!" She commands, her voice still a whisper.

"You'll never let me go...you'll never leave me..." My eyes are closed and I feel like I'm floating.

"You...only you...my heart belongs to you, and yours belongs to me," she whispers, her mouth right at my ear. She is holding my face now and my hands are resting on her hips. I don't open my eyes. I am almost afraid of what I will see. There's something inside of me...something dark and lonely and confused. I haven't felt it in a long time, but here it is again...and I'm afraid. If she lets me go—if she moves away from me even an inch—it's going to take over and I'm going to be lost in the darkness.

"Ana..." I don't recognize my own voice. I don't know how to verbalize this feeling...this darkness...this fear.

"I love you, Christian. You are beautiful and wonderful and magnificent...and I love you," she whispers, brushing her lips against mine. Oh, God, I'm so afraid. I've never felt this vulnerable before, not as an adult anyway. My heart is in her hands...I can't stop it...oh God, I'm so afraid...

My fingers are locked. I can't feel anything. I'm frozen...I can't move. I'm so afraid. I don't want to feel this...cold and alone and helpless and vulnerable...I can't breathe.

"Hear me..." she says softly, pushing me so that I am lying down again. "Hear me, Christian Trevelyan Grey." She kisses the corners of my mouth and my hands are still gripping her hips. She takes my hands and lays them on either side of my head. She gently caresses my palms as she brushes her lips against mine. "I love you...I need you...my soul needs you...hear me..."

I can't speak. I can't answer her. I'm having flashbacks of hiding in the closet...the fear...the loneliness...the utter despair. Why is this coming to me _now_? Why _now_...?

"Hear me, Baby..." Her voice is fading in and out as I see pictures...flashing pictures of the view from the cracked closet door and the light shining in. I feel the loneliness of the little copper-haired boy hiding...wanting to be loved...afraid of being hurt again. I feel my heart now. I never knew it was there, but I feel it now...beating strong and craving...hungry and hurting for that little copper-haired boy...the one who waited for the shadows to come and the light to disappear, so he closed his eyes...

_I closed my eyes..._

...and now I can't open them, because this might be a dream. I might still be in that closet.

...but I feel it. Soft lips kissing my chest where I expect to feel brutal burns; gentle hands caressing me when I expect to feel violent blows; words of love wafting through the air where I expect to hear cursing and degradation. Which one is the dream? Which one?

I don't move. I don't breath. If I am dreaming this tenderness, I don't want to wake.

"You are my life...my love...my hope...and I am yours..." Her words reach into me and touch something strange but familiar. I feel an intense, deep need—pulling and heavy. Oh God, I'm so afraid.

"Oh God." I hear my own voice choking out of my throat but I don't open my eyes. Her voice goes silent. Oh no...maybe it _was_ all a dream...now I'll awake in that closet, with that sliver of light shining through the door...waiting for the darkness.

Instead, I feel warmth...starting at my center and spreading through my body. I don't know what it is. All is quiet and I can hear breathing..._her_ breathing. Yes, breathing is good. Let's try that. I breathe deeply and hold it...and the warmth intensifies and continues to ripple through me.

"Oh." I moan, surprised by the feeling but still afraid to open my eyes. I start to shiver. The monsters keep coming and they won't leave me alone. The warmth is fighting them but they keep coming back.

"Again, Baby," she voice floats back to me. "Breathe." Her gentle hands are touching my arms tenderly and I follow her instructions. I take another deep breath and the results are the same. The warmth increases and the monsters are fading away. Thank God. Why did they show up _now_? Why are they haunting me _at this moment?_

"Open your eyes, Baby." Her voice is full of longing...aching and deliberate...just above a whisper. I feel her moving against me...and it's good...so good...

I open my eyes, my hands are still on the bed next to my head. She is slightly propped up and I can see her hips moving...only her hips...it feels so good...so soft...

"There he is," her voice caresses my ears. What am I feeling?

"Yes," I respond. I know that I am a man, but the voice I hear in my head is that of the little copper-haired boy hiding in the closet.

"Don't be afraid," she coaxes, her voice like sweet, sweet honey and, oh...this feeling...

"Okay," the small voice replies, sinking into this warmth and beginning to feel the safety.

"I'm going to take care of you...of your heart. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again. You belong to me now...and I love you. I love you so much." I belong to her now. I belong to _her_. My vision clears and she is loving me, moving slowly...so slowly, sweetly, and softly up and down my sex. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

"I know," she whispers, grabbing my hands that we're grasping at air moments earlier. "I know, Baby. You're afraid." She kisses my eyelids. "But you never have to fear again. I will love you forever. When my body is gone, my soul will continue to love you until time is no more." She closes her eyes and loves me—softly and very, very slowly.

"Oh," I moan, my breath more rhythmic now. "Oh," is all I can say.

"Yes, Baby," she croons, something hiding in her voice...a tortured sound. She pushes herself to sit up and she stills. She looks glorious...beautiful and pure, like an angel. She looks down at me and I remember. I'm coming out of my trance now, and this is my beautiful, beautiful Ana...my broken Butterfly...broken—like me—but blooming again to show her magnificent wings. I can see them—vibrant, full of color and life—waiting to heal me and my broken soul. I have to let her...I have to let her heal me or I'll be lost forever.

She starts to move again, her beautiful body...loving me...sating my manhood that had already come five times but still would not be denied—even with no coaxing from me. Every part of me is drawn to her, needs her, wants her, and yearns for her...even when I'm not paying attention.

"I know what you feel," she says as she slowly slides up and down my erection. "I know what it is...that need to feel...to be connected...I understand..." She places her hands flat on my chest and keeps a slow and gentle tempo. I feel her love wrap around me. This is different...so different. This is not that feral desire or that push to satisfaction. This is something so different...something I've never felt before and can't explain.

"My love...my heart...I'll take care of you...all of you..." she promises, and something inside me breaks. The frightened little boy peeks his head out from his hiding place and he stands in full view. He's afraid, and lonely, and hungry...but he stands there, waiting to be loved. I feel a flood of emotion as she slowly and gently loves me. I can feel the tears fall from my eyes and down my temples.

"Ah," I weep as my feelings grip inside of me, confused with nowhere to go. I swear I'm seeing star bursts—in black and white at first, then in brilliant colors! Each breath intensifies these emotions and I can't move again. The little copper-haired boy looks on curiously, but comes forward into the star burst which now turns to gold and explodes, filling the room with amber light. I take in a deep breath and...

"_Hah!"_

I didn't feel an orgasm in my groin. I felt an electrifying, numbing, brain-shattering warmth exploding through my body on a cellular level. It was an out-of-body experience and I have no idea how to cope with it. I'm stiffening all over and wheezing for a moment and when I finally come back to myself, I am weeping. Tears are flowing into my ears, my chest and shoulders are shaking and I am weeping.

Oh my angel...my love...my Butterfly...I am yours...completely yours...take care of me, please...

Behind my closed eyelids, the little copper-haired boy is cradled in warmth, finally at peace and sleeping in the arms of an angel with the beautiful wings of a butterfly.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

His body is shuddering and I hold him as close to me as I can. I can't say how I knew, but his fear and anguish was radiating from every pore. First his eyes are screwed together so tightly that I was afraid they might sink back into his head and the next thing I know he is staring at me like he didn't know me. His pupils had constricted almost to pinpoints and were it not for the rings on the outside of his beautiful gray irises, they would have disappeared into the white completely. My words weren't reaching him...my _love_ wasn't reaching him...and when I felt his nature rising again, I thought I was hallucinating.

He begged me to stop about an hour ago...he can't be rising again!

Lo and behold, there it was, standing at attention while he seems to be having some kind of subconscious panic attack. They never covered _this_ in my psychology textbooks! I do the only thing I know to do. I connect with him the way that I know how...here goes...

I rise and lower myself onto his erection and gasp from the immediate fullness. I'm a little tender from my last orgasms and even though he has stiffened again, I know that he is tender, too. I slowly and gently move my hips talking to him the entire time, trying to reach him in whatever hell he has inadvertently retreated into. Why this happened at this moment, I have no clue, but I have to bring him back. I love him too much to let him suffer.

"Come on, Baby. Please...come back to me..." I say more to myself than to him, trying to ignore the fullness and pleasure that riding him is bringing me right now since this is not supposed to be for me. I'm so afraid that this might not be the right thing to do at this moment, but when all else fails we have always connected through our lovemaking.

"Please, Baby...please, come back to me...please." I beg, still gently loving him. I keep moving, quietly, trying not to cry. This is scary and now _I'm_ afraid. I'm afraid I'm losing him. I close my eyes and listen while Kate Havnevik sings about nothing coming easily.

No shit?

"Please...please, Christian..." I don't know what to do but love him. I feel him take a deep breath and his whole body relaxes a bit. I feel a little hope.

"Again, Baby. Breathe," I say. Come back to me, Christian. He takes a second breath and I know that he is returning from this subconscious state. I don't stop moving over him. I need him to feel me.

"Open your eyes, Baby," I plead. It's time to join me here in the present, in _our_ world, in _our_ little love nest.

"There he is," I sigh when he opens his eyes, but my relief is short-lived. He still looks frightened and displaced.

"Don't be afraid," I tell him when he answers me in a small voice. I keep my strokes soft and slow, hoping to transmit everything that I feel for him through my body, and it must have worked because his pupils dilated to almost black in a nanosecond and he gasped, grasping for where my hands used to be. I clutch his hands and keep talking to him as I love him slowly, and now my body is building and I can't stop it.

Hell!

I don't want to lose my rhythm as I hear Christian moaning softly as he gives himself to me, completely allowing me to have my way._ Stay slow, Steele. I know it's an exquisite feeling but stay slow. _I keep talking to him, transferring my love to him through my words, my touch, my sex. God, he feels so fabulous and this connection that I feel to him is insane. I feel it everywhere. I steady myself on his chest and I know he is feeling something cosmic. I'm trying so hard to hold out, but my body yearns for him so much that I can't stand it anymore. Oh please, no...not before him...please, not yet.

"My love...my heart...I'll take care of you...all of you..." The words stumble out as I am trying to hold back my orgasm, but it's not use. I hear his large gasp and quickly expelled breath with a tortured "Hah!" It was like two large hands reached into my hips and stretched over my entire body up to my shoulders, holding me in place while this celestial orgasm ripped through me. My head is back, my mouth is open, and no sound came out—not even air. I don't know how long the orgasmic hands held me there, but when they release me, Christian is crying.

What happened?

"Christian! Baby!" I gasp and I can feel my heart breaking in two. What's wrong with my baby? I bring my chest to his and push the hair out of his face.

"Sssshhh," I soothe, gently wiping his temples and kissing his eyelids. "Don't cry. I'm here. I've got you."

"An...Ana..." he chokes through his tears.

"Sssshhhh, it's okay," I say softly, stroking his hair and kissing his face. "My Christian...my baby," I say between kisses.

I comforted him for several minutes before his crying finally subsided. What I do know from my textbooks is that he just had some huge emotional breakthrough, but I have no idea what it was. I only hope that it wasn't bad but for the most part, the only coherent words he has been able to say for the last hour or so besides "yes" and "okay" is my name, so that's something.

Somewhere in the last several minutes, I ended up laying on my back with his head on my chest and my legs wrapped around him caressing his hair. He was asleep and I was staring out the window at the moon, softly singing the words of the song now playing on the sound system:

_The pain in my heart met the love in your eyes and it went away.  
When you told me it was true what you went through, I tried to thank you  
It was something no words could do  
I owe love, all my love  
I owe everything to you  
All of my life, you've given love to me  
I owe love, all my heart belongs to only you  
The rest of my life, I know, I.O.U. me_

I'm an old soul, I know it. Most of the songs that I really like were made when I was a baby, some even before I was born. I like all kinds of music, but the new stuff just doesn't do much for me...and R&B does the best love songs.

I know I should be trying to get some sleep, but I can only think about tonight...and this morning...and everything that has happened. I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed myself bringing Christian to all of those orgasms. He is so sexy and beautiful and watching him in the throes of passion—when I can concentrate and am not in my own throes—is insanely delectable. His abs roll and his thighs stiffen, and his face...oh my God. I get a little twinge just thinking about it. My boyfriend is hot and gorgeous...and I have no plans on going anywhere...ever!

I open my eyes and the sun is shining through the bedroom window. I could swear I was just watching the moon and singing a song, caressing my hot boyfriend's hair. Speaking of which, my fingers are tangled in my hot boyfriend's hair, my legs are still wrapped around him, and he's still lying on my chest, only now his beautiful gray eyes are looking up at me.

"Hi," I say, trying to wake up.

"Hi," he responds, not moving a muscle and still looking at me.

"Are you okay?" I ask cautiously. He actually cried himself to sleep last night. He nods at me.

"I love you," he says softly, a little unsure.

"I love you more," I respond, trying to read his eyes.

"I doubt that. I don't think there is a person alive in this whole world that loves anybody as much as I love you," he retorts. Be still, my exploding heart.

"Then I guess I'll just have to spend the rest of my life showing you that I do," I say, just above a whisper, running my fingers through his hair again. He slides up the bed until we are face to face.

"Please don't ever leave me," he beseeches looking into my eyes.

"Never," I say without missing a beat. I put my hand on his cheek and gaze deeply into his eyes. "Oh, God, never," I breathe. Almost instantly, his lips are on mine.

* * *

After lying with Christian a little while longer this morning, I've come to the en suite to take a shower. All of yesterday's exertions have me a bit drained today, but I'd like to take a short look around the island before lunch and returning to Anguilla. I scrub myself thoroughly since I know that all of mine and Christian's sweat and sex juices are still in my skin and I hear the shower door open as I am rinsing my hair. He stands there looking a little lost for a moment, but I simply switch places with him and lather up his chest and legs as he has been marinating in bodily fluids for the last several hours as well. I get him mostly washed and rinsed and he snatches me into his arms, just holding me there.

"Baby, I can't finish if you don't let me go," I say after several moments.

"I can't. I need to hold you. Please, just let me hold you," he says into my shoulder. I hold him there for a little while longer, but I am a little worried. He seems like he has lost a part of himself with this breakthrough...or maybe it was a break_down. _I can reach the shampoo from where we are standing so I lather up his hair and let him hold me while I wash, rinse, and repeat.

"I'm okay, Butterfly," he says as I am rinsing his hair the second time. "I'll talk to you about what happened, just not now, but I'm okay."

"Okay, Baby," I say smiling at him, "whenever you're ready, I'll be here for you." I say touching his face. He nods and turns off the shower. He gets out first then takes my hand and helps he out of the shower, grabbing a bath blanket and wrapping it around me.

"Oh, these are heavenly!" I say, snuggling into the oversized towel.

"You like those?" He asks and I nod, luxuriating in the fluffy linen. "I'll get some for Escala then," he says with a smile.

"I better be careful what I say I like around you or I'll end up with the Taj Mahal in our living room," I jest. He smiles a knowing smile at me and walks out of the en suite with his own bath blanket. Now, what does he have up his sleeve?

Christian and I got dressed for the day and discovered that we were way too wiped out to do what we had planned. We were originally going to hike up Mt. Scenery—90 minutes each way—until we discovered that it was a trail that incorporated stairs...over 1000 stairs! Yeah, hiking through the brush to get to and from Anguillita lookout, then 10 orgasms and an emotional breakdown all in 24 hours, hmm...no hiking for me, thanks! We did manage to walk around the island and see some of the beautiful gardens and trails that they call "roads." The cottages are beautiful and all of the property is immaculately maintained. There's an ordinance in Saba that all of the roofs of the cottages have to be red!

We still wanted to do some shopping and there wasn't much to buy on Saba except for Saba lace, glass art, and souvenirs so we would save our shopping for St. Maarten and Anguilla with hopes that we would have better luck there. After a lazy lunch, we packed our little bags at the cottage and went back to that little sidestreet that they call an airport. I closed my eyes and prayed to God that the toys plane wouldn't fall off of the edge of the damn cliff and just get us back to St. Marteen in one piece. I have to admit that it was wonderful having some time alone, just Christian and me, though I had no idea it would end up being so emotional. I still worry about him and how this experience has affected him, but with the exception of the miniature airport runway, I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Chuck was there waiting for us when we finally made it back to Anguilla at about 1pm. "Sir, Ana, how was your—" He froze reaching for my bag and I knew exactly what he was staring at.

"Shut up!" I shot, snapping him out of his trance before he had a chance to react.

"Not a word," he said without pausing, taking my dress bag and overnight case to the car. "Shopping or back to the Villa?" He asks. I look at Christian.

"Christian, I'm exhausted and I need a nap." I say.

"Okay, Baby. How about we do this," he begins as we walk to the car and Chuck puts our bags in the trunk. "We'll go back to the villa and rest then we can pack. Afterwards, we can get a room and spend the night on St. Maarten or the plane will be here first thing in the morning and we can go then and put our bags on the plane. Either way, we can do so shopping in St. Maarten before we go home and we don't have to declare anything since it's duty free."

"Either one of those sound great to me, as long as I get to take a nap and I'll tell you how I feel when I wake." Christian tucks me under his arm and we get in the car. I'm asleep before we get back to the villa.

I awake in the bed of the master suite. Christian is again gazing lovingly into my eyes.

"You need to wake up, Butterfly. You need to eat," he says softly, while stroking my hair.

"What time is it?" I ask sleepily, stretching deliciously.

"About five," he replies. Five o'clock? That wasn't a nap, that was half a night's sleep!

"Oooh my gosh...I had no idea I was so tired," I respond still trying to wake up.

"You had a busy night," he says, taking my hand in his and entwining our fingers.

"So did you," I say, "and you're not sleepy."

"Oh, I napped, too," he responds. "Crying like a baby takes a lot out of you." I look up at him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask cautiously. He looks down at me.

"Can we?" He asks. Can we? And how! I sit up and lean against the pillows and the headboard.

"Yes, please," I reply, encouraging him. He scoots next to me, never letting go of my hand.

"I...kept having flashbacks of my childhood," he began, "while we were talking last night." Oh good God, this is worse than I thought. As much as I hate to cross the line of girlfriend versus psychologist, I may need my education and experience to help me through this. We made love last night while he was thinking about his awful childhood. I'm a little scarred by that thought.

"Why do you think that happened? What could have possibly brought that on?" I ask. He tilts his head at me.

"Are you shrinking me, Dr. Steele?" He asks.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "I'm not trying to shrink you. It's a valid question and I really would like to know what could have possibly brought that on, but I am a shrink, and that question could have just been a knee-jerk reaction. However, your girlfriend is really desperate to know what brought that on?" I ask, my eyes wide. He examines my expression and continues.

"I'm sure that you could tell by my reaction and I could tell by your preamble that I'm not a fan of vibrators or sexual toys of that nature being used on me." I nod at his statement. He sighs heavily before continuing. "There's a very specific reason for that. The Pedophile used to fuck me with a strap-on. I didn't like it. In fact, I hated it—and she _knew_ I hated it." My hand flew up to my mouth.

"I knew it was something like that," I say just above a whisper. He nods and continues.

"At first, I think she just wanted to see how I would respond to it. I was still a kid. Then it became more and more frequent the closer I got to 18. She wanted to make sure that I knew that she was still in charge. All of the shit that she had already done to me wasn't enough. She had to strip me of my manhood, too." He held his head down and I know this is difficult for him to talk about. I gently touch his face and put my hand under his chin to raise his head. When he looked at me, I smiled a bit encouraging him to continue.

"That's one of the reasons that I became a Dom, so that I would never be subjected to _that_ shit again!" He spit. I was afraid of where this was going. "The bad things that happen to me in my life, I often forget about them. I push them so far back into my memory that they don't occupy enough mind space to be prevalent, so I forget details." Well, that's not good. That's just a suppressed memory. Those always come back to haunt you.

"That's why you had nightmares," I say looking down, not knowing that I said it aloud.

"Huh?" He said. I don't want to repeat it, but it's out now.

"That's why you...had nightmares," I say again, swallowing hard, "because...you never dealt with those things. You just...hid from them." Oh, please don't be mad at me.

"You're probably right," he says. Oh thank God. "I don't know, I may have to talk to John about it some more." Does that mean he doesn't want to talk to _me_ about it anymore? I soon got my answer. "I will admit that being tied down and seeing you with that wand in your hand made me think about her and what she did to me." Oh, God. I shouldn't have done it, I think shaking my head. Reading my responses, Christian now lift my head the same way I lifted his.

"Ana, what you did to me last night was one of the most sexually intense moments of my entire life. It was phenomenal. I could live to be a hundred years old and never forget that. God, it's exciting me even now," he says with a shiver, and the horny little devil inside of me is doing back flips.

"Really?" I ask, a bit shocked.

"Oh, God, yes!" He says closing his eyes. "We _must _do that again, but I need to be warned because you emptied my balls _out!_" He laughed. "And yes, my dick is _very_ tender right now." I giggle a little at this comment.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Grey," I say, shyly.

"Hell, I'm not...but we're getting off topic," he says with a sad smile. I nod and let him continue. "I'm not used to being vulnerable in any way. I hide all of my weaknesses. I never let my opponents know what I'm thinking. You never know that I'm going to strike or where I'm going to strike until it's too late. The people that I trust completely, I can count on one hand. I broke three cardinal rules with you last night. Never expose your vulnerabilities; trust no one; and never let 'em see you sweat."

Good Lord. Does his cardinal rules apply to me, too?

"No woman has ever done what you've done to me, Anastasia...no woman, anywhere, ever! I have never loved another woman like you, no woman has every made me feel like you do, and no woman has _ever_ taken all of my needs..._all_ of my needs...and fulfilled them like you did last night. I was already past the point of no return well before now, but last night etched it in stone. I can't be with another woman...there is only you. Only ever you."

Oh...my...God. My heart just climbed up through my throat, jumped out of my mouth, bounced around on the bed a couple of times, and jumped back down into my chest.

"After you allowed me to worship your body, and we were talking, it just...jumped in front of my face that...you could possibly leave me. I instantly began to panic. It was an immediate downhill spiral and I couldn't stop it. That's the problem with opening the door to your vulnerabilities. You leave them all exposed, and all of my fears wrapped up together are no match for the fear of losing you. I went all the way back to those memories of being a lonely little boy hiding in the closet waiting for _him_ to show up and torture me again...the fear, the anguish, the pain, the loneliness...I couldn't shake it." He shakes his head as if trying to shake the memory now.

"Oh, Christian," I say, softly, mournfully. I feel the tears in my eyes, but I won't let them fall. This is not about me...this is about him.

"I kept hearing your voice. You were talking to me...saying such sweet things. I was afraid...I was so...so...afraid...and I was lost. You kept talking to me...so sweet...so, so sweet..." He strokes my face. "When I was able to separate myself from that little lost boy, you were on top of me and you were stroking me...and Ana, it felt warm and wonderful...but it wasn't sex. I know I sound crazy, and I'll try to explain this to you, but I'm not sure that I can..."

Try, please try.

"Every part of me needed every part of you, and you gave it to me...the only way that you knew, and I felt it. Baby, I felt it. I felt all of you inside all of me. It was so overwhelming...I didn't know how to handle it. My fears kept fighting...they didn't want to go down. The monsters were battling for supremacy...and I don't know what happened. There was a cosmic bang when they lost, like the beginning of life...the beginning of _my _life. I knew something had changed. I knew it. I don't even know if I came, Ana..."

Honestly, I don't either. I was too busy with the giant hands holding me in the realm of pleasure while snatching the voice out of my throat!

"..but whatever it was, I know that I felt it in every bone in my body. It was so frightening and so fantastic and so wonderful and so terrifying..."

I don't think he knows _what_ he's saying.

"I couldn't handle it, Ana," he finally admits. "I couldn't take it. I couldn't process it. I didn't know what to do with it. I spent most of my life hiding...hiding from _him_, or hiding from being found, hiding from my lifestyle being discovered, hiding my feelings, hiding my vulnerabilities—when it all came rushing at me, I didn't know what to do. Ana, it was like planets colliding. I was rocked down to my very core. Intense orgasms, I can handle those. Intense sex, bring it on. Intense emotion, I am _way_ out of my league. Remember when I told you that talking about you and my baby dying was a hard limit?"

I nod. I remember that comment well.

"Ana, it _is _a hard limit. I didn't know it at the time and I _was _using it as a reason to avoid the conversation. If we're going to be together forever, I know we'll have to talk about it sooner or later, but Ana I have to be honest. It _is_ a hard limit for me. It really is."

I believe him. I believe that is going to be one of the hardest conversations that we ever have to have when that time is upon us. I squeeze his hand.

"That's the short version." That's the _short _version? Good God, what's the _long_ version!? "I can't be without you, Ana. I just can't. The thought of being without you scares me to death. I would never hurt you or abduct you or try to make you do anything that you didn't want to do, but you are a remarkable woman, Anastasia Rose Steele, and I understand why David went batshit crazy." Oh fuck, that's some scary shit—and highly romantic at the same time. "So when you say that you love me more than I love you, I just don't know how that's possible."

I am completely speechless. I stayed quiet so that he could get his words out...finish his thoughts...and now, my words are stuck in my throat...in my heart...

"Ana, please say something," he begs. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. I cough and try again.

"I...I don't care who loves who more," I choke, my voice small and pained. "All I know is that I love you so much that I can't...breathe..." The breath is coming hard even as I try to say the word. My chest hurts with all the love that I feel for him, and I understand what he meant by the overwhelming emotion. "Christian...I can't...Chri..." He snatches me off the bed and slams his lips into mine. He is holding me so tight, I can't get any air in. We are both on our knees and I violently grab a handful of his hair as I moan into his mouth, hungrily devouring his kisses. When he finally allows me to breathe, I gasp for air as he kisses my cheek, my neck...

"Please believe me...please..." My fingers are still tangled in his hair and he is holding my head kissing my chest, my shoulder...

"I do, Ana Baby, I do!" My ears, my temples, my face...

"You're my life, Christian. You're my life," I choke out between breaths. "Don't you know? Please tell me that you know..."

"Oh, God yes, Butterfly, I know." He's giving me back all of those emotions I gave him last night and this morning. It's filling me and overwhelming me, but I know how to handle it. I bask in his love, relax in his arms and revel in his kisses. Oh more, please...much much more...

* * *

_**GREY**_

We had the chef staff prepare dinner for our last night at the Villa. Butterfly opted to stay and just go to St. Maarten in the morning for shopping before the flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. After I got that emotional boulder off my chest, we kissed until our lips were numb and Butterfly asked for a few moments to freshen up before dinner.

Jason informs me that dinner is almost ready and we are eating outside by the fire pit that we never used. Hell, I didn't know the place even had a fire pit. Apparently, it's on the other side of the house that I never visited.

"So, how was Saba, Boss?" Jason asks.

"Very nice," I reply and Davenport snickers a bit. I'm sure it didn't get past Jason, but he doesn't let on. "It's a very beautiful place—small-town feeling. There's not a lot to do unless you're willing to hike and snorkel, but mostly hike."

"Hmm, so not necessarily a place for a long-term extended vacation," he concluded. I shake my head.

"I wouldn't recommend it. It's excellent for a weekend getaway, but long-term, you'd be bored senseless after the third day, if you make it _that_ long." Gail joins us at that moment.

"Am I late?" She asks.

"No, we're just waiting for you and Ana," Jason says as he kisses his wife before she sits. I can't help but wonder what is taking so long. My thought was interrupted by Her Highness herself floated in wearing a beautifully flowing black spaghetti-string dress with a white panel at the bottom. The front was a mini that extended into a full-length in the back. She is also wearing those bare foot sandals from Gail's wedding on her sexy bare feet. I've got to get her some more of those...maybe diamonds...

"I hope I didn't keep everyone waiting, I'm so sorry." Butterfly says as she glides over to the seat next to me.

"Don't give it a second thought," Gail chimed in. "Dinner hasn't even be served yet."

"Mmmm, I guess that means I'm right on time then..." Butterfly says as she steps over me to take her seat. I inhale deeply to catch her scent as she goes by. She's magnificent. When she takes her seat, Gail looks at her and narrows her eyes.

"Ana!" Gail begins, her voice full of concern. "Were there mosquitoes on Saba Island?" She asks, examining Butterfly's neck from a distance.

"Um...no," Butterfly responds, blushing, "no, I wasn't bitten by mosquitoes." She answers evasively.

"Well, Honey, you've got..." Gail begins to speak and after looking at a blushing, smirking Butterfly, realization dawns on her face and she gasps.

"Oh!" She says with a start. It was the cutest thing, like a kid accidentally finding Mom's battery-operated-boyfriend. "Uh...oh...okay," she says, quickly bowing out of that conversation. Jason laughs and nods at me.

"Very nice, huh, Boss?" He says with a knowing smile. I reach down and lift Butterfly's legs, putting her calves and feet across my lap.

"Very nice, indeed," I respond, showing no shame.

"Oh yes, please, embarrass me further. I'm not here," Butterfly says waving her hands and holding her head down.

"Embarrassed? Are you kidding me?" Gail says in shock. "You two are all over each other at every opportunity. I don't know how you have time or energy for anything else!" She announces.

"They're like rabbits," Davenport says, mostly under his breath but loud enough for us to hear. When the other four people turn and glare at him, he hissed. "Ssssss...oh...wow...I didn't say that out lout did I?"

"Yes, you did!" Ana scolded.

"Ugh!" Davenport groans almost painfully and puts his head in his hands. "I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to say that."

"Oh, lighten up, Chuck, it wasn't that bad." Butterfly says. Davenport is still shaking his head.

"Can you all excuse me for a minute?" He says, and without waiting for a response, he is up and gone back into the villa. Jason and I exchange knowing looks while Gail looks impassive and Butterfly is confused. A few moments pass before she removes her legs from mine and stands.

"I'll be back. I'm going to go see what his problem is." Without another word, she is gone into the villa as well.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Gail asks.

"Most likely," Jason responds.

"Does someone want to let me in on it?" I ask, now feeling like the odd man out. Gail pushes herself into her husband's arms and begins to speak.

"Our relationship has..._evolved_...over the past week. Although I've always been comfortable with Ana, we've gotten considerably closer as friends during this vacation. In addition, our relationship," she gestures between Jason and herself, "with _you_ has taken a turn. You're calling Jason by his first name now, Ana has always called Charles _Chuck_, and we've been doing a lot of social events as a group this week. Charles has even had a lady friend stay over two of the days of the trip. Even with the tension that we had in the first part of the week, this is the most relaxed we've ever seen you." Jason nods at her revelation. "We are very happy to be considered your friends, but you _are_ still our employer, and even though our relationship with you has evolved into something more casual, Charles' relationship with you has not—and he's aware of that. It's very easy to fall into a comfort zone in light of the situation, but in the end, you're still Mr. Grey. We go back to Seattle tomorrow where he will be _Davenport_ and you will be _Sir, _and he just told you that you and your girlfriend screw like rabbits...Sir." She finishes with a shrug.

Ah, now I see. Any other time, someone would probably be losing a job right now and my staff is aware of this. However, this week has made everybody relax, including me. So Davenport had a slip of the tongue and is now kicking himself for it which, in all honesty, he should be.

"Well, since I'd like to eat dinner soon, I'm going to go and straighten this out," I say rising from my seat to go in search of Butterfly and Davenport.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Music from the special evening:  
Hooverphonic—L'Odeur Animale  
Bliss—Kissing  
Nora Jones—Come Away With Me  
Kate Havnevik—Grace  
I.O.U. Me—BeBe and CeCe Winans  
After Tonight—Mariah Carey (not mentioned, but Christian's fears about Ana while he was lost in the darkness)**_

_**So "tomorrow" (next chapter) we start the trek back to Seattle. I know the vacation seemed long and tedious to a lot of people, but hopefully you understand the significance behind each event that occurred on the island. There were no fillers in this sequence. The only thing that could considered "fillers" would be their activities because you can't go on vacation and not have some fun. Believe it or not, there are still a couple of significant events that will happen before they land in Seattle. One of them will, of course, involve the conversation with Davenport. **_

_**Once the story is changed and published, I won't have the opportunity to write Author's Notes - the story will have to stand on it's own. But while I have the opportunity, I do like to write A/N's and connect with my readers, answer questions, thank reviewers, give useless (and**_** useFUL)**_** bits of information, and tell disrespectful folks to go to hell. So, thank you for bearing with me while I've done those things. Tell me what you think of Christian's breakthrough and what this could mean for their relationship. **_

_**Don't forget the pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla /**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_


	62. Chapter 62: Homeward Bound

_**I need to say a special thank you to Vanessa Grey. She has let me bounce ideas off of her and she's my French translator, inspiration assistant, child saver (as talking to her has helped to keep me from killing my children), cheerleader, among many other things. You know you have those people that you haven't had the pleasure of meeting in person yet but you talk to them more than people that you have met in person? That's my Nessi. Love you, Girl!**_

_**There are soooooo many people that I want to thank personally (especially from my Facebook crew), and hopefully I'll get to do that soon. Until then, know that you are dear to me and if we have talked in ANY way, I value our connection no matter how small or large. **_

_**To CG Girl (sorry about the chapter 59 cliffhanger...eh, no, I'm not, lol)—always love to hear from you. I do understand the intensity in their relationship being a bit frightening. However, I don't know if you've ever heard of this, but it does happen quite often...have you ever heard of a couple being together for a really long time and one of them dies, and the surviving spouse dies shortly thereafter? It happens quite a bit because people do get connected that way and once one leaves, the other can't go on. I realize it may appear too soon for CG and Ana to feel that way, but that connection does happen more often than we know. Thanks for your review! :-)**_

_**To Gia (Georgia)-first, thank you for your review and thank you for joining me. I'm sorry that it to me so long to respond to you but real life causes me not to be able to read my reviews as often as I like. I hope the chapters following chapter 52 and 53 showed that Christian does completely understand how screwed up he is and that he completely degraded Ana during that session. They have a lot of work and talking to do, but fret not. Our couple will turn out just fine in the end. Thank you so much for your insight. You seemed so sensitive to the chapters and to what Ana was feeling and I really appreciate that! :-) **_

_**To Jay—thank you for your encouragement and thank you for reading and reviewing. The troubled teen's name is Marlow. He's going to have his own storyline in Book II. ;-)**_

_**For the guest that is concerned about them breaking up, don't worry—my CG and Ana won't break up. **_

_**To asg, Beth, Carol (I thought the Dory fish was kind of cool), Christian618, Debby D, Greentree16 (thank you for getting to me however you can!), hun, glory2bee, kat282301 (patience, Darling—the GV saga will be front and center in Book II), Jaimini, Leah, Laney (yes, someone else is always worse off than we are, lol), Mere, michelle b (did you read my one-shot? That's exactly what I did to her, lol), OTB (no worries...your CG is out there), Raynedears, tb, Teresaromance, Tj, Toefrumpy, TyE, and the guests that I can't PM, thank you so much for your input and reviews and for reading my story!**_

_**I've noticed that I have picked up a lot of new readers—many of which have read the story in two days or less. I want to thank you all so much for joining me. I am beyond thrilled that you like my story and I truly hope that you stick around for the sequels as well as one-shots and when I'm ready to publish. **_

_**Okay, I had my sappy moment...now on with the story!**_

_**All previous disclaimers apply here!**_

_Chapter 62—Homeward Bound _

_**GREY**_

Davenport has scurried into the villa after making a comment about Ana's and my sex life. Although it kind of fit in with the conversation, I'm on the fence about how appropriate it was. This is one of the reasons why I always wanted to keep the lines between employee and employer very clear. Once someone is comfortable around you, they forget their boundaries. This is still being explored with the new relationship being forged with Gail and Jason and myself, but Davenport doesn't have those liberties.

I cross the dining room and the great room to find them in the sitting room talking animatedly. As I approach, I can hear Davenport pleading his case.

"I'm a professional, Ana. I can't go back to Seattle behaving this way. That man is my boss. I have no interest in his or your private life, only your safety. I made some kind of comment about him being sprung or whipped or something like that the second day we were here. He walked in on me and Keri naked in a sex stupor. Oh, and let's not forget the whole pancake debacle..."

"Oh, God, please...let's forget...please," Butterfly pleads and I can see her blushing every shade of crimson.

"Now I'm talking about how you guys are fucking? If I say something inappropriate at the wrong time, my job is down the tube, Ana. Hell, I'd quit from embarrassment. I'll be lucky if he doesn't fire me." He throws his hands in the air on that last statement.

"Oh, come on, Chuck. He's not going to fire you. It wasn't that serious..."

"Maybe it wasn't that serious for _us_...for me and you...because we're friendly, but that was _very_ serious for Mr. Grey. We don't joke like that, Ana."

"Well, maybe we shouldn't be so blatant about our sex life," Butterfly says. What Davenport says next is why I keep him on.

"That's not the point. If I'm driving that car and the two of you are _fucking_ in the back seat, I'm supposed to be discreet. I understand that Gail and Jason have been with him for a long time, and they take certain liberties that have come with time and with the relationship. I haven't earned that right. I don't know if I ever will. You were friendly from the very beginning, and Mr. Grey made me very aware of that, but that's not the nature of my relationship with him. I feel like shit, Ana. What I said was inappropriate, and I can't let that happen again." I can hear him scolding himself.

"Does that mean that you and _I _can't be friends anymore?" She sounds a little broken with that statement. She has come to trust Davenport and I don't want to see that relationship change since he is so good at protecting her and keeping me abreast of her whereabouts and safety.

"I don't know, Ana. I may not even have a job after this," he says falling into one of the seats. Now it's time to make my entrance.

"Baby, may I speak to Davenport in private please?" I say, walking into the room and announcing my presence. Davenport pops back up out of his seat like a jack-in-the-box while Butterfly looks at me with pleading eyes. She looks sadly at Davenport and then walks toward the door. Before leaving the room, she mouths to me "Do not fire him," and I nod once. Davenport has taken stance, which looks a little weird in a T-shirt and Dockers.

"Sir, please allow me to apologize for that statement. It was completely inappropriate and way out of line. I can assure you that it won't happen again." He has gone full military on me, and I think this is something that he needs to do.

"Apology accepted. Have a seat," I say sitting in the seat across from him. He takes the seat, clearly a combination of nervous and surprised. "I'm not a very patient or understanding man, and I know this. I run my life like I run my business and up to this point, everything has been under control and in order. Now, things have been shifted and shaken and I think everyone has been thrown a curve ball. Things are only going to become more difficult from here on out...paparazzi are going to be in our faces all of the time. One wrong move and it's front page news. So yes, I do appreciate professionalism and discretion in my security staff." I say with finality.

"Yes Sir," he responds impassively with a nod.

"Having said that, I know the impact that little hurricane has on everyone that she meets. It's impossible not to be affected by her. I control the lives of hundreds of thousands of people in one way or another, and I didn't stand a chance against her!" I inform him and he doesn't react. "She has walked out of this room and silently told me not to fire you."

He straightened his back a little at that comment.

"You've already proven yourself to be a valuable employee, so she really didn't have to tell me that—and I have no problem with your being friends with Anastasia because that's just the person that she is. I told you that when you were first assigned to her. However, you are correct in one thing. I _am_ still Mr. Grey. That is not going to change. I know that it is very easy to get comfortable, especially in this type of setting and with the events of this week—but understand that Gail and Jason have been with me for a long time and they are taking liberties that have been established by time. Though it might be tempting to participate in the banter, you need to remember where you are and who you are dealing with.

"I plan on having a long life and relationship with Anastasia that will hopefully one day result in marriage. I do value you as an employee and I know that she values you as well. Since I am assuming that you plan not to fuck up and get fired, it's a safe conclusion that you will be around for a while. I am not saying that our relationship will develop into a friendship, or even into the comfortable relationship that you have with Anastasia—but if that ever happens, it will take more than just a week in Anguilla." He observes me to see if I have finished making my point.

"Yes, Sir, I understand," he says when I am done.

"Good. Now come on out and let's have dinner." I stand to leave.

"Sir, if it's all the same to you, I think I would rather have dinner inside tonight." Yeah, I kind of figured he would feel that way after that conversation.

"Suit yourself, but I think that we both know that if you don't come out and have dinner with the rest of us, the Brunette Hurricane is going to come in and drag you out. So I guess you might want to decide if you're coming out on your own free will or if you want to be dragged out kicking and screaming by a 5' 3" force of nature." I raise my eyebrows at him and walk out of the room. Needless to say, it took about ten paces before he decided that voluntarily coming to dinner was probably a better idea than being dragged out by his ear.

When we get back out to the fire pit, the appetizers have been served and the others have started eating. Butterfly is picking at a shrimp kabob while Jason and Gail talk about plans once we return to Seattle. Butterfly rises when we approach, her eyes full of concern.

"Is everything okay?" She asks, noting Davenport's reserved demeanor.

"Yes, everything is fine," he responds. I deduce that he knows her well enough to know that she would press the matter if I answered that question instead of him.

"We're fine," I concur, "and I'm hungry. So sit back down so we can eat." She smiles at me and we take our seats again around the fire pit.

It doesn't take long for me to realize that the conversation we had moments ago didn't affect Davenport's ability to interact with the group—only his ability to interact with me, which I actually see as a good thing. My newly explored relationship with my housekeeper and my head of personal security cannot affect my authority over the rest of my employees. I have no problem separating the two. The tension, however, didn't go unnoticed by Butterfly.

"Are you two really okay?" She says in my ear during dinner.

"Yes, Butterfly. We're fine, but you know that I don't have the same relationship with Davenport that I have with Gail and Jason, and we had to establish that."

"Exactly _how_ did you establish that? He acts like he would rather chew glass than speak to you," she says softly, but concerned.

"And that's not a bad thing," I respond. "He is still my employee, and we both understand that. He's a good man to have around and I like that. So everything is just back to normal." She looks at me, skeptically. "_Really_," I add.

"Okay," she says, and I can tell that she is still a bit uncertain. "I can do normal."

"Good," I say with a smile and proceed to feed her from the platters of finger foods that the chef staff has prepared. The conversation for the rest of the night was pretty light. Butterfly and I fed each other from the trays all evening and Gail commented that she has absolutely never seen me this way before.

"He's always been so reserved," she elaborated, "always so controlled, almost to a fault. He knew everything that was going on in every corner of the room, even behind him. Right now, I think a stampede of wild horses could run by right now and he wouldn't even notice." Butterfly laughs at Gail's observation.

"Well, I don't think I could argue with you there, Mrs. Taylor. I'm a bit moonstruck," I say, smiling at my Butterfly, who smiles back at me while gently touching my face.

"It's good to see you happy," Gail adds. When I look up at her, she is holding Jason's hand and smiling at me.

"It's good to _be _happy," I respond, looking at my Butterfly again. She makes me feel like there is a purpose for my being here on this earth. Before, I felt like I was supposed to just wake up, make money, and die, leaving my fortune to my nieces and nephews—assuming they didn't turn out to be entitled little brats...and assuming that Elliot and Mia would actually find anyone that could tolerate them long enough to want to raise children with them. Now, Mia has Ethan, and I am expecting them to make it official any day now. Elliot has had a change of plans from the bitchy Kate Kavanaugh, so I still have hope for him—and of course, I have my Butterfly. Mom must be ecstatic right now.

* * *

"Are you just about done?" I ask Butterfly as I pack the last of my toiletries into my duffel bag.

"Yep, that'll do it for me." She says, zipping her dress bag shut. "I'm all set except for tomorrow's clothes and what I'm wearing. How about you?"

"Same here," I say, sitting on the bed and pulling out my laptop. "So why don't we map out where we might want to go shopping tomorrow, make the best use of our time?"

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea," she says climbing onto the bed next to me as we search the shops in St. Maarten.

"Did you have any idea what you might have been looking for, or did you just want to go around and see what caught your eye?" I ask

"Hmm, maybe a little of both." She says as we scroll through the many shops on St. Maarten. Butterfly and I look through the shops and map out a route to cover as many places as we can in the time allotted then decide to call it a night.

By 8am we and our luggage have vacated the Brazilian Emerald Villa and we are back on the island of St. Maarten. I have noticed that Butterfly hadn't taken any nocturnal beach strolls since the night that we watched the turtles hatching and made love on the sand underneath the sunrise. I don't know if that experience cured her need to roam, and I don't want to bring it up at this moment. One thing that I did notice is that Davenport was in uniform this morning for the trip back to Seattle. I'm certain that Jason told him it wasn't necessary until they were officially back on duty when we were stateside, but again—if it ain't broke...

Jason and Davenport supervised loading the luggage onto the jet while Butterfly and I decided to take in some shopping. Very shortly after we began our trek, they and Gail joined us. Once we started looking in the art galleries, I realized that I have created an utter monster. Butterfly chose three separate paintings of completely different color schemes—each with a butterfly motif. The first was simply a canvas covered with hundreds of monarch butterflies. The second was a brightly themed abstract picture composed of butterfly wings. The third was a beautiful depiction of blue butterflies flying towards a blue tree.

"I have ruined you, haven't I?" I ask as I pay the courier to take them directly to the jet.

"I don't know why you would say that. I've never been particularly drawn to anything before in my life. If it had to be something, why not butterflies?" She answers sweetly. I had a special destination in mind today since I saw it on the internet last night. I made an excuse to slip away from Butterfly and Davenport and headed off on my mission.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

Yes, I love butterflies...so what? I didn't fall in love with roses when that asshole called me _Rosie, _thank God, but it _is _Christian's fault that I am so obsessed with butterflies. I'm even thinking about something that I want to do with my body, but I'll have to give it some thought and do some research before I can even consider it.

Christian loved those beach sandals so much that I found a shop that had different designs and just went crazy. I must have purchased 10 pairs! They're so simply made, I could actually duplicate them if I want. I also bought two sexy sarongs—one with hand-painted butterflies and one with really pretty purple flowers. They may never leave the house, but who knows? There may be more vacations in my future.

I splurged on a leather briefcase from Longchamp. Granted, I hadn't bought a new one since I graduated from college, but those things cost more than my car note. Hmm... car note...I wonder what I'm going to do about that car when I get home. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

I wandered into Liz Claiborne to check out the clothes and discovered that the dresses and items on the sidewalk outside of some of the cheaper vendors were cuter than the stuff in Liz Claiborne. Of course I bought a few dresses and some scarves. I saw the cutest butterfly inkblot mug set trimmed in gold at one of the street vendors that will definitely be going to the office with me. How perfect for a shrink obsessed with butterflies!

I went into a store called Lipstick—walls and walls and bins and bins of cosmetics. It was fun to poke around and try different colors although Chuck didn't think so. I was able to find a wonderful combination concealer/foundation to help with those days when Mr. Grey can't help himself and I end up with love bites. I also bought some nail decals, polish, and supplies for just in case a "girl's night in" is necessary after Val and Elliot finally have their talk..._if _they ever have their talk.

Chuck and I are laden with the results of my little shopping spree when I notice the cutest phone cases for my iPhone at another of the street vendors. One is covered in Swarovski crystals with the butterfly a rainbow of colored crystals and the other is aqua blue with a butterfly across the cover; its wings are outlined in antique silver and has the words of a book imprinted across them. I look up and, just a few feet away, I see this guy observing me. He doesn't look creepy or anything, he's just watching me. I look over at Chuck who is standing very nearby, but also looking at phone cases. I'm thinking maybe the guy is just checking me out.

I put the crystal-covered case on my phone and as I was checking the handbags at another vendor, I saw it...the camera. What the hell? I look up at Chuck and tell him, "Come on, Chuck."

"Where are we going?" He asks.

"Look at my phone case." Chuck looks at the phone case.

"Okay," he says expecting.

"Keep looking at it and don't look up." Now he looks over at me.

"Okay." His tone has changed.

"Paparazzi at my 10." Sure enough, he makes to look over my left shoulder before I snatch his suit sleeve to get his attention.

"Chuck! I thought you were a professional! I told you not to look up!" I scold quietly.

"Sorry. It's a reaction." He apologizes.

"I want to go and talk to him," I say and Chuck eyes me warily.

"Are you sure about that, Ana?" He asks.

"Who knew that we were coming here?" I ask. Chuck face distorted then straightened.

"I see your point."

"I just want to know what he knows," I say.

"How do you know he'll tell you anything? They are not forthcoming with information and are even more protective of their sources."

"I'll make him an offer he can't refuse," I say in my best Vito Corleone imitation. Chuck smiles at me. "Just stay close, okay?" I add.

"You got it," he responds. I stroll casually in the direction of my newest fan, pretend to examine goods along the outside of the stores while Chuck played the good little bodyguard. By the time I was in his face it was too late.

"So who do you work for?" I took him by surprise. He's about my age, blonde, blue eyes, but out of place a bit in his jeans and polo.

"What do you mean?" He says to me. Hmm, he's a professional, too. Chuck positions himself and now he has the guy cornered, so there was nowhere that he could go.

"See, that's the wrong answer. I see your little camera there and I can tell that you're not a tourist—don't ask me how. I also know that you've come a long way to take those pictures and you're probably going to want to take pictures of me again someday. So you might want to tell me now who you are, how you found us, and who you work for." I say folding my arms.

"Damn, Lady, you should be a detective," he responds flatly. I'm still waiting for a response. He sighs. "I'm freelance. It's on the low-wire that you're here..."

"The low-wire? What is that?" I ask a little perturbed.

"I'm sorry. It's just something I made up. Do you know how 'ambulance chasers' listen to police scanners to try to get injury cases?" I nod. "Well, the low-wire is something like that. You keep your ear to the ground to try to be the first to get the scoop on the story and you get leads that normally someone else wouldn't chase. A picture of you here on vacation after you were kidnapped would set me up with the publications as a solid source of material." He says honestly.

"Who are you and how did you find us?" I ask again.

"I'm Josh. Joshua Shaler. I've been doing the about a year. I heard about you guys from backdoor sources that I won't reveal even if you pull my teeth out with pliers." He states firmly.

"If you give me something I can go on, I won't use your name, and I'll give you a picture and a one-line statement," I say.

"Ana..." Chuck protests, and I hold my finger up to him. I know what I'm doing. Josh couldn't resist that.

"Picture first," he says.

"No. Info first," I demand.

"I've already got pictures of you," he tries to negotiate.

"Then take what you've got and get out of my face, and don't expect to get within photographing distance of me every again in your life, _Joshua Shaler_," I say, turning to leave. Four...three...two...

"Wait!" He shouts, and I turn around. He cautiously walks over to me.

"Without revealing my sources, I can tell you that usually info like this comes directly from somebody inside the camp—usually an image consultant or somebody in PR. _Nobody _knew that you guys were here. Paps are still camped out at the downtown penthouse and your condo. By the time they figure _this _out, you'll already be back in Seattle, although there may be a few more rogue freelancers here."

"How did you know we were here? Until this morning, we were somewhere else," I accuse.

"I know, Anguilla. I got lucky and my flight was delayed. I saw you and Mr. Grey coming out of the private flight lounge when I was coming out of the airport. Otherwise, I'd be traipsing around Anguilla looking for you like, no doubt, other freelancers are doing right now—that is until they find out that the GEH jet is in the hanger." Now, _that _is valuable information. I nod to Chuck.

"For that, you've earned a sound bite. Chuck..." Chuck stands behinds me to make the shot more believable. "That thing got video capability?"

"Damn straight," he says.

"We'll here's your still." I smile holding up my chopping bags. Josh takes about 10 pictures in quick succession.

"Okay, make this quick and make it right," I say. "If you abuse my kindness, my boyfriend will have your neck and your career on a platter...but you should be more worried about _me_," I warn. He shrinks back a bit.

"Believe me...I am," he says, looking at me cautiously.

"Smart man," Chuck says behind me. I put on my best winning smile and check my outfit. I'm wearing a sleeveless cut-off mock turtleneck with Aztec designs to cover my love bites (thank God) and a really cute pair of Mimi Chica lightweight black crochet shorts that look more like a mini skirt with a wavy hem. My hair is in a chic messy bun and I've accessorized with multicolored chandelier earrings, simple black bangles, Louboutin canvas and black wedges, and my Bvlgari sunglasses. Chuck stands behind me as Josh switches his fancy camera to video and points it at me.

"Ms. Steele, how have you enjoyed your trip so far?" Josh asks as if he had just run into me.

"Ana, please, and it's been wonderful. We've relaxed and had a fabulous time and now I'm just ready to get home and get back to my life," I say, pouring on the girl-next-door charm.

"Well, you look great, Ana. It's good to see you doing so well after your ordeal," Josh adds.

"Thank you so much, Josh. That's very kind of you. I have to get going now, no one keeps Mr. Grey waiting," I say with a coy laugh.

"Okay, thanks again, Ana!" He says before turning off the camera. "Would you like to see it?" I shrug. He shows me the video and I look damn good—sun-kissed, fresh-faced, fit and happy.

"I'm very pleased," I say, nodding. "Do you have a card?"

"Actually, I do." Josh reaches into his wallet and pulls out a card.

"I'm going to keep my eye on you, Josh, and I'll probably be in touch. One day I may need a favor."

"Yes, Godmother," Josh laughs. Thank you, Ms. Steele. You don't know what this means to me," he says, sounding a little sentimental.

"I actually do," I say proffering my hand to him. "This is better than the money shot." I smile at him. He shakes my hand and smiles back.

"Yes...it is." He says, before smiling again and walking away. I sigh heavily.

"Call Jason. We need to leave," I tell Chuck who wastes no time pulling out his phone. I call Christian.

"Butterfly, you okay?" He answers.

"We need to go, _now!_" I say sternly, but calmly.

"Baby, what's wrong?" His voice is full of concern.

"Nothing is wrong, but we need to go now. Where are you?"

"I'm in the center in the shops. Where are _you_?" He asks.

"I'm near Liz Claiborne."

"You're closer to the jet. I'll come to you. Are you okay?" You're wasting time, Grey.

"Yes, I'm okay. Get here now, Christian. Chuck is calling Jason."

"I'm already here!" I hear his voice behind me and he's stepping out of the taxi.

"Stay!" I yell holding up my finger and walking quickly to the taxi. "Where are Jason and Gail?" I ask Chuck.

"They're trying to get to us," Chuck responds.

"Tell them to go to the plane. We'll meet them there," I say, climbing quickly into the taxi, bags and all. Chuck climbs into the front and give instructions to go the airport.

"Ana, what the fuck is going on?" Christian is quickly becoming impatient.

"I'll tell you when we get to the plane."

"We're not due to take off for another hour or so. I want to know what the fuck is going on and I want to know now!" He barks.

"NO! YOU DON'T!" I bark right back at him. I don't know who you're accustomed to getting a response from in _that_ tone of voice, but it sure as hell ain't me! He's gaping at me like he can't believe I just said that to him.

"Davenport!" He spit.

"Not a word." I bark at Chuck. Christian glares at me.

"The last I checked, he was in _my _employ!" Well, he's got me there. Luckily, Chuck came to my rescue.

"Sir," he says, turning around and getting Christian's attention, "With all due respect, Sir, she's right. You probably want to wait to hear this." He took off his glasses and threw a look at the cabby and back at Christian. Christian looks from Chuck to the cabby and back to Chuck, and then nods. He doesn't look at me again or say another word. We're going to have to talk about this one because if he thinks he's ever going to take that tone with me and get a desired result, he's got another think coming!

When we get to the hanger, I wait for instructions as I don't want to rush the plane and be tackled by the TSA...or the equivalent here in St. Maarten...but I am pissed, and I can tell that Christian is just as pissed. So he is not going to be pleased with what I did, and damn it I don't feel like giving him any explanation.

When instructed, I make a B-line for the plane, bags in hand and ascend the steps in record time. The flight attendant tried to greet me when I entered and I brushed right past her, taking my bags to the bedroom of the jet and throwing them on the bed. The nerve of him barking at me that way! I'm not one of his fucking subs! I come barreling out of the bedroom and brush by Christian with enough force to make him leap out of my way.

You had better move, you fucking Neanderthal!

_Come on, Steele. In all fairness, you did call the man demanding that you all return to the plane and you still haven't given him an explanation.  
_I accept that, but he is not going to speak to me that way and that is final!

Everyone has made it back to the plane and they're all just standing around awaiting instructions, including the flight attendant.

"May I please have a drink?" I ask her. I was kind of rude to her upon my entry, but I'm pissed and I didn't want to bite her head off for no reason.

"What would you like, Ma'am?" She asks cautiously.

"Vodka rocks, double shot, and please forgive my rudeness earlier, Miss..."

"Samantha, Ma'am," she says, politely.

"Samantha. Thank you. Ana," I say, with all the courtesy I can muster, and she nods.

"Can I get anything for anyone else?" She asks. Gail asks for water and everyone else declines. No one speaks until I get my drink and I am seated on one of the couches, except for Christian who asks the pilot Lance when we will be able to take off. Lance informs him that we should be cleared in about twenty or thirty minutes. I throw the entire drink back and almost ask for a second, but think better of it since I haven't had lunch yet.

"Ana," Jason begins, "can we know what's going on now because Chuck is pretty mum." I cross my legs and look up at a very angry Christian then roll my eyes and turn to Jason.

"Paps are here," I say flatly. Jason looks up at Christian who says, "What?"

"Paps are here. They know we're here."

"Ana, there _are _other famous people that vacation on these islands," Jason said. "They could just be..._around_..."

"No, Jason, they're not just _around_ unfortunately..."

"How do you know?" Christian snaps at me. I glare up at him and he doesn't budge, matching my defiance. I turn to Jason.

"I know where your mole is." I say flatly.

I've got everyone's attention now.

Jason looks up at Christian who is still acting like an arrogant asshole. Gail takes a seat where she can hear what we are saying. I ignore my anger and tell Jason what I know.

"He gave me inside information and in return, I gave him a picture and a sound bite."

"You gave him a what!?" Christian yells.

"A sound bite..and that's two!" I yell back, glaring at him. He frowns furiously.

"Two what!?"

"Two times that you have barked at me like a dog! I don't respond to that, so stop it!" I scream. Christian is clearly taken aback and I can see him counting behind his sunglasses. Yeah, you better count!

"Ana, what did you say?" Jason asks calmly. I take a deep breath and let it out.

"He asked if I enjoyed my trip, and I said yes and that I was anxious to get home. He told me I looked good after my ordeal and I thanked him and told him it was time to leave as no one keeps Mr. _Grey_ waiting." I growled his name to illuminate my displeasure at that moment.

"Well, that was the money shot," Jason said.

"That was _better _than the money shot, and I know it. It was worth it for the information that I got _and_ it furthered my agenda." My voice is sharp and angry.

"Is that exactly what you said?" I hear sharply from my right and I don't respond. "Answer me, Anastasia. Is that exactly what you said?" I snap my head over to him.

"Yes, Grey, that is exactly what I said! I am not a toddler and I know how to behave in public!" I spit. He throws up his hands and storms into the bedroom. I am breathing heavily now, he is really pissing me off!

"You might want to call Welch and tell him that your mole is in PR." I say to Jason, trying to control my voice.

"You're sure." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Well, I wouldn't bet my 'fortune' on it," I say using the finger quotes, "but I'm _usually_ a good judge of character." I shoot a look at the closed bedroom door.

"I'll make a call to Welch to look into this." Jason stands and walks to the middle section of the plane. I feel them coming—fuck! The son-of-a-bitch acting like a damn child is not going to make me cry! Breathe, Steele, breathe.

"Ana," I look up at Chuck, who has walked over to me and sat down on the couch, "this may not be the best time for this, but I have to say it."

"Fire away," I respond not lifting my head.

"That thing, in the cab, when Mr. Grey expected me to tell him what happened," he begins and I nod. "Don't ever do that to me again." I couldn't protest. I put him in an awkward position and I know that I did. However, although I understand the err of my ways, this fact is doing nothing to help with the way I am feeling at this moment.

"I won't." I stand up and dash to the bathroom, closing the door and locking it before the tears began to fall. Oh hell! This has got to stop. I need to find a way to get my anatomy in order because this whole "get really pissed and cry like a damsel in distress" thing is not working for me anymore! In the meantime, I take the hand towel, shove it in my mouth, and scream.

A few minutes later, I'm still pissed as hell, I don't feel any relief, my eyes are swollen, and there's a knock at the door.

"Ana, you need to come out. They are ready for takeoff," Gail's muffled voice informs me.

"Okay," I respond, my voice cracking. I wash my face and run some cold water on a face cloth. I emerge from the restroom and don't make eye contact with anyone. I sit at the farthest table in the back knowing that Christian would be sitting closer to the front. I buckle myself in, lean my head back on the chair and put the cool face cloth over my eyes. That feels good, though the tears are still falling and I now have that annoying cry-pant-hiccup thing going on. I try to breathe normally as the plane is taxiing down the runway to take off.

"Ana, are you okay?" Gail asks, her voice laden with concern.

"Yes I'm fine it's just adrenaline thank you," I say all in one breath. If I could just calm down, control my breathing... After a while, we get the announcement that we can move about the cabin...and I still can't freaking breathe.

"Is he just going to leave her like that?" Gail says softly, not knowing that I can hear her, I'm sure.

"There's not much he can do," Chuck replies, trying to hide his voice as well. "She's not upset, she pissed. When she gets like that, she can only cry or hit something, and there's nothing here to hit...but _him_."

"Well, maybe she should belt him a time or two," Gail responds. That wouldn't help. He's all pompous and arrogant and pigheaded and stubborn and fragile and vulnerable and beautiful and...

"Um...excuse me...um...Ana...is there something that I can get for you?" I hear Samantha's kind voice beyond my face cloth.

"Yes, a l...large glass...of...o...orange j...juice if you...h...have it." Oh hell, how many people heard that? Please, God, please...everybody just leave me alone. Let me pull it together.

Moments later, Samantha comes back with the orange juice. "Would you like something to eat?" She's really very sweet.

"No...not...right now, thank...y...you. I'm...n...not...h...hungry." Oh here it comes again. I take my orange juice and escape to the bedroom. No lock on this door. Figures. I drink the whole glass down, quenching my parched throat with a combination of citrus and salty tears. To hell if I'm going to spend the next eight or nine hours trying to not to cry. There's a small space on the floor in front of the bed. That's enough room. I need something to hold my feet down...the ridge of the bed frame—only enough room for my toes. That will have to do. I take off my wedges, my bangles, and my earrings. I lie in the floor and jam my feet in the little space at the end of the bed. I clasp my fingers behind my head and start doing sit-ups.

1...2...3...4...

I'm sure I could have told him what was going on before his anger escalated, but he has to learn how to deal with people better than this.

12...13...14...15...

He can't just go barking at people at will like he's better than everybody else. I understand that he's a deckaflackazillionaire, but we're not all put on this earth to be his minions and he had no right to treat me that way.

26...27...28...29...

He has to learn that there is a way to speak to people and I will be _damned_ if I will let him treat me like some non-person...like some nobody...like a damn puppy...!

38...39...40...41...

Counting is just reminding me that this is not helping me. I have to wear myself out to get this feeling off of me and sit-ups are just not strenuous enough. Pushups might work better, but I don't have sneakers handy to stiffen my toes. Sit-ups it is...

60...61...62...63...

Maybe if I start singing...I won't concentrate on the counting. In my head, I start to run down the old faithfuls...

_I come home in the morning light  
My mother says when you gonna live your life right  
Oh mother dear we're not the fortunate ones  
And girls they want to have fun  
Oh girls just want to have fun..._

_..._

_She's into superstitions black cats and voodoo dolls.  
I feel a premonition that girl's gonna make me fall.  
She's into new sensations new kicks in the candle light.  
She's got a new addiction for every day and night..._

_..._

_I know you wanna leave me,  
but I refuse to let you go  
If I have to beg and plead for your sympathy,  
I don't mind coz' you mean that much to me  
Ain't too proud to beg, sweet darlin  
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go..._

_..._

_This is how we do it.  
It's Friday night, and I feel all right  
The party is here on the West side  
So I reach for my 40 and I turn it up  
Designated driver take the keys to my truck  
Hit the shore 'cause I'm faded  
Honeys in the street say, "Monty, yo we made it..." _

…

_Right now he's probably slow dancing with a bleached-blond tramp,  
and she's probably getting frisky...  
right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink  
'cause she can't shoot whiskey...  
Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool stick,  
showing her how to shoot a combo... _

_..._

_You were my sun  
You were my earth  
But you didn't know all the ways I loved you, no  
So you took a chance  
And made other plans  
But I bet you didn't think that they would come crashing down, no  
You don't have to say, what you did,  
I already know, I found out from him …_

…

Once I had made my way through the top hit records of the last forty years or so, I was finally out of breath enough to stop doing sit-ups...and I wasn't crying anymore. Still angry, but the crying was gone. What did he do with all of my bags, throw them out the window? I look around the room and finally find them piled into the small compartment that I guess is suppose to be a closet. I search through the bags and find the maxi-dress that I bought this morning. My cute shorts and Aztec mock turtleneck are now drenched in sweat and I need to freshen up.

I strip naked, leaving all of my clothes on the floor and step into the en suite. It was my intention to take a sink bath until I realized that there's a shower in here! I don't _know_ how there's a shower on the plane and I don't _care_ how there is a shower on the plane. All I know is...there is a shower on the plane! I don't even know how long I stayed in there. Hell, how long was I on the floor? I could have been dead for all he knew. I clean myself thoroughly and wash my sweaty hair then step out of the shower. There are only two towels. Hmm, hope he doesn't want a damn shower! I wrap myself in one towel and dry my hair with the other. I feel a lot better. I'm still wishing the almighty Christian fucking Grey wasn't such and arrogant asshole, but I still feel a lot better. I wrap my hair in the towel and step out of the en suite.

I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do for clean underwear. I could wash mine in the sink and hang them in the restroom like I used to do in college. Will eight hours be long enough for them to dry? Do I still _have _eight hours? I guess I'll find out. I start retrieving my clothes from the floor and just as I get to where my panties are, there are his bare feet. When did he get in here? I didn't even see him! What the hell? I stand up straight and his face is impassive. Whatever. I turn around and put my sweaty things in the bag that previously held the maxi-dress. Screw the underwear!

"We need to talk," he says, sternly.

"So talk," I respond, still trying to dry the water out of my hair.

"You could have avoided all of this by just telling me what was going on. For Christ's sake, Anastasia, you call me while we're in St. Maarten in the middle of a shopping trip telling me that we have to leave _now_ and you won't tell me why. What the hell was I supposed to think? You could have handled this better." I turn to face him with my hands on my hips.

"You should really listen to yourself, because you're right, I couldn't have handled things differently...but you, _Sir,_ certainly could have handled things better! I may not have been thinking clearly trying to get us back to the plane before the paparazzi swarmed in on us, but even after you found out what happened, you still acted like an ill-mannered child—a tyrant throwing temper tantrums because he can't get his way. That may work for you in the boardroom, but that won't work with me. You can't ceremoniously treat me like your minion. I'm better than that even if _you_ don't think so!" I bark, and I'm pissed again.

"I never said that. I know that you're better than that, and don't put words in my mouth." His teeth are gritted. Do I care?

"I'm not putting words in your mouth and you _don't_ treat me like I'm better than that!" I point out.

"I don't treat you like one of my minions, Anastasia, and you know that!"

"No? Every time you don't like something I've done, you start yelling or barking at me. It's like you expect me to heel because you speak. I've never been _that_ girl and I'm not going to start being _that_ girl just because I'm with you. So if that's what you expect from me, you better get that out of your head right now or go find yourself another girl!"

The words were out of my mouth before I could catch them. I meant that I wasn't going to be his lapdog, panting and whimpering and heeling to his every command...but by no means did I want him to go find himself another girl. His face registered shock and dismay, and then anger.

"You demeaned me in front of my staff," he said through clenched teeth.

"So did you," I replied in a flat voice.

"You cannot undermine my authority in front of my employees, is that understood?" He snaps.

"Duly noted!" I shoot. "And you cannot disrespect me in front of _anybody_ or at _any time_, is _that_ understood?" I bark, glaring at him.

"Duly noted!" He barks. In one move he has me pushed up against the closet door, roughly ravaging my mouth. What the hell? My first instinct is to push him off of me, but he's moving so fast I don't have time to think! He snatches the towel off of me and presses his fingers hard into my thighs, his erection unforgiving against my stomach.

Oh, hell...fire!

I hardly have time to prepare myself as he quickly frees his cock from his pants and boxer briefs, effortlessly lifts me by my thighs—parting them on the way—and drops me full force onto the hardest erection I think my pussy has ever felt in my life.

"Aahhh!" I scream and he hisses loudly. I know that they hear us in the plane, but hell—what the hell was I supposed to do?

"Sssshit!" He hisses, digging his fingers into my thighs holding me steady while he pounds and digs his penis deeply into me. Good God, my head is about to explode.

"Uuuuuuuuggghhhhh!" I groan as he moves at a pace slow enough to burn a hole into me but hard enough to pound me through the wall.

"Quiet!" He growls in my face.

"No!" I screech back, grabbing handfuls of his hair.

"Fuck!" He growls again, drilling into me and making me dizzy. "Nobody speaks to me that way! You're driving me insane!"

"You're a disagreeable asshole!" I breathe, my voice heavy with my pending orgasm.

"I am not!" His voice sounds inhuman and he pounds into me deeper and harder, holding me fast against the wall.

"You are!" I wail, holding on to his hair and pulling it mercilessly. "Oh, God!" I cry.

"Take it back!" The beast roars as he picks up the pace, punishing my pussy more and more.

"No! Ah! NO!" I pant. Any second now...

"I said take it back!" He hisses looking in my eyes.

"I said NO!" I said glaring back at him, my legs beginning to shake. I wrap them around him as much as I can for leverage, but he has a death grip on my thighs.

"I am not disagreeable!" He groans as he sinks his teeth into my neck.

HOLY COW! If I wasn't squirting on his dick, it sure felt like it! I sink my teeth hard into his shoulder and scream.

"GGAAHH! Come! Shit, Ana! Come!" He grunts, his voice tortured and his body stiffening. I was coming before he said it. He was brick hard and filling every crevice. There was no way I _wasn't_ coming, but he's so hard that he can't feel it.

"I hate it when we fight. I fucking hate it! Aaah aaaah shit shit! Good God!" He is pushing into me violently jerking out this orgasm. His dick has expanded so big that it almost hurts inside of me. "Fuck, you are so tight!" No, you're just hard as hell! Relax, Steele, breathe...fuck, he's huge! He holds his head back and he's still jerking out this orgasm. He's finally getting softer, and I can finally let my breath out. Good Lord, his orgasm had to last something like 30 to 45 seconds...at least! I don't know how he could still be standing. I look at his shoulder and he has big red teeth marks in his wing. Eh, I'll tell him about it later.

"What the hell was that?" He asks, breathless.

"I don't know," I answer just as breathless. "Angry sex?" He's kissing my neck and shoulders, his arms holding me up around my waist.

"I guess so," he responds between kisses and breaths. "It was phenomenal!" He says resting his head on my shoulder.

"You _are_ a disagreeable asshole," I say, closing my eyes and trying to breathe.

"I know," he breathes. "I'm sorry...I'll work on it..."

* * *

I'm sitting on the bed between Christian's legs and he is combing the tangles out of my hair with his fingers. We are naked after joining the Mile High Club several times in the last couple of hours or so. We haven't said much because there has been so much sex.

"Your abs are going to hurt like hell," he says. I look up at him.

"You came in here?" I ask.

"Twice," he responded. "You were down there for about an hour, maybe more. I had flashbacks of the rogue body bag that week you didn't speak to me. I had just come in the third time when you came out of the shower." I guess I wasn't thinking about the pain I would endure later, just trying to get rid of the pain that I was feeling at the time. I sigh heavily.

"Well, I'll just have to do some yoga for the next couple of days."

We are quiet again for a moment as Christian begins to braid my hair.

"So what's his name?" He asks after a long, long silence.

"How did you know it was a _he?_"

"They usually are." he responds, finishing my braid and securing it with a nearby ponytail holder from my earlier ponytail/bun.

"Joshua Shaler." He thinks for a moment.

"Nope, I've never heard of him."

"You wouldn't have," I answer. "He's hoping that this photo op is going to put him on the map."

"What made you choose him?" He's looking for answers. I understand.

"I didn't choose him. I just saw him. He was in too many places. Then I saw the camera. I casually made my way over to him. Chuck pinned him. I asked him questions."

"What types of questions?"

"Like who did he work for and how did he know we were there. He's freelance and he heard about us on what he called the low-wire. It's basic back-alley Intel for the paparazzi but not everybody has an _in. _You have to know someone or know someone who knows someone or have someone inside the camp—usually image consultants or PR."

"And you believed that, Ana? You believed that and gave this guy a sound bite?" He wasn't angry. His voice portrayed disbelief.

"Christian, who knew we were coming down here? Elliot called me on Monday because he didn't even remember."

"Why did Elliot call you?" He asked. I smack my lips at him.

"Why do you think? Anyway, it's not important. What is important is that our trip was on a need-to-know basis. Who knew?" I could see the wheels turning in his head. "Your family, my assistant, my friends, your security staff and PR. My little gang of friends has been my little gang of friends for many years. They have no reason to betray me. Marilyn is my right hand—I trust her with my life. Your family...need I even address that? You told me that you cleared everyone on your security staff. That leaves PR. It fits right in with what Joshua told me. If it's a lie, then that's okay too because it fits in with my agenda...girl next door gets screwed by rich community and psycho ex-boyfriend who now wants to try to claim insanity. It's a win-win, Christian. If you hadn't been huffing at me like a raging bull, I would have had a chance to tell you that." He was quiet for a while. "And...by the way...I don't want you to go find yourself another girl," I say softly, dropping my head, recalling the words I spit at him in a fit of anger.

He lifts my chin to look up and back at him. "That would be impossible," he says. "There is no other girl for me." He slowly and gently closes his lips over mine. I love this man but he has to get a handle on his knee-jerk reactions. One minute he's growling at me trying to get answers and watching me turn into a ball of tears and goo. The next minute he is screwing me like a damn caveman, stretching my poor lady parts further than they've ever been stretched before. Damn, that was hot! I wonder what was going on there! Now, he's saying these wonderful things to me, making my heart want to burst. I feel like a freaking yo-yo!

"Um, I have a question," I say when he pulls his lips back from mine.

"What is it?" He's cautious now.

"This time...against the closet, it was...different." I say shyly. His brow furrows.

"Damn straight it was different, but what do _you_ mean?" He asks.

"Well..." I can't believe I'm timid about this. I made the man come six times two nights ago—once with a vibrator! Spit it out, Steele.

"I know that the fact that it was angry sex made it more intense, but you were rock solid and huge...and you came HARD and long! It's just never been like that before."

"I've never had angry sex before," He says, impassively and that causes me to do a double-take.

"Are you...serious?" I ask in disbelief.

"Ana, I've never had any relationships of any real merit. All I've ever had were subs. If I was angry in the boardroom, I exercised my control and took it out on a sub. If I was angry at a sub, she often got a beating and a punishment fuck and then the contract was terminated. You're standing there naked under a towel all defiant and 'respect me' and 'you're a disagreeable asshole' and I just wanted to plunder your body. You were all sexy and angry and squirming and the more of you I had, the more of you I wanted. When I tried to quiet you and you said 'no,' I thought my dick was going to shoot off. Then you're glaring at me and pulling my hair—shit! I didn't stand a fucking chance!"

"You!?" I say in disbelief. "_You _didn't stand a chance? Christian, I thought you were digging for buried treasure! You were hitting everywhere and digging hard and deep...my whole body was burning! I felt like a damn virgin!"

"Oh, come on, Ana. That's a bit extreme."

"The fuck it is!" I exclaim."You slammed into me with no warning. You're holding me up by my thighs, dragging that thing in and out of me...and the more you dragged, the harder you got. The way you were holding me, I was helpless! I couldn't move my legs _or _my hips, so I couldn't even adjust myself in case there was a better angle. I had to hang there and take it _exactly how you were giving it _and you were deliberate! You were driven by your fury and your nature was out of control. I'm getting wet again just thinking about it."

"Oh, are you now?" He says, his hands traveling up to my telltale taut nipples.

"Oh, no," I scold. "You keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Grey. This is a mental response. The coochie is out of commission!" He laughs at me.

"Angry sex is kind of hot," he says, kissing my neck.

"Angry sex is _very_ hot, but getting there is hell!" I point out. He nods.

"You're right." He kisses my shoulder. "I hate when we fight."

"So do I," I say, reaching behind me to tangle my fingers in his hair.

"I wish I could say I won't do it again," he says solemnly, still planting gentle kisses on my neck, my shoulders, my cheek, my ear...I sigh as I lean back into him.

"Don't say it, because you don't want to lie to me," I say, softly. "If we plan to spend forever with one another, there are going to be fights that are a lot worse than this." His arms close around my waist and he pulls me against him.

"I look forward to forever, but not the fighting," he says huskily into my ear.

"I look forward to it all...every single moment with you...good or bad; I don't care, as long as I get to spend it with you."

"Oh, Ana!" He crushes me against him, my back to his front, and I can't move. His face is buried in my neck and I whimper from the strength of his passion. It washes through me with unbelievable force and snatches my breath away. I turn my face to his and he assaults me with deep, bruising, hungry kisses. Oh, Christian, baby...you make every part of me sing! He breaks his lips away from mine and continues kissing any part of my body that he can reach.

"Butterfly..." he breathes between kisses. "I need you...I need you so much, Baby...you make the monsters go away..."

The monsters...I make the monsters go away. He is such a tortured soul, and I love him so much. I remember that dream that I had...it seems so long ago now...the dream where he was being torn in two, and he needed me to save him. Then there was the dream that he had at his parents' house—the one where he could hear me talking to him and he responded and I actually pulled him out of the dream. I scare the monsters away. That's a big responsibility, but one that I would gladly take on...for him...only for him.

"I love you so much, Christian...so much..." I breathe, and he's kissing me tenderly again and I close my eyes and lean into his love.

Our make-out session is interrupted by a knock on the door. Oh...wow...seriously? "Scoot back on the bed, Butterfly. He wouldn't knock unless it was important." Christian slips into his jeans while I slide out of sight on the bed. I hear a brief exchange between Taylor and him before he comes back into the room.

"Get dressed, Butterfly. We need to have a little meeting." Christian says taking off his jeans and stepping into his boxer briefs.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, pulling the gray, yellow, black and red Gracia colorblock maxi-dress over my head.

"I don't know yet...where's your underwear?"

"Dirty and sweating in that bag. No way in hell I'm putting those things back on," I say. He rolls his eyes and quickly dons his jeans and T-shirt. "Christian, what's going on?" I say calmly, so as not to start another fight. He opens the door and takes my arm.

"You've made your debut."

* * *

We all sit at one of the tables watching Jason's iPad and the article on the "Seattle Speaks" website of "Unbreakable Anastasia Steele" shopping on the island of St. Maarten. It was cut and dried with just the posted video, nothing added or taken away except for a picture of Joshua Shaler and a catchy caption about my shopping. Everyone is quiet waiting for my reaction and all I say is, "That was fast. How the hell did he do it so quickly?"

"All he needs is a buyer. That video was probably posted before we took off," Jason says, and now everyone's quiet again. This time I think they are waiting for Christian's response.

"Um, okay," I break the silence. "Maybe I'm new to this and there's something that I don't understand, so I need someone to tell me why everyone is looking so somber because this doesn't really look like a bad thing to me. The video is posted just as I said it; there's no bad spin on it of any kind...did I miss something?"

"No, Baby, you didn't. It's fine. For now, the worst of it is that we probably won't be able to get back into Escala when we get back to Seattle. They know who you are and they all want a piece of you...just to get a piece of _me_." I know he's telling the truth about that. "You might be facing another problem though."

"What's that?" I ask.

"You're a psychologist in downtown Seattle. Are your patients going to want to go through throngs of paparazzi to get to you?" He asks. Shit, I didn't think of that.

"Well, it would have been the case anyway, wouldn't it?" Gail asks. "I mean, getting her from the hospital was a 10-man operation."

"Yes, you are correct about that. We just need to figure out what to do from here," Christian says.

"I say we give them what they want," I say flatly. Christian looks over at me.

"Baby, are you loving the camera?" He teases and I laugh.

"No, Darling, the camera loves me," I say fluttering my eyelashes, "but seriously, that's not my point. Everybody is clamoring to see Christian Grey's girlfriend and get the inside scoop. Once they get it, then I'm not front page news anymore. So I say we give it to them on our terms—and soon, because I won't be able to get into my office until we do."

"Um, Ana...forgive my forwardness, please but...when do you plan on going back to work?" Chuck asks.

"I had planned on going in on Wednesday, but now that all depends. Why?"

"Because...ugh..." He sighs. "You've got teeth marks on your neck!" He spits out.

"Oh, shit!" I completely forgot about the vampire sex Christian and I just had. Everybody turns to look at Christian.

"Hey, don't look at me like that. I've got them too!" Christian defends.

"I don't see them," Jason says.

"That's because they're not on my neck."

"Whoa! TMI! TMI!" Jason barks.

"You sick bastard! They're on my shoulder!" Christian scolds. I am laughing almost to the point of tears at this exchange.

"Okay, okay," I break the banter through my laughter. "While Mr. Grey and I try to learn to keep our teeth to ourselves, I will raid my closet for scarves and mock turtlenecks to camouflage the carnage for a while."

"Nonsense, the tea that you never used in Anguilla will have that cleared up in a couple of days, tops." Gail interjected. Damn...I forgot about the magic tea!

"Okay, so we've solved the horny-teenager-hickey situation. What's next?" I say, trying to move the conversation past this particular topic.

"Um...Sir?" Jason's voice sounds a little incredulous as he vies for Christian's attention. We all look at him looking at his phone and then up at an expectant Mr. Grey. "It's Alex...I mean, Welch Sir...he found the mole!"

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Ana's exercise medley:**_  
_**Cindi Lauper—Girls Just Wanna Have Fun**_  
_**Ricky Martin—Livin' La Vida Loca**_  
_**The Temptations—Aint Too Proud To Beg**_  
_**Montell Jordan—This Is How We Do It**_  
_**Carrie Underwood—Before He Cheats**_  
_**Justin Timberlake—Cry Me A River**_  
_**There were more in her workout, but that's enough song lyrics...**_

_**For anyone who wants updates on when I plan to publish, please send me an email to divinebronzegoddess at gmail dot com so that I can add you to the list and let you know when it happens. I plan on that happening very soon.**_

_**Don't forget the pinterest page at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla /**_

_**Please review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_


	63. Ch 63:Getting Back To Normal Well Almost

_**Wow, you guys are going to love this! I received several guest reviews—and I know they were from the same person—using the infamous N-word (Le gasp! No! Tragedy, oh tragedy!). Let me say that I have been a black woman for many, many years—all of my life in fact (You don't say? Why, yes, it's true!). This is not the first time that I have heard the word "nigger," and it certainly won't be the last (oh my God, did she just type that? Why, yes, I did!). That was a very narrow-minded, personal attack and whatever you don't like about my story has absolutely nothing to do with my being a black woman. However, I have once again run into someone who obviously has no life and this is all you have to do with your time on a Saturday night. **_

_**I'm sorry—I'm sure that there are going to be some people who don't think this is funny, but I think it is fucking hilarious! Every time I see something like this, I think, "Ooooo, I've captured your attention!" What makes it worse is that they woke up the next day and did it again. I actually broke out into fits of laughter! They were like, "Oh, I must hurry and go back over to Paging Dr. Steele and type 'nigger' again. I must! I must!" That is so pathetic! It is so sad—and HILARIOUS—because as I am making corrections and responding to PM's and whatnot, I occasionally wander in to moderate reviews like "Did they say it again?" For you to come back to this same story to repeatedly type the word OVER THE COURSE OF TIME...OMG that is so sad, I feel so bad for you. Poor baby...oh, poor baby. **_

_**Trolls, haven't you figured it out yet? After all this time, you still haven't figured it out? Yes, I'm going to defend myself if you disrespect me, but for the most part, I'm that old lady with the red shoes and the green dress with the checkered scarf and the purple hat...I DON'T GIVE A FUCK! I'm going to 'do' me and 'be' me no matter who the fuck doesn't like it. Go out and find something better to do with your time, because you just look really stupid right now ragging me about a story on Fanfiction! "I know what I'll do...I'll call her a 'nigger.' That will piss her off." Um...no, it won't. I've already heard it too many times—it's old. I'll curse you out and tell you what a dumb fuck you are, but I won't be pissed while I'm doing it...I promise. **_

_**So if this is the extent of your entertainment, be my guest...I feel SO sorry for you, but remember this. I can Google the word "nigger" and see it 100,000,000,000,000 times online—what's one more? Apparently you are in desperate need of attention. So here's your attention...you type that word as many times as it makes you happy, but each time you do it, remember the big black face of a big black woman with a big black Afro looking back at you from the screen with piercing brown eyes over a pair of Dolce & Gabana sunglasses screaming FUCK YOU! You low-life, racist, narrow-minded, lonely, nothing-to-do-on-a-Saturday-night, ignorant, bigoted goat-fucker! I would tell you to kiss my ass, but I'm afraid you would fall in love and never go away. Next...**_

_**For those of you who said that Ana overstepped her boundaries, you are correct. Even Chuck had to check her on her behavior. However, I introduced it that way because 1) I needed a conflict (perfect little Ana is **_**not**_** perfect) and 2) I needed to show Christian's true behavior...that every time he gets pissed at her - justified or nor - he flies off the handle. In fact, Christian flies off the handle **_**anytime**_** he gets angry at **_**anybody.**_** He has no people skills, and Ana has to make it clear that she won't tolerate that from him. As for how she reacted in terms of his employees, she accepted that. When he told her that she can't demean him in front his employees, she answered "Duly noted." Though she was angry, she recognized that she cannot do that. She also recognized it with Chuck when she told him that she wouldn't put him in that position again. So yes, Ana stepped waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay out of the circle this time, but I did have a purpose for **__**it.**__****__**  
**_

_****__**Gia from Greece (kisses back at you!): Talking about Ana and his baby dying is a hard limit for him because hard limits are something beyond his tolerance level and the very idea of losing Ana and his baby is something that he can't even talk about. They will have to talk about it eventually because nobody lives forever, but it's still a hard limit for him. PS-You're doing just fine with your English. ;-) **_

_**As always, thank you to all of my reviewers that I cannot PM including Carol, CG Girl (angry sex, IKR!), cm (yeah, she is a bit butterfly-sessed, huh?), hun, Jaimini, Laney, michelle b, Rauguste, Teresaromance (kicks ghost ass - I like that!), Tj, and my other guest reviewers as well. **__**Unlike past A/N's when I even thanked the naysayers, I will not say thank you to the bitch that called me a "nigger." You, my dear, need to go fuck yourself!**_

_**On with the story - all previous disclaimers apply here. **_

_Chapter 63—Getting Back To Normal...Well, Almost_

_**GREY **_

Please say that it wasn't PR. Please say that it wasn't PR. Please say that it wasn't PR.

"Who is it?" I ask, waiting for the pendulum to fall.

"Francesca Meyers. She's been with the company for three years."

"What department?" Jason paused. He knew that I wasn't going to like the answer.

"Public relations, Sir," he says.

"Ha! I was right!" She exclaims. I'll never live this down.

"You were lucky this time, Butterfly," I tell her. "These people will tell you whatever you want to hear to get their story. Just like he happened to tell you the truth this time, he could have been feeding you a lie."

"You're right, and I know that, but every so often...maybe once in a blue moon...you need to trust me, Christian. Your girlfriend is not an airhead. I don't blindly follow or believe people for no good reason. I'm a very good judge of character—especially since I slipped and tripped and fell on my face with Edward David. Look at you and me. When I first met you, I thought you were an asshole...and I was right," she says, sticking her tongue out at me. Oh, I'm going to make her pay for that.

"Put that thing away. I can't play right now," I deadpan and she gasps. That's what I was going for. I smile to myself and turn to Jason. "Who hired her and how do we know it's her?"

"I would suggest that we wait until we land and we can get this information directly from Alex. I wouldn't trust the connection to the in-flight WI-fi, Sir."

"How much longer until we land?" Yes, I have lost track of time while I was lost in my Butterfly.

"I'll check with Lance, but I would say that we've got about another two hours in the air," Jason responds. "We're not due back in Seattle until about 6pm Pacific." He must have known what I was thinking. I was ready to bring the whole of PR, HR, security, and IT in the moment we landed to get to the bottom of this. I don't know if she's just been feeding personal details to certain people and the press or if she's been leaking proprietary information. After a moment, Jason confirms that we do indeed still have two more hours to be in the air. I lean in to Ana.

"That gives you time to wash your undies and we will find a way to dry them. If a good wind catches that dress, the press will have more than a sound bite," I say to her. She's looking at me like the cat that caught the canary and I know exactly why. "And wipe that smug look off your face. Like I said, you got lucky this time." I add. Her smirk falls quickly and I immediately knew that I had stepped in it again.

"Like hell I was lucky!" She snapped. "I was smart. I got publicity as a good, down-to-earth person and I helped you locate your mole. By the way, you're welcome." She stands up and walks towards the bedroom and as she clears the door, I hear her mumble "disagreeable asshole." I roll my eyes and look back to Jason.

"Send Welch an email that I'm going to be calling him as soon as we are on the ground. I am going to want a full briefing with as much information as he knows. Tell him to liaise with McIntyre who I expect to speak with when I land as well. I want nobody outside of this plane and those two to know what's going on here. I need to keep this as tight as possible." Jason nods and starts tapping on his phone. I need to go in here and try to smooth things over with Butterfly..._again_.

I walk into the bedroom and close the door behind me. She is in the en suite trying to wash her panties. "I'm told that there is a tool that I can have installed that will surgically remove my foot from my mouth. I'm thinking of investing in one." It didn't have the desired effect. She paused washing he underwear for a moment but never smiled...she only sighed.

"Are you accustomed to dealing with women who don't know how to do _anything_ for themselves?" She asked, flatly. I don't know how to answer that question.

"As a submissive, they weren't _required_ to do anything for themselves outside of remain fit and beautiful and always be prepared. Most of them didn't have jobs because they were _kept_, for the most part. They were only required to obey and keep their mouths shut," I respond honestly. She throws her underwear in the sink.

"Do you realize that's how you're treating me?" She says with no malice. My brow furrows.

"No, I would never treat you that way, Butterfly..." I begin.

'But you _are_, Christian. I couldn't possibly have been right about Joshua Shaler, even though he did _exactly_ what I said he would _and _his Intel was good. You don't snap and bark at me because you are being disrespectful—you do it because it's all you know. You're not accustomed to your women being free thinkers or exercising free will in front of you in any way whatsoever. It's been 'yes Sir,' 'no Sir,' 'please spank me, Sir." thank you, Sir,' and any bit of strength, intelligence, or displeasure is frowned upon as defiance. And before you ask me, yes—I _am_ shrinking you. I'm shrinking you for myself so that I can figure out who it is that I've fallen in love with and how I'm going to cope with the way he thinks!"

She picks up her underwear again and I can hear the sniffle in her voice. I squeeze into the bathroom with her and take her in my arms. "Oh God, please don't cry again," I say holding her head against my chest and trying to stop the angry tears before they start. "You're right, and I'm not just saying that. I have no idea how to deal with a woman that thinks for herself. I've been the Dom, the protector, the decision-maker all of these years. I didn't even know half of those women really besides how much pain they could take and what to do to make them come. I never talked to them and I wasn't interested in what was going on in their lives beyond the background check. I know it's a strange and impossible thing to ask someone to not be mad at you for being an asshole, but I have to ask you not to be mad at me for being an asshole." She looks up at me like I just grew three heads.

"This is my first time at the dance, Butterfly. I'm trying, but I don't know what I'm doing. I know that you are a very intelligent, capable, strong woman. I've seen it and I know it, but most of the time when I see you, all I see is my beautiful, fragile Butterfly—the woman that was raped by a rich bastard, brutalized by a valley of snobs, ostracized by her mother, kidnapped by two psychopaths...I'm sorry, but all I want to do it defend and protect you when I think of all of that."

"You forgot something, Christian," she says looking up at me. "You should also see the woman who survived all of that, the woman that came through that without being mad at the world, the woman who became a doctor and is now helping other people with their problems and issues. You don't give me enough credit because you are holding me to the same standard of all of these other women you have been with, and I'm nothing like them—not even close. Christian, you've got to understand that or..." She drops her head and doesn't finish the sentence.

Or...

Or...what?

"Ana?" My voice betrays every bit of uncertainty that I feel. "Baby?" She still won't answer me or look at me. She sighs and wrings the water out of her underwear before hanging them to dry. "Ana, are you trying to tell me that we can't be together?"

"Not if you keep treating me like a sub, Christian. I can't _be_ like that. I have my own mind, and with only a couple of exceptions, I normally make good decisions. I didn't all of a sudden become damsel Ana because I fell in love with you. You have to understand that. You _have _to," she says.

"I do understand that, Ana, but I need you to understand something as well. I didn't all of a sudden _stop_ being Dom Christian because I fell in love with _you_. I've made a lot of changes and I'm still making changes, and I need you to help me, but I need you to meet me halfway, because I'm going to make a whole lot of bonehead moves and say a whole lot of insensitive things while I'm trying to figure this out, but I don't want to lose you." She looks at me for a moment then rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"This is what I get for falling in love with a damn Dom," she says before putting her arms around my waist and laying her head on my chest. I breathe a huge sigh of relief as I enclose her in my arms.

"I guess so, Butterfly...I guess so" I squeeze her hard and kiss her hair. "We're bumping heads pretty hard today. Could we be making up for the weekend?" She pulls back to look up at me.

"What do you mean?" She asks bemused.

"I adore you, Butterfly, be we haven't had one drama-free weekend since we have been together." She twists her lips at me.

"Oh that is simply not true!" She exclaims.

"I hate to break it to you, but it is _very _true. Our first weekend together, you were screaming at David in your apartment and I had to kick him out. Then he accosted you in the Marketplace and nearly lost his ability to procreate...which wouldn't be a bad thing, but I digress. The very next day, you mooned the Pedophile before providing very comical entertainment for me and my head of security." I raised an eyebrow at her. "Let's see, what happened the next weekend?" I'm trying to remember what drama occurred in the saga of Christian and Ana that weekend.

"That was the week of the dinner party," she said, "of the Bethany incident and the meeting at your parents' house..."

"Oh, good God, how could I forget that? That was an absolute nightmare." I shake my head. "The next weekend, I end up in the hospital for being an idiot..."

"...And the _next_ weekend, I end up in the hospital because I was _kidnapped _by an idiot." We both get quiet for a moment and I shudder at the thought. If any one thing had have gone differently that weekend, I could have lost my woman...any _one _thing.

"The next weekend, I had to grovel to Gail and Jason for being an idiot again..."

"...And then that disastrous playtime session," she said finishing my thought.

"I deliberately set our flight for Monday. This is the first weekend that we have been together where absolutely _nothing_ went wrong. I honestly didn't want to fly on a Sunday for fear that the plane would just drop out of the sky." We both laugh nervously at that statement, since we're not on the ground yet.

"What about the Chuck situation?" she asks.

"What about it?"

"You had words with him yesterday," she says.

"Oh, I have _words_ with people every day. That doesn't count. He didn't get fired." I wave it off. After a short silence, she says, "Those are not going to dry in time."

"Yes, they will. Don't worry. You need to eat. Do you want to rest in here and I'll have Samantha bring you something?" She nods.

"Yes, please. I'm exhausted and starving." She walks past me and into the bedroom. I take her wet underwear and head out to get her something to eat.

* * *

Getting to the Audis once the planes had landed was easy. Getting into Escala was another story. We couldn't even get out of the cars. I had to call the manager and threaten to sue the building of my residence if they didn't do something about the people who wouldn't let me into my own building. It turns out that, as Escala is private property, those in the parking garage, blocking the cars, blocking the elevators and anyone in the lobby were trespassing. The threat of legal action quickly solved that problem, putting them a safe distance from Escala's property and we were able to get inside.

"Whew! Home sweet home," Ana sighed as we walked into the Great Room. It still warms my heart to hear her refer to Escala as home even though we haven't made anything official yet. She lies on the sofa with her feet hanging off since she is still wearing her shoes. I sit at her feet and put them on my lap. I take off her shoes and massage her feet.

"Oh, that feels good." She closes her eyes and puts her arms behind her head.

"We need to get quickly into the swing of things," I tell her. "McIntyre and Welch will be calling to fill me in on the mole situation and devise our next course of action regarding her and our obvious 'coming out party.'"

"Mmm. No worries. I have to go through some emails and let everyone know that I am home now." She pulls out her phone and it has the cutest little jeweled case on it. "Damn, it's dead. I have to charge it."

"Where did you get the case?" I ask.

"At a little stand in St. Maarten. How did you get my panties dry so quickly?"

"I put them in the oven," I deadpan.

"The oven?" She gasps.

"Yes, the oven. It was either that or the microwave," I respond. She laughs embarrassed and covers her face.

"I'll never be able to face Samantha again," she whines.

"I didn't say _Samantha _put them in the oven. I said _I_ did."

"Yeah, but she knew what you were doing," she points out.

"Well, yeah...but desperate times call for desperate measures, Butterfly. Try not to worry about it. At least you didn't have any Britney Spears beaver mishaps!"

"Yeah, you're right. I know...but...damn!" She's so cute when she's flustered. I was just about to start working my way up her legs when Taylor, Davenport, Lawrence, and Williams enter with luggage and Gail is trailing behind them. I guess it will have to wait.

"Sir, Alex has just pulled into the garage. He'll be up very shortly," Jason says. I look at him bemused.

"I said to tell him that I would call," I say. "What is he doing here? What did you say to him?"

"Exactly what you told me to. I guess he has some things he wants to talk to you about in person. Do you want me to head him off?" He knows damn well I'm going to talk to Welch.

"Stop trying to be cute, Jason. It doesn't fit you," I say, giving Butterfly's feet one more squeeze. "I guess I better take care of this," I say putting Butterfly's feet on the floor.

"Okay, I'll go upstairs and start working through what my week should look like when I get back to work." She sits up and after she gives me a peck on the lips, rises up the stairs to her office. Welch enters the great room and I gesture him towards my study.

"How was your trip, Sir? You're looking well."

"Thank you, Welch. It was very good. Now what brings you here? I told you that I would call you." I sit at my desk while Welch takes one of the chairs.

"Does this picture look familiar to you, Sir?" He pulls out a picture of a pale brunette girl. Very pretty but she's not ringing any bells. Was she a sub? I would remember that.

"No, she doesn't look familiar to me at all. Should I know her?" I ask.

"I'm not sure. How about this one?" He now shows me a picture of a redhead—_flaxen_ red hair to be exact, almost orange—wearing a little too much make-up, but definitely the same girl.

"Why should I know her, Welch?" I ask. Get to the damn point, Man.

"Because she was fast-tracked through the hiring system three years ago—four days from application to job offer. This is Francesca Meyers," he responds.

"Fast-tracked by whom?"

"You, Sir." _Me!?_ That's preposterous! I don't fast-track anybody through the hiring system, and even if I did, it would be at an affiliate somewhere—certainly not at GEH headquarters and definitely not in PR.

"You and I both know that I don't fast-track anybody through my company. Everyone has to undergo a background check and sign an NDA, and that eliminates the fast-track."

"Well, there's a small problem with that," Welch begins. "There is a background check in her file, but I didn't perform it." What the hell?

"What do you mean? How did she get hired if you didn't perform the background check?" I yell.

"Sir, all signs make it appear that _you_ pushed her through. Her resume appears in the Human Resources database during a candidate search for PR. There's a background check attached to it and indications that she had already passed the pre-screening process. Everything was done under your log-in, Sir, from your home computer." Oh shit, this is worse than I thought.

"That's impossible!" I bark. "I don't take leave of my senses, Welch. I didn't fast-track anybody through GEH. I'm not that careless or sloppy. Were we hacked?" Access to anyone's log-in information is dangerous for my company. Access to _mine_ is disastrous!

"No, Sir, there are no indications whatsoever. No suspicious activity has been going on from your account. We watch it carefully and we checked it after we discovered that she was the mole. Nothing is amiss."

"You don't consider _this _suspicious!?" I'm about to blow my top.

"Well, I do _now_, Mr. Grey," he begins, "but let's be honest. You're a big, powerful man. You know a lot of people and this is _your_ company. If it appears that you have put someone on the fast-track to be hired, who are we to question you?" He does have a point there.

"What does McIntyre have to say about all of this?" I ask perturbed.

"Nothing yet, Sir," McIntyre says stepping into my study at just the right moment. "I'm a little out of the loop. All I know is that someone in my department who was hired before I was in charge has been discovered to be a spy of some kind."

"Don't you people listen to anything I say? I said I would call you. Now, what are _you _doing here?"

"Covering my ass, Sir." Gotta love her honesty. "I went to talk to Welch to get an update on the matter. They told me that he was on his way over here, and here I am. My job description says _at a moment's notice_, so here I am...at your service." She does a half-bow. They know someone's head is going to roll for this.

"Who approved her hiring?" I ask.

"Megan Jones—she left two years ago to be with her family and that's when I took over."

"Megan was a model employee for years, Sir," Welch offered. "There is nothing to indicate that she knew Ms. Meyers was up to no good and even if there were, she is long gone, punching out babies and being a housewife...yes, I checked." Well, so much for that.

"What about Meyers? Is she living inside of her salary means or does she look like she could be getting paid off by someone? Could she be leaking trade secrets or proprietary information?" I ask.

"Most of her tracks have just been along what _you're_ doing. I'm digging deeper into it to see if there is anything else that we may need to be concerned with, but for the most part, she just has the markings of a CTGG..." Welch trails off.

"CTGG?" I ask bemused. Welch clears his throat and looks at McIntyre who answers, "Christian Trevelyan Grey Groupie."

"A groupie," I repeat in disbelief. "A groupie? Someone has been leaking information to outside parties about my comings and goings—one of which was a security guard that I fired who clearly had a vendetta against me—and you're seriously standing here telling me that she's a groupie?" This is the first time that I ever seriously wanted to fire Welch. That's when McIntyre gasped next to me. "What?" I snap.

"Bob Harris! The guy that kidnapped Ms. Steele..." she says horrified.

"Yeah...?" Out with it, Woman!

"She was dating him for a while last year!" Fucking _what_?

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I'm screaming now. I must be dreaming! This is a detailed and elaborate plan of bullshit since the moment it began and it's all falling right on my head! "Do you have any idea how much of a cluster-fuck this has been? Would I have _ever _found this out if I hadn't met my girlfriend?" Their silence is telling me that I probably wouldn't have. "I pay insane money so that this type of shit doesn't happen and it has happened _repeatedly_ in the last month! The fucker got close enough to know my schedules. He's been telling this little bitch and she's been telling God only knows who since she is in the lucky position of being able to obtain that information as well, if not more. He's precariously placed on the fucker that he is supposed to be watching to keep him from getting to my Butterfly and not only does he allow that bastard to get to her while he's on duty, but after I fire his ass he teams up with the psycho and fucking kidnaps her with him...in broad fucking daylight...while another fucker was supposed to be watching them both! Now I find out that the person that is still feeding information to God knows who is still in my employ and who tells me? My girlfriend...and how does she find out? From the fucking paparazzi! Have I covered it? Is that just about everything?"

I am out of my chair and screaming at the top of my lungs now. I cannot believe that I have some of the best in the fields of their expertise working for me and they are _all_ being "one-upped" by a 26-year-old psychologist.

"Mr. Grey, there's no way that we could have connected any of these dots without the additional information that we have now." McIntyre is clearly trying to save her—and probably Welch's—ass. "Once Alex contacted me with the tip that the suspected mole was most likely in PR, I immediately started looking at the digital footprints of our employees. Still nothing seemed amiss because she was covering her tracks. Not to mention that she was the Golden Girl..."

"What the hell does that mean?" I snap.

"She was nicknamed the Golden Girl before I even got there," McIntyre defended. "It was no secret that her application magically appeared on the system with your name attached to it. As far as PR was concerned, her shit smelled like flowers. She did her job, she didn't cause any trouble, and she had very few minor violations. I even cautioned her about fraternizing with security because I just didn't think it was wise. They did eventually stop seeing one another. There were no red flags to alert me or anyone else that there was a problem."

"Well then how can you be sure that she's the mole?" I bark.

"I worked my way backwards from those members of my staff that would have known about your vacation. She was not one of them. One of the staff members that was privy that information went on vacation as well, so their log-in information should not have been accessed in the last week. When I noticed that it has been, I had IT trace which station accessed that information. It was Meyers' station. Surveillance proved that she was at the station at the time of access. I gave the information to Alex." I look at Welch.

"I traced her digital footprints and there were just too many inconsistencies," Welch picks up where McIntyre left off. "She was logging in from stations that weren't her own. She even attempted to log in to Harris' ID once. It had to be her because Harris had been fired and she most likely didn't think we would work so fast to get him out of the system. We have no idea what she fed to Harris after he was terminated or why she was even still talking to him. Word was that their breakup was pretty messy."

"I don't think he's the only one that was getting information from her, and I just want to know why the fuck all of you professionals couldn't figure all of this shit out before." I'm screaming again. "Why the hell wouldn't PR be the first people that you would want to clear after security? They have the power to bring my fucking company to its knees!"

"With all due respect, Sir, PR is _not _your biggest concern after security. The next biggest concern would be IT because they have the power to shut you down. Then you want to be concerned about Research and Development because they are privy to proprietary information and trade secrets. Next, you want to cover legal—yes, _legal_—and finance, for obvious reasons..." Is he _trying_ to be a smart ass right now?

"Do you really want to fuck with me right now, Welch?" I snap, inadvertently knocking half of the items on my desk onto the floor in a rage trying to get around the corner to this smarmy bastard who is trying to explain to me why his incompetent ass didn't catch this bitch sooner. "Do you really think now is a good time to fuck with me?" I roar.

"Christian!" Her voice is like a bucket of water on my raging fury. I'm huffing heavily as I look up and see Butterfly standing in the doorway and Jason making his way into the office around her. Her eyes are sharp and her voice is sharper. "I'm sorry...I don't mean to interrupt you while you're handling your business, but you need to calm down. You're going to have a stroke!" She implores. I am so pissed off that I can feel myself shaking.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I had intermittently been reading my emails while I was in Anguilla, so there's not too much that I have to cover when I sit down at my computer. It's late enough in the evening that I don't want to bother Marilyn with issues about work, so I just send her an email that tells her we should touch base tomorrow to figure out how to best handle the rest of the week. I informed her of the paparazzi situation and let her know not to try to get into the office tomorrow if she drives by and they are clustered out there, but that she may have to come by here and brave them at Escala and that we should currently plan for business as usual by the end of the week if all goes well.

I plugged in my phone to get a charge and just sent out a mass email to the Scooby gang that I was back in the States, that "food and libations" was definitely on for this weekend and that I would contact everyone once my phone was charged or tomorrow if it was too late. Since I now actually have more of a web presence than I did a week ago, I Googled myself. I, again, found my sound bite to Joshua, Christian and Al's live stream, pictures of Christian carrying me out of the hospital, and my first hate site. I knew it was coming—it couldn't be avoided. I've snagged the most eligible bachelor on the west coast...probably in America. Somebody has to be pissed.

The site has all of the _truth_ about Anastasia "Steal" and how she managed to capture Christian Grey. It's filled with ludicrous claims about being a call girl and dropping out of high school with supposed facts verified by "those close to" me. I don't mind haters, but crazy and blatant lies I won't stand for. I'm going to ask Christian how we can go about getting the site taken down and maybe even make an example out of the owners to prevent this from happening again. Just as I finish the thought, I hear earthshaking screaming from downstairs.

What the hell is going on?

The last I checked, Christian was talking to Alex Welch. What the hell has happened? I open the door to my office and the yelling is in stereo now! This man is going to have a damn heart attack. I go flying down the stairs and I see a woman standing in the office with Christian and Welch. Who is _she_? Christian is out of his chair screaming something about my kidnapping while Welch and the woman are trying to explain something to him about one of his employees...probably the mole. Every time the conversation comes back to Christian, he's screaming louder and louder. Welch is trying to tell him the order in which they clear the departments for suspicious activities and I have to admit, his tone is pretty damn smug. Holy hell, Welch, are you trying to light a powder keg under this man!?

"Do you really want to fuck with me right now, Welch? Do you really think now is a good time to fuck with me?"

Too late.

Christian is clearly at DEFCON 1 and is about to go supernova.

"Christian!" I yell as I see various items fall from his desk. His eyes are piercing and he is about to charge. Jason has joined me in the doorway while all three sets of eyes inside of the office are set on me. "I'm sorry...I don't mean to interrupt you while you're handling your business, but you need to calm down. You're going to have a stroke!" I insist. I'm trying to speak firmly but non-threatening. I swear I'm not stepping on your toes here, Grey, but you're scaring the shit out of me and I truly am afraid that you are about to have a stroke. The fact that he is breathing heavily and his fists are clenched isn't doing much to calm my concerns. Jason steps into the office and stands next to Welch. Christian closes his eyes and begins to count while I begin to make my way towards him. Jason reaches his hand out and gently grabs my arm. When I look up at him, he just silently shakes his head at me. What in the world happened that is causing Jason to be afraid that Christian would hurt _me?_

Welch is standing as well, defiantly glaring at Christian. Christian must have said something to piss him off, too. I wouldn't be too cocky, Mr. Welch. My man does sign your paychecks and he looks like he's about to lunge at you any second. I stay close to Jason as quietly instructed, still looking at Christian with concern. What has happened to upset him so badly?

He slowly opens his eyes to the room and they are so full of rage and fury that all I can see is "predator." Did I fuck up coming here and interfering with his business?

"You never answered my questions about Ms. Meyers' living conditions," he hisses through clenched teeth. Welch pauses for a moment and he and Christian glare at one another. Jason clears his throat and this seems to snap Welch out of kill mode.

"She's living beyond her means—not far beyond, but beyond," Welch answers coolly.

"Look into her financials and let me know if she's getting any payments from outside sources. Have her in my office at 10:00am tomorrow and don't let her know why she's coming. Keep her occupied until then and don't let her near anymore privileged information." He says to no one in particular, but I get the idea that both parties have their instructions. Christian and Welch are still glaring at each other. "Do you need me to draw you a diagram?" Christian spit. What is Welch's problem?

"No _Sir," _he spit before leaving the office with Jason close behind him. As Christian starts talking to this lady, I can hear Jason talking sharply to Welch. I step out of the office while Christian is distracted and stand just outside of the great room. Nobody is giving me any details, so I'm going to get them the best way that I can.

"I don't care that he pissed you off, Alex. That man is our boss and he has a right to be angry right now!" Jason snaps.

"I don't need him to tell me how to do my job! I appreciate that he's a smart man, but he needs to leave security to me," Welch retorts.

"That's what he's been trying to do!" Jason shoots. "You can be pissed about his reaction all you want, but we've let him down! We had a mole feeding information to an outside party for the last three years. The same guy got close to his girlfriend three times—_three times—_under our watch, and the third time he kidnapped her. And let me make something _painfully _clear. You and I both know about the relationships that he has had in the past—if you can call them that—but if something happens to that little lady in that office right now, God help all of us!" Jason growls at Welch who falls silent. "Trust me when I tell you that she's worth her weight in gold. You should have seen that by him coming back to himself when she called his name. So make no mistake, she needs to be priority one along with all of the other priority ones that we have because if anybody manages to harm a hair on her head, we will be dealing with the wrath of Satan. Harris is dead, for God's sake! What's more, he's putting her on K&R." Oh, that's right. He did mention that to me.

"What? He can't do that!" Welch protests.

"Yes, he can, and he is," Jason says. Welch sighs heavily and shakes his head.

"God, this is so much bigger than I thought."

"_Much_ bigger," Jason confirms, "and we need to start being on our toes, because this shit is unacceptable, Alex, and he has every right to be pissed as hell."

"Well, I'm still not kissing his ass, Jason," Welch says.

"You may not have a choice, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, bring this man some good news before 10am tomorrow, or there's going to be some housecleaning...and nobody is safe." Okay, I've heard enough. I don't want to be the cause of anyone losing their job, that's for sure. I go back into the office since I am a bit curious who this woman is, but I really don't want to ask. I'm not jealous...or suspicious...or anything like that...seriously. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I try to wander inconspicuously back into the office, but nothing gets by Christian Grey.

"Is that asshole gone?" He spits. I clear my throat.

"Um, Mr. Welch is talking to Jason right now," I say. I examine the woman in the room with us—5' 5" easily, dirty blonde hair, looks to be late twenties, early thirties at the most, very professional, not flirty thank God...

"You two haven't met," Christian says. "Elva McIntyre, my head of PR, meet my girlfriend, Dr. Anastasia Steele."

"_Dr. _Steele," she stresses the _Dr._ "I didn't know you were a doctor. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Thank you, Ms. McIntyre. A pleasure," I say, sizing her up a bit. Ms. McIntyre is glaring at me harshly as she shakes my hand. "What?" I'm a little affronted. She points at my neck and says to Christian, "She's going to have to cover that."

"_She's_ right here!" I say, still holding her hand. Ms. McIntyre turns back to face me.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Steele, I was just caught off guard," she apologizes, dropping my hand.

"Well, by all means, please feel free to talk to _me_ about my neck," I say sharply. She nods.

"It's pretty prominent," she states flatly as Jason comes back into the room and takes the seat previously occupied by Welch.

"Yeah, it is kind of big and blotchy now," Christian adds. I sigh at him, perturbed.

"Well, I guess in the future, you're just going to have to keep your teeth to yourself, aren't you?" I spit. I'm done being shy. I've been ragged about this long enough. Yes, I've got hickeys, but I'm a grown woman. Get over it!

"Teeth!?" Ms. McIntyre gasps and her eyes grow large. Apparently equally perturbed, Christian snatches his shirt over his head and points to the wing of his shoulder where his bite mark has now turned a tad purple.

"Yes! Teeth!" He barks pointing at his badge of honor.

"Oh, Father in Heaven!" Ms. McIntyre gasps, turning away and putting her index and second finger on her forehead while closing her eyes. It took me a moment to realize why she was reacting this way. Then I looked over at my boyfriend's beautiful rippling chest, broad shoulders, bulging biceps and six-pack abs and there was no doubt in my mind why this woman was about to become a puddle of primordial soup any moment. I couldn't help but chuckle a bit at her distress. She managed to look up at me and say, "I'm sorry, Ms. Steele, but I _am_ a straight woman!"

"Baby, put your shirt back on," I managed over my giggle. Christian quickly replaces his shirt and put the poor woman out of her misery.

"Sir, please don't do that again," she says and Christian just throws his hand at her.

"As I was saying," he continues, taking his seat again, "Butterfly seems to think that the best idea is to just go public as soon as possible..."

"Um..._Butterfly?_" Ms. McIntyre asks. Christian and Jason both point at me while I raise my hand. "Hmm, Butterfly..." she says.

"Sorry," Christian says, "force of habit. Ana believes that the crazy media frenzy will die down if we have a press conference or do some kind of interview. In light of the accuracy of her instincts as of late, I'm prone to take her advice and I'd like to see if we can set it up for tomorrow."

"Well, I agree," she says a little skeptically. "An interview would quell curiosity and harassment, but I'm curious as to why you won't wait a couple of days and let us put together an appropriate press conference."

"Because my patients can't get to my office," I tell her. "I'm a shrink. These people have enough problems. They don't need the added stress of dealing with the paparazzi while trying to get in to see me." Ms. McIntyre nods.

"I see your point." She says. "Ms. Steele, they're going to have a field day on those hickeys."

"Oh, don't worry, the hickeys won't be visible," I assure her.

"Well, let's set something up for tomorrow afternoon, then. Where would you like to have it and how big would you like for it to be?" She asks Christian.

"I'll let you decide who should be in attendance, as long as you let me know. I say we have it at GEH, first floor conference room since the first floor is secure and requires no extra clearance. What do you think, Butterfly?" He asks me.

"It sounds good to me. I'm a little out of my element here, so I'll just do whatever you need me to do."

"Oh, you've been doing just fine," McIntyre comments, lowly. When Christian and I get quiet and stare at her, she looks up at us and says, "Hey, the cameras love her. She's a natural. She smiles, she's very genuine, she doesn't have that snotty Greta Garbo 'I vant to be alone' attitude," she says mimicking a Swiss accent. "She's a natural beauty; she's real without acting overly friendly or phony and she's not an attention whore. Keep being yourself, it's fabulous."

"Um, speaking of _real_..." I walk over to Christian's computer and type in the website.

"Real Deal Steele...what the fuck is this?" Christian asks scrolling through the first page.

"Oh, looky here!" McIntyre exclaims. "Your first hate site! You have arrived...although I'm awfully surprised how quickly it's up." She scrolls through with Christian. "How did you find it?"

"I Googled myself. I don't know if there are others...this is the first one that I saw."

"Is any of this information true?" She asks.

"Poor immigrant parents from Minnesota? Ex-stripper? Carrying Christian Grey's love child? Um...how about _no?_" I exclaim.

"Is there any likelihood that you could be pregnant?" She asks and I glare at her. She puts her hands up in surrender. "Okay, I have to ask. By this time tomorrow, it will be gone."

"How?" I ask in amazement. "Doesn't freedom of speech give them the right to put up anything that they want even if it's a crock of lies?"

"No, Ms. Steele, it doesn't," she responds.

"Ana, please. How are you going to get it down so quickly?" I inquire.

"I have my ways...and call me Vee."

"Okay, Vee, should I wear anything in particular tomorrow?" I ask.

"How would you normally dress to see patients?" She asks and Christian groans.

"Too sexy," he says and I scoff at him.

"You think everything I wear is sexy!" I defend.

"Oh please, what about that red dress?" My mouth flies open at the mention of the red dress.

"You know I don't dress that way every day, Grey!" I spit at him.

"Ooo, _Grey_!" Vee says softly and most likely unconsciously.

"Not _that_ one!" He corrects, obviously thinking of the TPE dress. "The wiggle one with the black stilettos!"

"The Lindy? The vintage dress? You can't have a problem with the vintage dress!"

"Too sexy!" He repeats. "And the electric blue skater dress that you wore to group therapy." Okay, even I had to admit _that_ dress was pretty damn short.

"Uuuuuughh!" I moan in frustration. "He'd have me wearing a burka if he could!" I say to Vee, who laughs at me.

"I'm going to let you two sort this out, but Ana, dress like you would dress to see your patients—nothing too flashy, nothing too sexy, not the happy housewife look...the public will see right through that...and please, don't wear a burka." She laughs as she picks up her purse. "Should I be in the meeting with you and Ms. Meyers tomorrow, Mr. Grey?"

"No, I want to meet with her alone." Vee looks at him, and he rolls his eyes. "Don't worry, I'll cover my ass, but as soon as she's in the meeting with me, get with that asshole Welch and deactivate all of her security clearances. Have someone clear her personal items off her desk and meet her downstairs in the lobby. I expect for our conversation to be not less than twenty minutes and not more than an hour. If anything changes, I'll let you know. I say we do the press conference at around 2?"

"Sounds good to me. I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Grey. Ana, again, a pleasure meeting you." She extends her hand.

"The pleasure was mine, Vee, I'll see you tomorrow..._sans _the hickeys." We both laugh and Jason goes to show her to the elevator. I look over at my boyfriend who looks very contemplative.

"You know, I don't normally come into your study when you're conducting business, but they could hear you screaming across Elliot Bay," I say quietly. "You scared me, Christian."

"Well, that smug asshole Welch has me ready to blow a fucking fuse," he replied, running his hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry. I hope I didn't undermine your authority. I really wasn't trying to..."

"No, you may have saved somebody's life, though," he says, gesturing for me to come to him. I walk over and sit in his lap. "My staff is becoming all but incompetent. There have been too many mishaps...too many things that have gotten by them that shouldn't have. They have state of the art equipment, unlimited resources and the best working conditions. I pay these people too much money to be sloppy."

"Nobody was sloppy in these situations, Christian, except for Harris when he was watching David. Everyone else was doing exactly what they were supposed to do, and nothing that happened could have been prevented unless the circumstances had been different. This was a series of unlikely events."

"Are you defending them?" He asks incredulously.

"No. I'm just trying to tell you that everyone is not a walking fuck-up, and that small things can prevent you from seeing the big picture. Harris was driving a different car and he and David were both disguised. How was anybody to know what they were doing when they didn't even know who they were under those disguises? Hell, I screwed David for 2 ½ years and I didn't even know who he was until he took that shit off!" I point out.

"Oh!" He winced. "Baby, I didn't need that visual." My hand flew to my mouth.

"Oooo! I'm sorry!" I apologize immediately. He shakes his head clearly trying to rid himself of the thought. "I'm just saying, maybe not so eloquently, that a lot of small things happened that no one could predict...things that very easily could have slipped under _anyone's _radar...and _did. _It's not because your staff is incompetent—it was just a series of unlikely events."

He sighs. "Ana, I'm paying someone to take care of you...to look out for you...and so far, you've taken better care of yourself."

"Uh...except when I was kidnapped from the aquarium!" I point out.

"Yes, but even then you were able to contact 911 and reveal your location and you didn't even know where you were!" He retorts.

"That's only because somebody figured out that the psycho blondes were Harris and David and your announcement shook them up. That's when David gave me my phone." I clarify.

"Even so, you're still proving to be more competent than most of the people on my staff right now and that's sad. I scared the shit out of you with the Lambert fiasco. You went and got your guns, went back to self-defense class, and got a background check on _me._ I put Davenport on you and Harris on David and he got to you twice...in three days! The first time you almost ripped his nuts off and the second time, you nearly shoved a 'Boo' down his throat. You read Harris the riot act before he was fired and kicked his ass before he died. Then you kicked David's ass before he was carted off to jail. On top of that, you were the direct reason that we found the mole, who by the way has been in my company for three years! This doesn't look good for my staff, Ana." He's right. It does look pretty bad. One thing after another clearly means that someone's dropping the ball.

"So what are you going to do?" I ask.

"I don't know, yet. Welch is valuable and his skill set is irreplaceable, but maybe he needs someone in there to shake him up a bit, maybe keep him on his toes."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" A one-man band usually doesn't do too well with backup singers.

"I don't know. I'll talk to Jason before I make any big decisions, but one thing is for sure. Some things have to change or the next 'unlikely event' could cost someone's life or could cost me my company." I completely understand why he feels that way. This whole thing—though truly no one's fault but the specific perpetrators—is damn sloppy and can't go on like this.

"Why don't we go and get something to eat then go and unpack before it gets to be too late. We've got a public debut tomorrow as well as business that needs to be taken care of, so we had better start getting back into the swing of things." He pulls me closer to him and kisses my nose.

"Thanks for bringing me back. I was about to kill that fucker," he says.

"I know." I kiss him on the lips. "Food. Now. Is there anything here to eat?"

* * *

Gail has managed to pull together a nice dinner on short notice with nothing thawed and very little refrigerated resources. She's a miracle worker. My paintings have been taken to my office upstairs and now I must tackle the task of unpacking...or so I thought.

I go into our bedroom to find that the bags have been unloaded, the suitcases unpacked and everything—including the luggage—has been put away. Where did they put all of my clothes? I open Christian's closet and ho-ly-cow Batman! It is easily twice the size that it was before we left! You can probably fit three of my condo closets in here!

"What in the world...?" I walk through his closet to see all of my casual clothes, dresses, blouses and skirts, maxi dresses, everything arranged to perfection! My shoes are lined beautifully on racks. There is a very large lovely four-door mirrored armoire full of my bathing suits, wraps, yoga pants, T-shirts, tank tops, underwear, sleepwear, and lingerie. There is still plenty of room for plenty of things in here. Christian's clothes are once again neatly organized on his side, and mine on my side of this expansive space.

There is a very pretty white chaise facing my side of the closet as if he knew that I would need somewhere to sit to take in all of this—which I do. However, it's more likely that it was placed here so that I could contemplate my wardrobe each day. The chaise is placed next to the island that has always been in the middle of Mr. Grey's closet that houses his cufflinks, handkerchiefs, ties, and other necessary accessories. I take in a deep breath and sigh. I could very easily see all of my things in this closet, but I simply can't move too fast, especially after the discussions we've had over the last few days.

_You might be a little late for that. You're having a press conference tomorrow, Sunshine._

Yeah, there is that, isn't there? We have _so_ much to talk about, but for now I think I'll just enjoy my new closet.

"What do you think?"His voice breaks into my silent contemplation. I look over at him and smile.

"I think it's lovely," I respond. "I'm very pleasantly surprised." He sits next to me.

"I'm glad. I...have something that I would like for you to wear to the interview tomorrow if you don't mind." I turn to look at him and he is holding the signature Cartier box—and it's pretty big. What did he buy me this time...a damn crown?

"More jewelry! You certainly know the way to a girl's heart, Mr. Grey," I say taking the box from him. I put the box on my lap, open it and gasp.

"Oh...my...God..." I say, barely able to get my words out. Christian and I will be doing an interview tomorrow that will most likely make it to national news. During this time when he officially presents me to the world as his girlfriend, he wants me to wear the entire Cartier platinum and diamond Love Collection. There is easily $80,000 worth of jewelry here, probably more. We have the Cartier platinum Love bracelet complete with the platinum screwdriver, by the way. There are also the Cartier platinum and diamond Love ring, earrings, and necklace. The necklace is actually two Cartier rings looped together and connected to a platinum link chain—one ring matches the platinum and diamond Love ring and earrings while the other is diamonds all the way around the ring set in platinum. I saw that necklace in a catalog and the white gold version retails at $17,500.

"Christian...!" I breathe. "This is exquisite! Vee said we shouldn't go overboard. Isn't this too much?"

"I don't think so," he says confidently. "As my publicly-announced girlfriend, you are very likely to be wearing a lot of labels, especially when we go to red-carpet events."

"Red carpet events? Really?"

"Yes, of course. I've avoided them up to this point except for my mother's fundraisers but now," he kisses me gently behind the ear sending chills down my spine, "I have more reasons to go and show off my beautiful Butterfly." Well, when you put it that way...

"I guess I'll need to wear a simple classic dress, then—something to show off my beautiful Cartier jewelry."

"What did you have in mind?" He asks his voice soft and sensuous. Down, Grey. The coochie is still out of commission. I walk over to my new closet and scan the dresses there. I need something simple, preferably with a high collar in case the miracle tea doesn't work overnight and the concealer doesn't conceal enough. My eyes run across the perfect dress—a Milly Geo Pop knit mock turtleneck. It's black on the top with alternating black and white triangles between graphite stripes on the bottom—half sleeves and it falls just above the knee. I turn around and show the dress to Christian.

"I'll wear it with nude stockings and black stilettos. The platinum necklace will show beautifully against the black knit. It's perfect!" Christian nods at my idea.

"Very good choice, Ms. Steele. Your fashion taste is impeccable. Make sure that you wear your hair up. I want you to show off those earrings." He says coming to me and kissing my ear again.

"Christian, stop," I whine softly. "You know you make me want you and I'm tender." I close my eyes.

"Okay, I'll try to behave myself," he says, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. "So what should I wear?" Hmm, good question. What does fashion dictate right now? Our clothes should either be similar without being twins, or vastly different without clashing. I'll go for similar.

I walk over to his wardrobe and eye his suits carefully. Considering what I am wearing, I decide on a three-piece black suit with gray pinstripes, a white shirt and a gray and black silk tie. I turn around and present to ensemble the Christian for his approval. "What do you think?"

"I think you've done it again, Ms. Steele," he says, taking the tie from me and opening a drawer in his island to find some appropriate cuff links.

"I'm not really good with men's clothing designers—except for Armani. I can spot Armani a mile away. So tell me what I just picked here." He looks a little longingly at me and I cock my head to the side. "Christian?"

"I was just having flashbacks of the day you dressed me for work...Armani from head to toe." He twitches a bit and I know he is fully recalling our TPE day. That was _so_ much fun. He shakes it off and answers my question.

"The suit is Timothy Everest, single-breasted pinstripe and the tie is Stephano Ricci and these..." He pulls out a pair of silver and black cufflinks. "...are Salvatore Ferragamo Gancini-trimmed onyx cuff links."

"Gancini-trimmed?" Is that some special metal?

"It's the Gancini emblem. It's trademarked. If you sit these cufflinks together..." He puts them together and I see the familiar emblem that I've seen on purses and belts before.

"Oooohh! I've seen that before. Wow...kind of neat." He smiles at me and sets the items on the island.

"Well, we've got our wardrobe. Why don't we have a bath and go to bed. We've got a big day tomorrow."

"That we do," I concur. "Um...do you want me to wear this ring instead of my promise ring tomorrow?"

"Absolutely not. Of course I want you to wear your promise ring. You can wear the Love ring on your right hand. If you wear it on your left hand, they will automatically assume that it's a wedding ring. We just came back from Anguilla. The press is itching for a scoop," he says.

"Okay, right hand it is, then. Let's have our bath." The sooner we get this press conference done, the better. We've got things to talk about and plans to be made, and nothing needs to get in our way at this point.

* * *

_**A/N: **_

_**The pictures have moved back to the regular Paging Dr. Steele Pinterest board at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**The wardrobe is, as mentioned, for the press conference the next day which will be in chapter 64, so I won't repost the pictures. **_

_**Reviews are appreciated!**_

_**Love and Handcuffs!**_  
_**Lynn x**_


	64. Chapter 64—The Best Laid Plans

_**So, we are coming down to the wire, my beloveds. It looks like we are going to end Book I at chapter 68. It will only go to chapter 70 if another idea pops up during the writing. Just thought I would give you a heads up.**_

**_I have really had a great time sharing this story with you all and I truly hope that you will continue with me on this journey because I do plan for there to be sequels (yes, sequels with an "s"). There have been a few idiots that tried to bring me down, but as you can see, it didn't and won't work. I have a big mouth and a lot to say and I'm just going to keep yapping! ;-) But there has been an amazing outpouring of love and support from regulars and new readers and regulars that never reviewed before but decided to review this time and I am truly very grateful for your support. It means more than you know._**

**_Unless some crazy shit happens, I plan for my sequels to all be on Fanfiction, but like I said, send me an email if you want to be notified of publishing and such._**

**_As always, I want to thank everyone for their PMs and reviews and words of encouragement. You keep Bronze-Goddessville alive and I appreciate that very much. i am still responding to my reviews as you all know that I run my own business and it's been VERY BUSY lately, so I haven't had the chance to respond to everyone yet, but I promise that I will! Again, thank you to all my newest readers - there are so many of you! I really appreciate your support!_**

**_To the guest that asked when I update - it's usually Wednesdays and Saturdays, somewhere between 3pm and 7pm American West Coast time (PST). There will be a break between Book I and Book II and I am hoping that it will only be a couple of weeks, but we will have to see. I will definitely keep you posted. :-)_**

**_To the guest that had the suggestion about the striptease - I don't know if I can fit that in before the end of Book I, but even if it's in Book II, I think I may have to make that happen... ;-)_**

**_To the guest that had the question about the BIG talk and marriage - there is a BIG talk coming but not until Book II. They are still banging some things out and they still have a few issues to deal with first. However, there will be a little time passing in Butterfly-land between Book I and Book II so that there won't be so much time to wait until the BIG talk. Book II is going to move a little faster than Book I as well, and there will be some flashbacks to help with the storylines. Hopefully, I've answered all of your questions, but if I haven't please let me know! :-)_**

**_To Melissa - O!M!G! Are you fucking kidding me!? You handled that so well; you were such a lady! That bastard! I am so sorry that you had to go through that. How rude! I can't believe that I'm more pissed that it happened to you than I am that it happened to me - go figure. What a fucking asshole! I guess they're everywhere... :-(_**

**_To Tj - you hit that nail on the head about Ana's "hard limit" of being treated like a sub! I didn't mean to scare you though, lol. Thank you for your support and encouragement, too. I really appreciate it! ;-)_**

**_Thank you to Beth (I SO agree with you!), Carol, Herm (Yeah, that does look kind of CG), Hun, Gia/Georgia (you didn't put your name on the review but I knew it was you because you are my reviewer goddess from Greece), Jaimini (thank you...it's so sad, isn't it?), Jenny, Leah, Maxine, May in South Africa (waving my hand frantically - HI!), Michelle B, Phoe (LOL, you read my mind about CG meeting the mole), Teresaromance (butterflies! They're everywhere! lol), and to my other guest reviewers that I couldn't PM personally._**

**_You guys are truly the best!_**

**_On with the story. All previous disclaimers apply here._**

_Chapter 64—The Best Laid Plans_

_GREY_

At 10:00 sharp, Francesca Meyers walks into my office. She is dressed in Prada and, like I said, has the orangest red hair that I have ever seen. Jason is placed strategically in the secret room off of the side of my office monitoring and recording this meeting on the CCTV system that I use for possible dealings with shady characters. I'm well armed with the information I need to scare the shit out of this woman and wring every bit of Intel she may have in her possession. "Have a seat, Ms. Meyers." I say without rising from my chair. She sits in the seat across from my desk and her skirt hikes a little higher than it should have. Oh no, Little Lady, that's not how this is going to work.

"You may want to adjust your skirt, Ms. Meyers. This _is_ a place of business." I say flatly, and wait while she pulls her skirt back down to a respectable length. "I'm sure you know why I've called you in here."

"No Sir, I don't know," she replies.

"Well, you must have some idea," I say impassively.

"No, Sir, I'm sorry but I don't."

"I called you in here because I know that you have been feeding information about me and my movements to people outside of my company, and the first thing that I want to do is give you an opportunity defend yourself." I fold my hands on the desk.

She starts fidgeting. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Grey."

"Okay, let's try this." I sit back in my chair. "You know who I am. You know how powerful I am, and I will destroy you. Then I will press criminal charges on you for industrial espionage. Then I will sue for invading my privacy and causing mental duress to my girlfriend who was accosted by paparazzi on our vacation while trying to recuperate from a kidnapping ordeal. Would you like to see how many other things I can come up with, because I can get really creative. By the time I'm done with you, no one will come near you with a 10-foot pole," I spit now rising from my seat and coming around the desk. "Assuming you're not spending several years in jail on white collar crime charges, you won't even be able to get a job as a cashier. The choice is yours." I stand over her glaring down at her and her demeanor changes immediately. Her lips part and her breathing shifts.

What the hell?

She uncrosses her legs and places her feet flat on the floor. Her back straightens, her hands spread flat on her thighs, and her head drops.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know, Sir," she says quietly.

Fuck!

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

She's a _sub_!

Elena! Elena fucking Lincoln!

"How did you get into my fucking company?" I snap, instinctively going into Dom mode to play this little trick like a violin. She must have recognized the mannerisms. I am infuriated, but I plan to use this completely to my advantage.

"I had instructions and a connection, Sir."

"Where is she?" I am boiling right now. She looks up at me through her lashes.

"I don't know what you mean, Sir," she says coyly.

"Don't play games with me! Where is she?" I glare at her and wait for my answer. She shrinks back a bit in the seat.

"She took the first flight to Anguilla yesterday to look for you." She drops her eyes again. How's that working out for you, Pedophile? You're there and I'm here. When will you fucking learn?

"How did she get you hired into my company?" I hiss.

"I'm not sure, Sir. All I know is that Mistress told me that she needed me to be working here, to keep an eye on you and give her updates on your activities. She somehow got my resume information submitted to GEH's Human Resources department, and I was called in for an interview. I was hired within two days. I don't know anything else about how I was hired." Her information was submitted on my log in from my home computer. The Pedophile had free reign of my apartment three years ago. It must have been her. Of course no one would question it if it came from me and Welch definitely wouldn't see a problem if it came from my home computer.

She was most likely brunette at the time, too. That's a whole different can of worms.

I have access to everything. She could easily tell when someone was needed in any department by simply logging in with my ID and wandering around.

"What were your instructions?"

"To let Mistress know what your schedule was, if you had any dates or women coming around, or anything that may have been newsworthy," she said meekly.

"What was your connection to Robert Harris?" Her eyes shoot up at me with this question, but she quickly drops them again.

"I...I dated him for a while, Sir." Her voice is shaking.

"Was he part of this, too?"

"For a while, but he didn't know. He would give me more detailed information just in our daily conversation and I would give it to Mistress." She knew my every move, my every damn move for...

"How long has this been going on?" I growl.

"Since I started working here," she replied.

"You have been feeding her Intel on my every move for _three years?_"

"Yes, Sir," she says just above a whisper. I slam my hand on the desk and she jumps and whimpers a bit. No, I'm not going to hit you, you simple bitch, although I want to.

"Harris was getting information even after he was fired, information that he couldn't have known..._personal_ information. Was that you, too?"

"Yes, Sir," she whispers.

"There were personal things, things no one else knew...how did you find out?"

"Any way I could...eavesdropping on private conversations, logging in on other people's ID's, listening to you on the elevator...I just know how to listen." She never raised her head.

"There was no part of my life that was ever private, was it? No part of my life that you didn't either tell to that asshole Harris or that bleached-blonde Pedophile?" Her head shot up and she stared at me with large, surprised eyes.

"Pedoph—no! She's not..."

"Answer me! Is there nothing that was kept private!? Everything that you knew, you told one or both of them!?" I'm yelling at her and she presses herself back in her chair.

"Yes Sir, I told them everything!" She cried. Oh, dear Lord, keep me from killing someone right now. I look at her through narrowed eyes.

"You know about my lifestyle, don't you?" I ask her flatly.

"Yes, Sir."

"What did she promise you? You were brunette when you started here, and I never saw you. What did she promise you?" I already know the answer, but I want to hear her say it.

"That I would be your sub," she confesses. I ran my hands through my hair.

"Unbelievable. Unbefuckingleivable." How many lives is this woman going to ruin before she is stopped? She must have known that she was losing control of me and this was her way of trying to maintain it.

"You've signed an NDA and you know the rules of the community. If you say anything..."

"I'd never say anything, Sir." She never lifts her head. Time to twist the knife.

"You are aware that you are an accessory to the kidnapping of Anastasia Steele, correct?" Her eyes are as big as saucers again as she glares at me.

"No Sir. I had nothing to do with that! I swear to you!" She is completely panicked now.

"You fed Harris information about my whereabouts and my comings and goings that let him know that Ms. Steele was vulnerable. He used that information to time her abduction. That makes you an accessory to her kidnapping. You withheld information that could have led the police to Ms. Steele's captors sooner, and maybe she wouldn't have been brutalized so badly by him. Do you realize the pain and the anguish that you have caused? To that poor woman? To _me_? Even to that dead fucker Harris? Is your Mistress pleased?" I'm barking at her now.

"She's not my Mistress anymore, Sir," she replies, trembling.

"Then why did you keep feeding her information? How did she know that I was in Anguilla?"

"I needed the money! Bobby promised me a payout when this was all over. He didn't tell me that he was going to kidnap Ms. Steele, I swear. I wouldn't have told him anything if I had known. He just told me that he had something in the works and that there would be a big payout in it for me when it was done. He left me in debt, Sir, and he swore he would pay me back...and then he died, and I was left with the debt. Mistress paid the debts and got Bobby's loan sharks off of me and in return, I had to give her more information about you and Ms. Steele." She's in tears now.

"So now she's in Anguilla looking for me. When will this woman ever learn?"

"Actually, Sir, she's on her way back to the States now. She learned along with everyone else that you and Ms. Steele were back and she couldn't get a flight back until today," Meyers replies meekly.

"How did the paparazzi know that I was in Anguilla?" I bark.

"I put the word on the wire, Sir. She wanted them to do the heavy lifting for her and locate you without tipping you off. They wouldn't have pursued the lead unless it came from a reliable source." No longer reliable after today.

"Well, then you can contact your Mistress and see if she can use her sneaky little ways to find you another place of employment." I say walking back around my desk and taking my seat. All of a sudden, this little mouse decides to grow some balls.

"With all due respect, _Mr. Grey,"_ she spits, sitting up taller now, "I think I deserve some kind of compensation for keeping my mouth shut!"

"Excuse me? Are you insane or just delusional?" This woman has to be out of her mind. She's been running her mouth since she's been hired her and now she's asking for compensation for silence?

"As I see it, you're a very powerful man as you said yourself, and I've been in this office for quite some time...alone, with you. I could very easily run out of this office screaming, right now, and declare that you tried to sexually assault me." She smiles a fiendish smile and I must be looking at her in horror, because she continues as if she has the upper hand. "True, I may not win a case since it's my word against yours, but could you or your company withstand that kind of publicity? What about that pretty new girlfriend of yours? How long would _she_stick around with a stigma like this hanging over your head?" She sits back in her chair and crosses her legs triumphantly. "I'd say $500,000 is enough to keep me quiet and out of Seattle. It's a drop in the bucket to you, I know, but to me, it's a whole new life." I just shake my head at this poor misguided waif.

"Boy, the Pedophile sure can pick 'em, can't she? You must really be a glutton for punishment. You must have been highly degraded by your Masters. Missing that now, are you?" I say sarcastically.

"I wouldn't worry about that if I were you. I would worry about what I'm going to say when I leave the room," she says confidently.

"You can say whatever the fuck you want to say, but before you speak, know this. I'm not as sloppy as your Mistress. I don't knowingly leave myself in a position to be fucked over. _Taylor!_" Jason comes from behind the sliding wall and pushes a few buttons on a remote. In seconds, a screen is revealed from the bookshelves behind me. It comes alive with a recording of my meeting with Ms. Meyers about her covert activities in my company. Her face falls immediately as she realizes that there is absolutely no way that her scheme can work.

"You have sealed your fate, Ms. Meyers. I suggest you leave Washington as soon as possible, because I can assure you that bitch is going down and if you're not careful, you'll be going down with her. Give your badge to Mr. Taylor. Your access and clearances have all been removed. Your employment here at GEH is irrevocably terminated. Your personal belongings are waiting for you at the front security gate...collect them on your way out." I lean forward on my desk. "Oh, and I'll also make sure that the community is well aware of how much of a bad faith bitch you are. Good luck finding a job _or_a Dom." I sit back in my chair. "Get this female off of my property. I wouldn't dare make the mistake of calling her a _woman._" I say with disdain. Utter horror and humiliation decorate her face as Taylor waits patiently for her to rise out of her seat, and subsequently escorts her out of my office.

I take a deep breath and release it. I'm ecstatic that I have found the mole, but still quite livid that so many things occurred that led to so many disasters and mishaps. I know that I have to do something about it.

"Andrea, come in here please, and bring your tablet." Andrea steps into the office and takes the seat recently vacated by Ms. Meyers. "I need you to send a memo to all department heads that there will be a meeting tomorrow at 1:30pm in the Palladium Conference Room. I expect to see all leaders and their assistant heads in this meeting. They need to be prepared to take notes and if they're really wise, they will bring recording devices as each person will be held responsible for the contents of this meeting. It is closed, which means that it will only be department heads and their seconds, and I will be discussing the possible restructuring of GEH." Andrea's head shot up at that statement.

"Restructuring? You want to use _that_ word, Sir?" she confirms.

"Yes, I do."

Butterfly comes strolling into my office at 1:00 in that lovely black, white and gray dress she chose last night. She looks stunning. Her hair is styled in a classy chignon with tendrils of hair falling loose in various places. She is wearing a plain leather pair of black Louboutin stilettos and I swear I have never seen a pair of legs look so good.

"Are we ready, baby?" I ask as I pull her into my arms and kiss her cheek.

"As ready as I'll every be, I guess," she responds. "How did it go this morning with the mole?" I scoffed at her question.

"Oh, God. Just wretched. I mean I found out everything that I wanted to know, but I can't believe that someone like that has been working for me for three years.'

"Will you tell me the details?" She asks. At that moment, McIntyre knocks on the open door of my office. Saved by the bell.

"Later," I whisper, as McIntyre comes into the office.

"Are we ready?" She asks and Butterfly rolls her eyes.

"Is there anything I need to know? Anything I shouldn't say?" she asks a little perturbed.

"I'm glad you asked..."

McIntyre sits us down and runs through the format of how the press conference would go and the most likely questions that will be asked. No insights into our personal life or any hints about plans for the future, nothing that can be cause for speculation. Don't be caught off guard by inappropriate questions, and McIntyre will dictate the flow of questions and which ones will be answered. The press has been warned about guerrilla journalism attempts and surprise attacks which will cause the press conference to be ended immediately. Once the pep talk was over, there was just enough time for a very flustered Butterfly to go powder her nose before we were due downstairs.

"Do you think she'll be okay? She looks a little rattled," McIntyre asks me when Butterfly disappears into the restroom.

"Next to my mother, that's the strongest woman that I know. She'll be fine," I answer definitively. A few moments later, a refreshed Ana emerges from the restroom.

"Okay, let's get this egg cracked, fried, and served," she says straightening her dress. That's a strange expression...but whatever works.

Davenport and Jason follow us into the elevator and we are greeted on the first floor by a throng of reporters that couldn't fit into the conference room. The flashes are going insane. I take Butterfly's hand in mine and we exit the elevator. She pastes that beautiful smile on her lips and waves at the cameras as we pass by to get to the back entrance of the conference room.

"Okay, remember. I'm going to be right there. I'll be telling them what they can and can't ask and if an inappropriate question comes your way, I'm going to shut it down, okay?" McIntyre reassures Ana.

"Got it," she replies confidently.

"If you get stuck anywhere or you feel uncomfortable answering any question, look at me or let Mr. Grey know and we'll handle it."

"Okay," Butterfly nods.

"Any questions before we go in?"

"I don't think so," she responds. I squeeze Butterfly's hand and press my lips to her knuckles.

"Are you ready?" I ask softly and she nods.

"I'm ready."

* * *

**_STEELE_**

"I'm ready." We walk through the doors and I am blinded by the flashes going off in the conference room. They couldn't fit more people in this room if they tried and it is very hot in here! Geez! Christian and I are led to a table set up on a stage with three chairs. Vee and Christian sit on either side of me while Jason and Chuck stand close by. Vee makes the announcement that the press conference will begin and reminds the members of the press that this is the official story to be released announcing our relationship and any further attempts at contact after this point will be met with whatever legal action is available. I'm happy to hear that as I would like to get back to work tomorrow.

Vee started with a general statement about our relationship. We tweaked the details of how we met as we certainly didn't want to announce that I was the facilitator of the group therapy that Mr. Grey was assigned to as the result of decking one of Seattle citizens. Instead, we told them that we met as a result of a community program in which we were both involved and quickly followed that with the fact that I am a psychologist with a thriving practice currently working with Dr. Grace Grey and the Helping Hands project. That, of course, led them to believe that the community program of which we were speaking was Helping Hands. Now the floor was open for questions.

"How long have you two been dating?"

"Our relationship is still very new," I answered. "It's been just about six weeks now."

"But you live with Mr. Grey..."

"No, I own a condo downtown. I have been staying with Christian at his request since the kidnapping as a safety precaution. I'm sure you can understand why I wouldn't want to be alone at this time and, or course, Christian agrees with me."

"So you plan on staying there?"

"I think Ms. Steele has answered that question," Vee interjects. "She has informed you that she owns a condo but is currently staying with Mr. Grey in the wake of her recent kidnapping. Next question, please. Vera?" She points to another reporter to the right.

"Yes, Ms. Steele, no offense but you seem like pretty much an unknown. How did you manage to land Seattle's most eligible bachelor?" I laugh at this question, because I knew it was coming.

"You'd have to ask Christian that question. He pursued me," I respond, good-naturedly and there is a wave of light laughter over the room.

"Many women have tried and failed to catch his eye. What would you say is different about you?" Before I had a chance to respond, Christian leans into the microphone.

"I think that question should be directed towards me," he begins. "I don't know about many other men, but a _gentleman_ likes to be the one that pursues the lady. Yes, many women have shown interest in me over the years. Some of them have been downright predatory. Ms. Steele epitomizes how a lady should act and what a lady should be. She is very beautiful, caring, and loyal, but she is also very strong and very independent. She tends to draw people to her and I was not immune to the charm. I hope that answers your question." Somebody's getting laid tonight!

"Where are you from, Ms. Steele?"

"Right here in Washington," I say with no further information.

The questions went on for about twenty or thirty minutes or so, ranging from the mundane to the obscene. On more than one occasional, Vee had to curtail questions about our sex life and how well the great Christian Grey was endowed. The next line of questioning didn't surprise me but nearly ignited a war.

"_Ms. _Steele," the blonde reporter began, her voice clearly dripping with distaste, "who are you wearing?" Several eyes turn to her in question and she doesn't flinch.

"Um...okay. Well, I'm not wearing any_body_, but if you are referring to my attire, my dress is no one in particular, my shoes are Louboutin, and my jewelry is Cartier." I try to keep my displeasure hidden and Christian squeezes my hand under the table.

"I see," she purrs, her voice still oozing condescension. "Did you dress like that _before_ you met Mr. Grey?" Now the room has fallen silent, because everyone wants to see what happens. Vee makes to say something but I beat her to the punch.

"Like _what_, exactly?" I ask.

"Oh, Louboutin, Cartier...you know..." She waves her hand dismissively.

"No, unfortunately, I don't know. Do you care to clarify?" I say with no malice, though I am chomping at the bit.

"Okay, here's this young lady who comes out of nowhere and lands the city's—if not the state's or the country's—most eligible bachelor. Now she's living in his penthouse, scooting away to exotic locales, and dressing like a society housewife. Could it be that he's paying for your upkeep now?" Oh, this bitch! Vee opens her mouth to say something, but before she could, Blondie says "Let's just cut to the chase. Are you with Mr. Grey for his money? You know that everybody wants to know what you have to say about that."

"That is highly inappro—" Vee breaks in and I interrupt her.

"No, I'd like to answer that," I say, holding a hand up to Vee. Christian and Vee both throw cautionary glances at me. "What is her name?" I ask Vee.

"Cheryl Deems, she's with _Seattle Snoops_," Vee responds. Hmm. I would have thought that we would have kept the gossip rags out of this conference, but I guess if you don't let them in, they'll make something up. Loosely speaking, they are reporters, too, right? Christian is still squeezing my hand and I squeeze back letting him know that I had this under control.

"Cheryl, how long have you been a reporter?" I ask. She is taken aback a bit but answers, "Three years."

"I happen to be a wealth of useless information, and I know that a good reporter averages about $45,000 a year now, correct?" I look to the other reporters in the room who make that "more or less" gesture with their heads. "I mean I'm sure that some make more and some make less, but I'm in the general ballpark, right?" I say making the general gesture with my hands and many of the reporters nod and murmur their agreement.

"How about you, Cheryl, around that much? Maybe a little more?" I ask.

"Well, maybe a little more, but I hardly see what that has to do with the question that I asked you," Cheryl says trying to direct the attention back to her accusation.

"Well, guess what, Cheryl? It has _everything _to do with the question that you just asked me because I make _a __lot _more than that. As a reporter, you probably should have had that information by now. Yet..._you're _wearing Prada and Jimmy Choo," I say gesturing to her apparel, "but I have to justify to _you_ why I'm wearing nobody in particular, Louboutin, and Cartier." As if it could, the room has fallen more silent. You could hear an ant whispering to a mosquito. Even the Almighty Cheryl has nothing to say...but I'm not done.

"You can dress however you like on your salary. However, because my boyfriend is a billionaire, does that mean that I couldn't have dressed however I wanted _before_ I met him?"

"Well, that wasn't what I meant," Cheryl answers defensively.

"Of course it wasn't what you meant. What you meant was because I'm now with a billionaire, I've gone from wearing bargain basement clothing to high-end platform stilettos. So I guess that I should clarify for you that I was a Fashionista _years _before I met Christian."

"There's no need to get offended, Ms. Steele," Cheryl purrs, smiling that smug "_I've got you on the run __now" _smile. I smile back at her.

"Cheryl, you asked me questions about my life pre-Christian Grey that you should have known before you got here. You should have known what a psychologist makes in today's economy. That would have shed light on what lifestyle I'm accustomed to living. I know what a reporter makes and it's not even in my job description. The paparazzi has been hanging around my home and my office, so you know where I live and where I work, and it can't be that much harder to figure out what I drive. This is Journalism 101, Cheryl - even a kid on the high school newspaper knows to come to the party with his facts straight. So tell me, why would I be offended that you were so eager to get the story that you showed up at a major press conference ill-prepared because you didn't do your homework?" I look at her innocently with no malice so that it can't be said that I sliced up the "poor little reporter." A few cameras flash in her direction and she realizes that she is now the story. I continue to speak before she has a chance to offer a rebuttal.

"Nonetheless, none of that really matters. I'm going to answer your question because I don't want to be accused of evading it." I shift in my seat and sit up straighter. Let me show you how this is really done, Bitch. "I make enough money where if I want to wear Louboutin and Cartier, I can wear Louboutin and Cartier without Christian Grey's assistance. Like I said, I own a condo that overlooks Elliot Bay. I drive a late model Chrysler 300 that I pay for myself. I'm a doctor with a thriving practice with several patients and a waiting list _and_ I have recently taken another position and I am on staff at Helping Hands. I have more than a few pennies to rub together. I can take care of myself _without_ Christian Grey's assistance. I was taking care of myself when he met me. Our meeting was a chance occurrence and the only reason that I know of him is because he told me to Google him." A few of the reporters snicker a bit.

Oh! Laughter! Let us ride with this.

"Yes, Christian does like to shower me with gifts. He is extremely generous. Like any other woman with a billionaire boyfriend, I graciously and happily accept his gifts. What am I supposed to do, turn him down? '_Oh no, Dear, I will not accept your Cartier. What will people think?'"_Now the laughter is a little louder and Cheryl is turning a little green in the face.

"To answer your question, I have no interest in Mr. Grey's money. Oh, it's a huge perk! Let's be realistic!" More laughter erupts from the room. "However, I have no interest in how much he's worth. I wasn't drawn to him for his money. Look at him! He's masculine perfection!" Again, more laughter from the not-malicious reporters in the room. "If he was a street sweeper, I'd still be crawling all over him. So no, his money didn't attract me to him and he didn't win me over with gifts. To be quite honest with you, when we met, I couldn't stand him. He won me over with chivalry...by literally rescuing me from a bad situation and making sure that I got home safely. That's what made me fall for him. Will he buy me more gifts? Of course, he will. Will I gladly accept them? Absolutely. Did I get with him for his money? Absolutely not. Am I still with him for his money? Absolutely not. Did I answer your question?"

Cricket. Cricket. Cricket.

After about 10 seconds of complete silence, somebody started clapping. Two or three more people clapped and then the room erupted in applause. I put on my pretty smile and the cameras started flashing again. At that moment, Vee leans over to us with a satisfied smile and says, "I think that's a wrap." She turns to the throng of reporters and says, "Thank you all for coming." The three of us stand and walk out of the side door with Chuck and Jason close behind. As we wait for the elevator, Christian turns around and takes me in his arms. We pose for a couple of pictures for the reporters that couldn't fit into the room and had to watch the interview on the monitors outside. He puts his hand in the small of my back and deliberately puts my hand on his chest. I know he is sending a message to anyone who has known him intimately. Nobody touches Christian Grey's chest...

Except Anastasia Steele.

He takes my hand and looks lovingly into my eyes, then he kisses me softly on my temple. I know the cameras are going wild, but I can only see him...my masculine perfection street sweeper. The quiet ring of the elevator snaps me out of my gaze and the five of us enter, cameras still snapping as the doors close.

"That was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! I told you, just let her be herself. You can't script shit like that. Boy, I bet Cheryl will think twice before she comes back at you again!" Vee is thrilled with the results. "You were fabulous!" she says to me. "I can guarantee you that there will be no paps bothering you for a while...until the next catastrophe strikes, that is." She throws her hand in the air and turns to Christian. "Should I prepare for any backlash from the Golden Girl?"

"I don't think we have to worry about her anymore, but keep your ear to the floor anyway. I'm sure you've heard about the staff meeting I'm calling tomorrow," he says to her.

"Who hasn't? Every department is crawling through issues over the last several years and looking for scapegoats as we speak," Vee responds.

"Well, that won't help them. People are getting sloppy and lax and this cannot happen anymore. I'm not looking to place blame on anybody. I just want this shit to stop." The elevator rings that we have arrived at Christian's office. As soon as the doors open, Welch and Al are standing in the lobby.

"Oh God, what is it?" Christian asks preparing himself for bad news.

"Well, I don't know why this gentleman is here, Boss, but I needed to see my girl. I haven't seen her in nearly two weeks." Al holds his arms out to me and I gladly run to them . "Oh, Jewel, I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too, Baby," I said, squeezing him close then pulling him back to peck him on the lips. I look up to see a room full of people staring at us. Then Christian announces, "Stop gawking. They've been best friends for 14 years."

"I thought he was part of legal," Vee says, puzzled.

"He is, but he was Butterfly's best friend first," Christian clarifies.

"Oh, well that explains the dick and balls comment," Vee says more to herself than anything.

"What?" I ask turning around to face Vee. I have got to know what this is about. "Dick and balls comment?"

"When we were looking for you, Mr. Grey said that he would have your captors' heads on a platter. Mr. Forsythe indicated that he would have their dick and balls," Vee informs me. "I couldn't understand why legal would feel so passionately about the boss' girlfriend. Now, I know." I look lovingly at Al.

"You said that?" I ask.

"I certainly did. I was going to rip them off with my bare hands. Nobody fucks with my Jewel." I hug Al again.

"Hmm. Jewel and Butterfly. You have quite the effect on people, don't you?" Vee asks. I shrug and point to Jason.

"He calls me Your Highness."

"_Your Highness!?"_ Vee repeats in utter disbelief.

"Yeah. He refused to call me Ana, he kept calling me Ma'am and I wanted to choke him. So I ran down a list of names that were acceptable for him to call me and he chose Your Highness."

"I always wondered how that came about," Welch says quietly.

"_Your Highness_ was on a list of acceptable names?" Vee questioned.

"It was a joke," I defended, waving my hands. "It was on a list with names like _Pookie _and _Doctor Lady!"_Vee breaks out in nearly uncontrollable laughter.

"Classic. Absolutely classic," she says.

"Mr. Grey," Welch's controlled voice captures my attention. "Lincoln has arrived at SeaTac, Sir." I frown.

"SeaTac?" The words came out of my mouth involuntarily. I probably wasn't supposed to be part of this conversation. I quickly look anywhere but at Christian or Welch. "I'll go...to the ladies room." I take off down the hall. I know someone is saying something behind me but I can't hear them. I burst into the ladies room and take a deep breath. That was some experience. When that bitch made that comment about me being with Christian for his money...I knew some people thought that but it's not the same as people saying it to your face. I splash a little water on my face. Luckily, the banter and laughter of the other reporters at my sad attempt at jokes assured that my adrenaline didn't go too far, but I could still feel it pumping a bit. I could just imagine what kind of news my turning into a blubbering idiot would have made.

"That first press conference is always the worst," Vee says coming into the restroom.

"Yeah, that Cheryl bitch almost made me lose it," I admit. "It took every bit of etiquette, decorum, and Communications 101 not to tell her to go fuck herself! Why is it that when you are dealing with a man with money, that is the first thing that people assume?"

"Because unfortunately, Sugar, it has been my experience that this is usually the case," Vee says.

"Well, people suck!" I put a little more cold water on my face then dry my face and hands.

"Is that your professional opinion, Doctor?" Vee jests.

"It most certainly is!"

* * *

I decided to leave Christian with the running of his empire before I butt my big mouth into his business again and head over to my office to see if it was safe to enter. Apparently, the paparazzi were either still recoiling from that interview at GEH or they got the message loud and clear about legal action and decided to leave me alone. There were no appointments today, but I see Marilyn's car in the parking lot, which makes me very happy. We can start getting things running again and contacting patients to let them know that I am back at work.

I step off the elevator and the closer I get to my reception area, I hear the distinct sounds of moaning. Oh, give me a break! Is she getting laid in my reception area!? I charge in to find Marilyn pinned against the wall—fully dressed, thank God—being accosted by a very gropey Gary! Get outta here! Love is in the air, Man. I should be angry with this blatant show of unprofessionalism, but I can't help but smile. I stand there for about a full minute waiting for them to notice me. When Marilyn's leg rises, I know I have to stop this before it goes any further. I put my hands on my hips in a very disapproving stance and clear my throat loudly.

Gary and Marilyn jump like a sonic boom has gone off in the office. Marilyn is straightening her dress and Gary is unsuccessfully trying to wipe the pink lipstick off of his mouth.

"I...um...I'm...sorry, Ana...I didn't expect you to be in today," Marilyn stutters trying to catch her breath.

"Obviously not," I reply.

"There...wasn't supposed to be...anybody here today...I was...just getting ready for tomorrow," she continues trying to make excuses while Gary slowly inches his way to the elevator.

"I'll...see you later, M," he says, trying to make a quick getaway.

"Oh, no you don't, Garrett Emmanuel Pope! Get your ass back here!" I chastise before he makes it to the elevator. "You're standing in my lobby dry-humping my assistant and you think you're going to walk away and let her take the blame all by herself?"

"I...I..." Gary is at a complete loss for words.

"You two are worse than a couple of teenagers! You couldn't take this to a conference room or a restroom or something? You had to do this right in the middle of my lobby?" They both look at me like the chastised children that they are. "No making out in my damn lobby...and I would prefer that you don't do it in my conference room or my restroom either!"

"Yes ma'am," they answer simultaneously.

"'Food and libations' this weekend?" I ask sternly.

"Yes ma'am," they respond again. Sarcastic asses.

"Fine, now get your ass down to City of Music, and no more groping my assistant in the middle of the business day!"

"Yes, Dr. Steele," Gary says before blowing a kiss to Marilyn and escaping to the elevator. I turn back to Marilyn and tut at her.

"For shame. Have you no dignity?" I tease while walking into my office.

"I really am sorry. I didn't know that you were coming in today. Nobody was supposed to be here," she says.

"No fooling around in the office. For God's sake, Marilyn, you didn't even lock the door," I scold.

"It wasn't supposed to happen, I swear. We were just making plans to go out for drinks later and the next thing I know, he all over me. One minute, we're talking and smiling and enjoying each other's company and the next minute, he's all hands and lips and grabby and I'm all hot and bothered!" I can hear the sexual frustration oozing out of her. "He's like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde!" I sit down at my desk and fold my arms.

"You haven't sealed the deal yet!" I exclaim. She quickly takes the seat in front of my desk.

"I'm trying not to be a desperate slut, but I'm going to jump his bones any minute!" she says, clasping her hands together tightly. Oh good grief! Before Marilyn, Gary was with Bethany. I don't even think that relationship lasted a month. If he's taking this long to put the moves on Marilyn and he is clearly attracted to her, how long did it take him to put the moves on Bethany? _Did_ he put the moves on Bethany? If he didn't, that would explain why she was a bitch in heat coming on to Christian.

No moves on Marilyn.

No moves on Bethany.

Nobody before Bethany...

I gasp loudly when the realization hits me. Marilyn is looking at me oddly as my hands fly up to my mouth.

"What is it, Ana? Is he a serial killer and you just never told me?" Um...no...

"I think...Gary...may be a virgin," I say to her. She smacks her lips at me.

"Well, duh!" she says matter-of-factly. I glare at her.

"How did you know? Did he tell you?"

"No! It's written all over him!" she exclaims.

"How?" I nearly shriek. "The way that he was mauling you when I came in the room, I was sure that you two had rounded the bases a couple of times by now."

"God! I know, right?" she says, her voice full of frustration. "He's like that all the time. I think he's going to rip off my clothes any second, but we never get past PG."

"Well, you were on your way to R a minute ago," I said rolling my eyes. God, I thought my love life was stunted before Christian. These people _have_ folks that want to be with them and jump their bones and they can't seem to make it happen. "Listen, I can't even begin to tell you what to do in this situation. I haven't the faintest idea had to get a man who has never been..._had. _All I can tell is that if he is working you up as much as you say he is, work him up, too—and then don't let him walk away."

"Yeah, but I don't want him to think I'm easy," she complains. Is she serious?

"I just walked into my lobby and he had a handful of boob and you had your leg wrapped around him. Do you want to get laid or not?" I ask. I don't want to listen to another bleeding heart woman who doesn't want to go after what she wants when it's right there in front of her begging her to take it. "If he doesn't want to screw you then you two need to come to some agreement where he's not groping you all the time. You're clearly going to be pulling your hair out in no time and he's steadily setting the fire and walking away. Pull out your battery-operated boyfriend and deal with it or tell him what you want. The choice is yours. Now go get your tablet and let's see what we can do about this week's appointments."

* * *

I drove my car today. It didn't feel the same. Something just wasn't right. It wasn't my baby anymore. When I pulled into the parking bin at Escala, I reached over and took My Boo out of the glove compartment. I couldn't say what was wrong, but something was wrong. Christian was sure to get the car completely repaired and detailed so that it would be ready when we got back from Anguilla. Whoever he hired did a fantastic job. The car looked new—better than new, in fact—but something was off. It just wasn't my car anymore.

"You know, this parking is more secure than the parking at your condo," Chuck says as he meets me at the elevator. I look at him strangely.

"I don't doubt it, but what made you say that?" I ask bemused.

"You always left your glock in the car at the condo. Now, you're taking it out," he observed. What do I do, tell him that I don't want to drive the car? It's so ungrateful, after Christian went through the trouble of restoring the car to better-than-perfect condition.

"I don't know, I just feel better bringing it inside," I say, casually. "Is Christian home or is he still in the office?"

"Still in the office, I think. One of the Audis is still missing." I nod. Today has been a trying day and I think I just want to take a bath and listen to some music. Chuck hands me my briefcase as I head to the en suite and start a bath. Christian is still at work for whatever reason and hasn't left me a message that he was going to be late. I can only assume that there were some loose ends to tie up in relation to the press conference...or some issue with the Pedo-Bitch landing at SeaTac. I have a feeling that's going to piss me off, but he hasn't offered me any information and until he does, it's none of my business.

I put my jewelry in my jewelry box except for my promise ring which I put on the nightstand. I strip out of my clothes and sink completely into my lemongrass bubble bath, completely covering my head then coming back up to rest on the bath pillow, submerged to my chin. I haven't heard from anybody in the crew today except Al and, accidentally, Gary. I won't make any assumptions about Val and Elliot, but I will need to call Maxie tomorrow and touch bases—on our sessions as well as her wedding.

I open my eyes and the water has gotten cold. The bubbles are all gone and I have no idea how long I have been in the bath. I quickly wash myself and my hair and get out as my fingers and toes have begun to shrivel. I dry my hair and put it in a ponytail, then put on a comfy pair of shorts and a tank top. I notice that I was in the bath for 25 minutes...barely enough time for shriveling to occur. I put my promise ring back on, run up to my office and lock my Boo in the safe. When I walk into the kitchen, Gail is all alone making dinner.

"Hi Gail. No word from our men yet?" I ask.

"No, but it's early yet. We'll either be seeing them or hearing from them very soon." I nod and go to the wine cooler. I retrieve a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, uncork the bottle and pour myself a glass.

"Are you okay, Ana?" Gail asks.

"Sure, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You seem a little out of sorts," she replies concerned. I roll my eyes.

"It was just a really weird day. Among many other things, some catty female reporter asked me if I was with Christian for his money." I sigh heavily.

"Well, you had to know that was coming," she says, sounding apologetic.

"Yeah, I did, but still...I mean, I had all of my own stuff before I met Christian. I make good money. Granted, I don't carry as many zeroes as he does, but I do pretty well for myself. Nobody looks at that. It's totally publicly obtainable knowledge that I am a doctor who has a condo that's worth more than a million dollars, a late model car, and thriving practice—all things that I had _before_ I met Christian Grey. It couldn't possibly be that I _love_ him. No, I have to be after his money. Blonde bitch!" I say before taking a healthy swallow of my wine. Gail is glaring at me in horror before my brain finally registered..._she's blonde, idiot!_

"Oh dear God! Not you!" I exclaim, realizing my faux pas. "No! The bitch who accused me of being a gold digger, she was a blonde."

"I was pretty certain it wasn't me, but it's good to be sure," Gail says, stirring whatever is in the pot in front of her. All of a sudden, I remember that I was exhausted when I came in.

"I'm going to go...check emails or something...anything where I don't have to talk." I turn to leave.

"I'm fine, Ana, really. I knew that you weren't talking about me," Gail says.

"No, I've tripped over my tongue more than once today and I think it might just be a good idea for me to roll it up, put it in my mouth, go somewhere quiet and contemplate the meaning of life," I say, throwing a smile at her.

"Okay, well let me know if you need anything," she calls to me as I walk away.

"Will do!"

I'm back in the bedroom, scrolling through Google. I guess I'm a glutton for punishment. Vee was right—the hate site is down and so far, none have taken its place. Nothing is up yet about the press conference today, but there are still the usual pictures and the live feed from the kidnapping. There is a still photograph of Christian and Al sitting together. Christian looks so broken and lost. Four days of having no idea whatsoever if I was dead or alive—he must have been going crazy. He looks like he hadn't been sleeping but didn't look nearly as bad as the day we had to take him to the hospital.

I open my music player on my iPod and go to one of my old faithful jazz playlists. Beach sounds fill the room followed by the smooth sounds, synthesizers, and guitars of Blank and Jones. I lay back on the pillow and decide to Google Christian to see what the news says about him instead of what it says about me. Sure enough, there are several new stories on him and his "new love." Funny, I Google Christian and I see all of the latest pictures of me...shopping at Nordstrom before the trip, being carried out of the hospital by my beloved after the kidnapping, even running into GEH today with Chuck before the press conference.

The one picture that really held my attention is one of the pictures of us taken in front of the elevator. Someone had the perfect angle and just the right lighting. I was looking off at another camera somewhere I think, and Christian had just turned his head to kiss my temple. My hand is still resting on his chest and his hand is resting on top of mine. That was just before he took my hand in his. His other hand is gently holding the small of my back and he is pressing me into him. It is quite clear that he is holding me as close to him as he can without being obscene in public. The caption says it all:

**_The secret is out. Christian Grey is taken...and happy. Grey is seen here holding his girlfriend, Anastasia Steele, following a press conference this afternoon at Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc's corporate headquarters downtown. Pack away your billionaire hopes and dreams, girls. This is the real deal._**

Damn straight, it's the real deal, and I'm not going anywhere!

I copy the picture from the internet and save it to file. Then I assign it as the picture for my wallpaper. I stare at it for a while and I can see the love radiating between us. I wonder if others can see what I see, or do they still just see a gold digging female out for Christian money? I know there will be some that will see that no matter what. I could give the man a damn kidney and they would still say that I was doing it for money. I have to admit, that hurts, but there is always going to be someone that will say or do something hurtful, just because they have nothing better to occupy their time and mind. I try to remember that as I look at the picture of me and Christian. I try to remember that out of all of the reporters in that room, only one of them had the audacity to accuse me being after Christian's money, that most of them took the same stance as this caption...that this is the real deal and that I truly love this man, and he truly loves me.

* * *

**_GREY_**

Butterfly only stuck her head in briefly to tell me that she was going into her office for the rest of the afternoon assuming that the coast is clear. We really should have just gone home for the rest of the day and it is nearly half past three, but I have a feeling that I need to listen to what Welch has to say about the Pedophile and for some reason, Butterfly feels the need to make a hasty getaway. I don't press the issue and we say our goodbyes until later.

"So she has landed at SeaTac. Has she gone through customs yet?" I ask.

'She has, Sir. It appears that she had plans to go by the hospital, but she didn't know that Shane had already been released," Welch replied.

"Where is Shane now?"

"He's at home recuperating. He's still pretty weak but he was well enough to go home."

"Do the police have any leads?" I ask.

"No, Sir. Shane is not saying anything so they don't know where to start. You were right about the investigation into his parents. As soon as the doctors saw the bruising on his back and the signs of bondage, procedures were begun to remove him from the home. Your father represented the Hemsteads and worked it out that Shane would be able to return to his parents. I don't know how he convinced the authorities and the court in such a short time, but I am pretty certain that it has to do with the fact that they were not present when he was beaten and brought to the hospital, so it's perfectly believable that they had nothing to do with his prior abuse as well. In addition, he won't give any information concerning who _is _responsible for the abuse as well as who beat him to a pulp. So we are pretty much back at square one on all fronts, Sir, because you know that his parents aren't going to let him out of their sight...unless, of course, that woman convinces them to let her mentor him or look out for him." Like she did to Grace with me.

"Fuck!" I run my hands through my hair. "He's a sitting duck unless someone tells the Hemsteads about the Pedophile and that won't fly without proof."

"No offense, Sir, but aren't those bruises proof enough?"

"They're proof of _what, _but not _who." _I inform him. "You've got pictures of her in sexually compromising positions with this child! How much more do you need?"

"I'm not sure if it's enough," he responds. "The pictures are _compromising_ but not necessarily _damning._"

"You only have to kill someone _once_ to be charged with their murder. We need to make this stick." There simply has to be a way. "Where's Stampwell?" Welch punches a few numbers in his blackberry.

"Well, he should be in class, but he's at a little deli in the Marketplace right now." I rub my chin in contemplation.

"Let's go. I need to talk to this kid."

He's sitting at the counter with his head down. He's not a bad looking kid—dark brown hair, tall, muscular build...she certainly has a type. From a distance, he looks like a younger version of me...except for the hair color, that is. I take a seat next to him. Even his mannerisms are a little like mine. His hair is mussed all over his head, a total telltale that he has been pulling on it or running his hands through it. He's nursing a cup of coffee and he really looks like shit—bags under his eyes, cheeks sunken a bit—kind of like I looked when Butterfly wouldn't speak to me. How long has it been for this kid? Did she recently release him because he's nursing a broken heart.

"It's fucked up when you really want her and she doesn't want you anymore," I say gesturing to the waitress.

"Excuse me?" Stampwell says, bemused.

"What can I get for you, Handsome?" The waitress says to me.

"Coffee, please." She nods, puts a cup in front of me and pours the coffee. "Let me know if I can get anything else for you, Sugar," she says before going to the other end of the counter. I take a sip of my coffee.

"She does all of this stuff to you. She gets you hooked. She makes you want to be around her all of the time. She makes you want to be with her. She makes you think you're special. She makes you think you're the only one. The next thing you know, you go off to college or you grow up and you start a business and she doesn't want you anymore."

Stampwell looks at me like a UFO has just landed and he watched me step out of it. I can read his facial expressions because I used to _be_ him, so I know what he's thinking:

_Does he know?_

"Yes, I know," I continue. "You don't want to believe it, but what she did to you was abuse, and you're feeling the results of it right now because you can't even get on with your life. All you can do is follow her around and want to be with her and see who she's with to the degree that now, you're beating up on her current lover because she is showing him more attention than she is showing you." His pale blue eyes get large—_very_ pale blue, almost gray...almost like mine.

"Are you a cop?" He asks, swallowing hard. Here it comes. I'm taking a big chance doing this, but I have to do something. I can't let this go on.

"No, Kid. You don't know who I am?" He shakes his head. "I'm Christian Grey." He again looks at me like a little green man from Mars, then his face fills with disbelief.

"_The_ Christian Grey? Get outta here, you're not Christian Grey," he says.

"I need you to keep it down, Kid. This is very serious. If you don't believe me, you've got your iPad there. Google me." I take another drink of my coffee and I watch picture after picture of Anastasia pop up on the screen before even one picture of me shows up. Even then it's a picture of me standing next to Anastasia.

"Okay, so you're Christian Grey. What do you want with me?" he deadpans.

"I'd like to talk to you further, but I need your assurance that our conversation will stay between us and I won't talk about it in a public coffee shop. The information that I have to share is too delicate for that." He pauses for a moment then says, "You have my word."

"No, Kid, I need it in writing." He looks at me strangely then nods.

"I'm only doing this because I want to know what this is about," he says, looking back at his iPad. "Cute girl. That your girlfriend?" I nod.

"That's my Butterfly." He nods this time.

"So, what do I need to do, get a letter from Mommy or what?" Smart ass, yeah...he's me.

"Come with me back to my office, GEH headquarters."

"How do I know you're not some crazed, psycho, rapist guy or something?" He asks.

"You just Googled me!" I almost lose my temper. "Drive your own car, meet me at GEH. I'll be waiting for you." I leave $20 with the waitress and leave the deli with Welch and Jason in tow. "Good God, she found somebody just like me and he's getting on my nerves already. How do you deal with me on a long term basis?"

"Lots of practice," Jason replies.

Twenty minutes later, I am waiting in the lobby hoping that Stampwell decides to come and hear what I have to say. His Mercedes SLS Roadster convertible pulls up in front of the building and I send Taylor to go and park it in the garage while Welch escorts him into the lobby. I point to the visitor's log at the information desk.

"Sign in." He looks at me then signs in. Evans, the front desk night guard, gives him a visitors pass then he, Welch and I take the express elevator up to my office.

Once in my office, I explain to him that he has to sign an NDA and that I was going to tell him very confidential information about me that only a handful of people know. So if it gets out, I'll know who said something.

"Be very certain that you will not say anything about what I am about to tell you, because I will ruin you if you do." He nods uncertainly and signs the NDA.

"She did the same thing to me. She made it damn near impossible for me to have a normal relationship with a normal woman once she was done with me. It took several years to escape the hold that she had on me. Now that I have, I just want to help others that she has hurt...hopefully stop her from getting her clutches into more young boys."

"But you're rich and successful," he protests. "She calls you her greatest accomplishment." My eyes get large.

"She _talks_ about me?" I bark.

"Not by name, no, but once you told me who you were and how you're talking about her, I know that it's you she's talking about. I didn't know you were...like me...young. I thought you were older. I thought I was special." Yeah, so did I, Kid. "She wanted me to be like you. She called you 'her favorite pet.'" He shook his head in disgust. "I _hated _that."

"I can imagine," I say. "So how old were you when this started?" He looked up at me then down at his hands.

"Fourteen. My parents were getting a divorce and they were so busy trying to hurt each other that they just forgot that I even existed. Our personal lives—all of our dirty laundry—was splashed all over the news for everybody to see. God, I hated it so much. They were having a custody battle over me, but I don't know why because neither of them acted like they wanted me. I found out later that whoever got the kid got child support. From beginning to end, it was all about the money. The whole thing was all about the money." He looks downright maudlin when he discusses this part of his life.

"How did she get to you?" I ask.

"She was sexy. She was interested. She showed me attention when nobody else did. I would have done anything she asked," he confessed.

"You do realize what she did to you is considered abuse, don't you?" His eyes shoot up and he glares at me sharply.

"No! She didn't abuse me! I consented to it! She approached me and I said 'yes.' This is what I wanted. I even want it _now,"_ he defends.

And another one bites the dust.

"That's just it, Morgan. Your brain is not going to accept that you were abused because you consented to it...because it was what you wanted. There's a reason that we have this thing called a _legal age of consent. _Before that age of consent, you _can't _consent. So, no, you didn't consent to it! It's no different than if I go and screw an underage girl. Just because she said _yes,_ does that make it okay?

"I have a little sister, and I always ask myself how I would have reacted if this had happened to her. People hate to personalize this type of thing. People hate to hear 'What if this was _your_ child?' People hate when they are put in that situation where they have to face what they would do if this happened to their teenage daughter or sister or son or brother, but it's still the same. If you had a little sister or a little girl, would you still be willing to say that it was okay that a grown ass man had sex with your teenage sister?"

"That's different," he protests.

"How?" I ask appalled.

"She's a _girl_!" he says like it's supposed to be obvious.

"She's a _child_!" I insist. "Girl or boy, she's a child! Just like you were a child, she's a child! These laws are in place to keep these damn predators from getting their hands on children...not to mention that for an experienced adult to sexually lust after a child is morally reprehensible and downright sick!" I say in frustration. I run my hands through my hair and it seems that Morgan has been stunned into silence again.

"I said the same thing, Kid. I wanted it. I liked it. I didn't want it to end. I kept coming back for it. My head was telling me that it was okay while it was happening. I loved it...it felt right. Even when it felt wrong, it felt right, but the way that you are feeling right now is the very reason that there is an age of consent. In their infinite wisdom, someone somewhere thought that by a certain age, you should have learned enough and had enough experience and knowledge to be able to rationally make your own decisions or at the very least be responsible for your own actions. Those same wise people felt that until you reached that age, you should be protected. Thus was born the age of consent, and at 14—no matter how grown you think you are or how maturely you acted—you. Weren't. There. Yet.

"How you are feeling right now—broken, angry, and empty—is the very reason why a grown, mature, experienced woman should not be seducing a young boy. Maybe, five out of ten of these young boys seduced by these pedophiles come out feeling great. They were approached by a hot older woman that wanted to show them the ropes and take their virginity. She made them feel good and it was all wonderful and, hey, they can go back and brag to their friends. However, she was still a dirty old bitch for touching that child. Also, for every one that came out of that smiling and happy like it was okay for this predator to exploit their arousal and weakness, there's more than one that _didn't_ come out okay. That's why it is not legal or moral for a grown woman to seduce or molest a young boy."

The more I talk, the more he listens, the more it seems he can see the truth in what I am saying.

"Young boys think with their dicks and young girls think with their hearts. Predators thrive on that. They're counting on a young boy's desire to screw a hot older woman or a young girl's desire to feel special and loved. They are counting on either that or the chance that the child may be easily influenced for whatever reason like you were influenced because of what was going on with your family or like I was influenced because I was a troubled teen. They use whatever assets they have to snare in these hormonal youngsters. They _prey_ on them. Instead going out to find another grown, experienced adult to fulfill their needs, they ensnare these children to satisfy them and their sick desires. It's no more correct for a predatory female to grab a 14-year-old boy than it is for a dirty old man to grab a 14-year-old girl. There's no difference, Son." I say calmly. He's sinking further and further down in the seat the more I show him that even though he was convinced that it was, this actually _wasn't_ his decision. He was controlled by something bigger than him. He was controlled by his nature and by the knowledge of an older, more experienced woman that he could be manipulated.

"She had you brainwashed; she had you all sexed up; she had you feeling like a million bucks. Now she's got you feeling like two cents. _This _is why there is a legal age of consent. If you make a bad decision at a legal age, that's your bad decision to live with. If there is a bad decision made for you before you are a legal age, you still have to live with it. Who's fault is that? It's one thing to have a relationship go sour and you have to get over the heartache of that relationship. It's another thing altogether to take advantage of a child and then use the excuse that the child said that it was okay for you to do that.

"In _no_ context is it okay for a grown woman to seduce a young boy—even if he likes it, even if he supposedly consents. In absolutely no context is it okay. When a kid doesn't _consent_ to it, they label it molestation. When a kid supposedly _consents_ to it, they call it statutory rape. Either way, it's amoral and illegal. You can dress it up, justify it, excuse it, and add any kind of pretty little bow on that you want—believe me, I did it for 14 years—but it's still abuse. You were still statutorily raped and she is still a pedophile." He wipes away a few tears as I continue.

"By the way, I'd like to make one thing perfectly clear. I am not _her _accomplishment! I built this on my own and I'm not going to let her take credit for this one more second! She took an unhealthy boy's obsession with his past and refocused it to another obsession that was just as unhealthy for a 15-year-old boy. When I became an adult, I couldn't function without her or it. I am almost 30 years old and I am just now having my very first healthy romantic relationship. _That's_ what she created—she created a man who was socially _incapable_ of connecting to another person. How many friends do you have, Morgan?"

He drops his head. No answer.

"What do you do on a Friday night besides follow her around?"

Still no answer.

"Are you fully into the lifestyle? Do you have a sub or a Domme?"

He shakes his head.

"Have you had a girlfriend since she left you high and dry for another teenager?"

He shakes his head again.

"Have you even gotten _laid_ since her?"

He shakes his head again.

"_That's _what she creates, Morgan—mindless, soulless men that follow her like puppies walking around waiting for her to give them that _love_ that she says is for fools. I don't know how many of us there are because she's been doing this for at least 17 years and most likely longer than that." He glares at me.

"How do you know that?" He breathes, horrified.

"I was 15. I wasn't her first. Three years before I fell into the net, she approached my brother. He was 14 at the time. You do the math." His head falls again. "You weren't the first and you already know that you're not the last." He shakes his head.

"She's a sick bitch," he says, softly and sorrowfully.

"Yes she is," I confirm, "and I need you to help me stop her." He looks up at me with teary eyes.

"Why are you so concerned?" He asks suspiciously. I sigh.

"Because it took me 14 years to escape her grasp. It took me 14 years to even start to attempt to live a normal life—with friends and a beautiful woman. It took me 14 years of closeted relationships with subs, hiding in shame, contracts and NDAs to realize what she had done to me. Only the love of a wonderful woman is helping me through the process of becoming human again, of being able to do all of those things that I missed out on because that sick bitch had me brainwashed—convinced that I wasn't worthy of love and that love, inside or outside of the lifestyle, was not for me. She had me completely convinced that her interpretation of the lifestyle was the closest to normal that I could ever have. As angry as I am though, it's not about revenge. It's about shame, and it's about my responsibility. If I had spoken up before my statute had run out, she wouldn't have gotten to you...or Shane...or countless other boys that she has victimized over the last two decades. Your statute hasn't run out yet, Morgan. Will you help me?"

He pauses and I can see the obvious war going on inside of him. He is in pain. He has just found out that the woman he loved—misguided as that love may be—is a sick pedophile that sleeps with young boys, turns them out, then throws them away when they are too old. The only one that she refuses to release is _me_—her favorite pet—and every young boy since me has been compared to me, held to that standard. No one has ever been good enough, so they are broken when she is done with them. Young Morgan screws his resolve after wiping away the tears that have fallen and asks,

"What do you need me to do?"

* * *

A/N: It was kind of rough to write this one because Christian had to go into that place where he had to admit that he had been victimized by Elena and then he had to share it with another victim. Both boys had "consented" to the relationship and it affected each boy - now men - quite differently. Nonetheless, both were victims and had to come to grips with it. Christian has been feeling mostly anger at this realization up until the point, but it's going to affect him differently in the near future even though for years prior he thought it was okay. Stay tuned...

Pictures at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/

Reviews are greatly appreciated!

Love and Handcuffs!  
Lynn x


	65. Chapter 65: Coming Home To Roost

**_Okay, so we only have a few more chapters to go. Remember, Book I will most likely be ending at chapter 68. I don't want anyone to say that they weren't informed. _**

**_To Gia - Hey, Girl. Keep in mind that if you live alone, you don't necessarily have _****_your_**_****__computer_**_ password-protected. He trusted his staff and his subs never went to his study. He trusted Elena to have the codes to his apartment, but she had him so brainwashed all of these years that he had no reason to think that she would tamper with his computer. Keep in mind that a lot of computers remember log-ins and passwords for you. If you can get pass the original Windows log-in, you can get into just about anything. So I would never make Christian so naive that he would give his company log-in information to Elena, but for the sake of the story, let's just say that he was a little lax with his home computer. :-o _**

**_To Sphinx - Thanks for reading and for your review. I do a little bit of both - planning and spontaneity. I have certain things already planned in my head that I want to see happen in the story and I just have to get it in writing. Other times, shit just happens! The characters go off on their own and I just have to follow them, lol. A really good example is that I wrote all of the characters in this story except for the original characters that came from E. L. James. How about I'm sitting at my desk one day literally GASPING because I didn't realize that Gary was a virgin until chapter 64...and I wrote the damn character! Shit just jumps out at me sometimes. The "make-him-beg" scene on Saba Island was one of two scenes that were born when I was writing another scene that I now have to push off to Book II. I have something like eight lemons that are waiting to be used. If I'm lucky, I'll fit in two or three of them before Book I ends. ;-)_**

**_Thanks to all of my reviewers. I'm still trying to catch up responding to you all. Thank you to my unregistered reviewers Carol, CG Girl (never lose faith in the Bronziness, lol!), Coral, Dora (my story will NEVER be a cheating story), hun, Jaimini, Laney, Melissa (anytime, my darling), Michelle b, Teresaromance, and to all of my guest reviewers that I can't PM. _**

**_Time to move on with the story-closing some doors for Book I and opening some new ones for Book II. _**

**_All previous disclaimers apply here. _**

_Chapter 65—Coming Home to Roost_

_**GREY**_

It's nearly 8pm when Jason and I make it back to Escala...and I forgot to call Butterfly. I was too concerned with putting things in motion with Morgan. He was crushed to hear those things about the Pedophile, especially from me..._her greatest accomplishment._ However, even at his young age, he could see the complete dysfunctionality of the situation. He could only see Shane as competition, not as another young victim of a sick mind. Once I was able to help him see that and the fact that there were so many more that will probably never come forward, he was very remorseful about his actions and only wanted to help put this sick bitch behind bars.

Thank God!

I advised him to go home and get some rest, have a good meal and we would formulate a plan of action. This would mean coming clean with his parents as well as helping to explain what happened to Shane. I'm not sure if the Hemsteads can be convinced not to press charges against him for the beating that Shane received, but I will ask Carrick to try. All of this will have to be done with no proof of my involvement, so I had to pass the information on to my dad who was only too happy to hear that we had someone willing to come forward on this predator. He assures me that even without Shane's cooperation, with Morgan's testimony and the pictures that Welch was able to get, we have enough evidence for a search warrant...and I'm sure she's toast after that.

When we walked into the great room, Gail is putting the remainder of dinner away. She threw a look at Jason that let me know he hadn't called home either. We are both probably in the dog house.

"I apologize, Mrs. Taylor," I began on Jason's behalf. "We had a last minute situation that couldn't be avoided. We both lost track of time and hadn't realized that we didn't call home."

"Don't give me that _Mrs. Taylor_ crap," she says, half angry and half jesting. "You've got bigger fish to fry. I didn't wake Ana for dinner because she seemed like she had such a rough day, I didn't want to disturb her just for her to have to eat alone."

"Ana didn't eat dinner?" What the hell? _What_ rough day?

"No, she came in, took a bath, and very shortly thereafter, she was asleep."

"She said she had a rough day?" I ask. As far as I knew, she was here until she went to GEH for the press conference, then she went to her office. She only could have been there for two hours tops. What was so rough about her day, beside the blonde bimbo that asked her about my money?

"Well, she didn't _say _that she had a rough day, but she was a bit out of sorts. She was very upset about something one of the reporters had said to her..." I knew it, "...then she said something about saying things that she shouldn't have said. After that, she went to your room and she hasn't been out since." Is she upset about what happened? I mean, reporters are assholes, but of course, Butterfly hasn't come face to face with that realization yet.

"How long has she been asleep?" I ask.

"About two and a half hours," she replies. I sigh heavily. She's probably pissed at me. I walk into our bedroom and find her laying out on our bed in the shortest little shorts and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail. She looks like a college kid. Soft music is coming from her iPod and her tablet is in her hand. I go to move it and the screen comes alive. There is a picture on her desktop of the two of us standing at the elevator at GEH. I was just looking at that picture not two hours ago. I wonder if we were looking at it at the exact same time?

I squat down next to the bed and kiss both of her eyes, then her nose, then her cheeks, then her lips. She whimpers slightly.

"Baby...wake up. You need to eat."

"Hmm?" She protests.

"You need to eat, Butterfly. It's getting late," I say kissing her lips again.

"What time it is?" She asks trying to open her eyes.

"Nearly eight," I say stroking her hair.

"Eight?" She protests weakly. "Why did you let me sleep so long?"

"It's only been a couple of hours, Butterfly. Besides, Jason and I just got in." She glares at me.

"You just got in? What...?"

"I'm so sorry that I'm so late and I didn't call you, but I had to talk to a kid about a Pedophile," I say cutting her off.

"What?" I can imagine that must be the strangest thing to hear when you are just waking up. I sit on the edge of the bed and she sits up, stretching her arms and legs.

"Lincoln was in Anguilla. She found out that we were there when the paparazzi discovered it and she flew down there just as we were leaving."

"How did you find this out?" she asks.

"The mole...she was an ex-sub of Lincoln's." Butterfly's face fell. I don't dare try to figure out what she was thinking. "Apparently, during one of the hiring campaigns, Lincoln accessed my home computer and entered Meyers as a candidate for PR. She's been watching me for three years, reporting my every damn move." I run my hands through my hair. This woman inserted herself into every possible aspect of my life.

"Meyers leaked that we were in Anguilla so that the paps could find us and Lincoln could just show up, but by the time she got there we were already gone. She got back today and immediately planned on seeing Shane, but he was released to his parents, which is a whole new mess by the way. Shane was almost removed from the home for the bruises left on him by Lincoln." Butterfly gasped.

"They thought his parents did that to him! Of course, they would—they have no evidence to the contrary," she deduced.

"Exactly. My father pulled some strings and got him released to the Hemsteads, but this isn't over...not by a long shot." I sigh heavily. "I know that Lincoln has wormed her way into the homes of many of Seattle society and Grace will not badmouth that woman for anything. So I'm afraid that if she's not exposed very soon, she will either weasel her way into the Hemsteads home and convince them to trust Shane with her to help 'get things straightened out' like she did with Grace and me, or that she will soon be moving on to another victim since Shane will be inaccessible. I just couldn't live with it, Butterfly. I couldn't let it go on." She scooted closer to me on the bed.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I located Morgan Stampwell and went to talk to him. The statute on his molestation hasn't run out yet. All I need is for him to press charges and tell the police what happened to him. Even if he doesn't have proof, with the pictures that we have of Lincoln with Shane, it's enough to get a search warrant. It would be great if we could get Shane to testify, too, but we may have to just go with what we have...and the bruises all over Shane—those speak for themselves."

"Oh, Christian," she puts her arms around my neck and pulls me close to her. It's the most wonderful feeling right now. I wrap my arms around her and smell her hair. I'm home. She pulls me back and looks into my eyes. "This must be so hard for you," she says, her voice full of compassion.

"It's hard to relive this shit now that the rose-colored glasses have been removed." I rub my eyes. "That kid looks just like me...same build, similar eyes and hair, same lost look in his eyes. She's been trying to find my doppelganger, Ana. All of these years, she's been trying to build a better mousetrap, so to speak. She's been trying to replace her favorite pet...her greatest accomplishment...and she's been telling this to these boys. They've been striving to be me and never quite making the mark and when they age out, she just leaves them high and dry...after she has ruined them." I stand and start pacing the room. "How many of them have there been? How many have there _really _been? We can estimate, but we don't really know. Was there one between Shane and Morgan that just didn't work out? Oh, Ana..."

I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I can't stand how this feels. I want to choke this woman and watch the life seep from her very eyes for what she has done. I still can't see how I was so blind for all of these years, and seeing the emotional torment that Morgan was suffering because of this discovery just makes me angry and sick and dizzy all at the same time. How can someone be so heartless, cruel, and selfish? Can't she see what she's doing these children? How can she just not care? How can she be so blind?

I'm not sure what happened next but I'm now on the floor and Butterfly is kneeling next to me. I swear, I must have clocked out for a minute because she's holding my face, calling my name, and crying her eyes out. Almost in slow motion, I see Jason and Gail rush into the room. Jason kneels next to Butterfly and I take her face in both of my hands.

"I'm fine," I say looking into her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm fine." I sit up and kiss her gently on the lips to calm her frantic breathing.

"What happened?" Jason asks as he extends a hand to help me up.

"He was talking about Elena and the next thing I knew, he just grabbed his hair and dropped. He couldn't even hear me," Butterfly explained, her voice shaking.

"I'm fine, really," I try to reassure them getting to my feet. It was just a bit much for a moment."

"Should I call Dr. Grey?" Gail asks.

"Oh, good God, don't call my mother," I say, waving my hand. My mom's a great doctor, but she'll treat me like a baby.

"Flynn?" Jason offers.

"It's too late, tonight. I'll call him tomorrow." Nobody knows more than I do that I definitely need to talk about this one, and I don't want to burden my Butterfly with all that she's already carrying.

"Will you be okay, Boss?" Jason asks, and I nod.

"I'll be fine. It was just a bit much to take is all," I say. "I really need to eat something, and so should you," I say to Butterfly. She nods at the suggestion and Jason and Gail leave the room. She comes over to me and loosens my tie.

"I can listen if you need to talk, Christian. I won't shrink you," she says pulling my tie from under my collar and pushing my jacket off of my shoulders.

"I know, Baby. I got Morgan to agree to press charges so that's the good thing, but I don't want to talk about that woman tonight. I really don't." She nods as she places my jacket on the bed and starts to unbutton my shirt. She removes my cufflinks and puts them on the chest of drawers, then pushes my shirt off of my shoulders and puts it on herself. She hasn't looked in my eyes since she took my jacket off of me. Now she's standing here in my shirt—which is longer than her shorts—undressing me and looking all adorable. I kick off my shoes and use my feet to remove my socks while she undoes my belt buckle and my pants. She pushes my pants down and they pool at my ankles.

She stands there for a moment, just looking at my body. I watch her eyes roam from my calves up my thighs past my pelvis over my abs and stop at my chest. Her fingers trace over the scars there and I wince a bit. I'm still not accustomed to the first touch but then my body realizes that it's Butterfly and I relax. Her lips replace her fingers as she gently kisses each cigarette burn as her hands travel over my biceps and down my forearms until they reach my hands. She brings them to her lips and she kisses each finger, so softly. She places my hand against her face and leans into my touch.

"I love you," she whispers looking into my eyes, loving blue to longing gray. "I'll never let her hurt you again."

"I know," I respond softly.

She launches herself into my arms and I catch her, kissing her madly and quickly walking over to the bed to lie down with her. My body covers hers and I frantically kiss every part of her face that I see. She is hope and love and all things good in my life. I want to absorb her essence into me and never let her go. There is a light tap at the door and Gail hesitantly says, "Christian, Ana, I've reheated dinner." I close my eyes and put my forehead to Butterfly's.

"Later?" I ask wistfully.

"Later," she breathes, pulling my face down to hers and kissing me again.

We join Jason and Gail in the kitchen after I dress in some jeans and a T-shirt. I feel the need to have people around me, so I ask them to join us for dinner. Gail has already eaten, but agrees to have a glass of wine at the table with us while we eat. Butterfly confessed her angst about the last question from the interview and forever being pegged as a gold-digger. I was able to comfortably discuss the whole Meyers situation and Carrick's next steps with Morgan and Shane, which will take place tomorrow. Gail mentioned that the press conference has been repeated most of the day and will no doubt make the morning headlines and gossip rags. Jason just interjected when he could, talking about the buzz around the office with the department head meeting tomorrow.

"I have a department head meeting at least once a month. Why is everybody all of a sudden so concerned about this one?" I state, already knowing the answer.

"Because they know somebody's head is going to roll," Jason responds before taking a forkful of his food.

"Damn straight," I comment. "If there were more concerned about their departments before now, we wouldn't be having this meeting."

"I bet they'll be concerned now," Butterfly interjects, and I nod. We comfortably have coffee and dessert, after which Gail and Butterfly clear the dishes and I excuse myself to take a much awaited shower.

I don't know what came over me. I just couldn't stand the thought of this woman with her claws in yet another boy...yet another child. I saw so much of me in Morgan. He looked so lost, so young for his life to be going down the drain already. He's only 19 and has no idea what he wants to do with his life, except chase this sick bitch around. It seemed so unfair. All of a sudden, I felt victimized all back over again—but it wasn't me, so I couldn't understand why I was feeling it. It was almost unbearable. I resign that I certainly must run this by Flynn when I talk to him again. I rinse my hair and step out of the shower. I feel world's better now.

I enter my bedroom to see my Butterfly standing next to my chest of drawers still wearing my shirt...and nothing else.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Gail asks as we put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher.

"I'm not sure. I'll be glad when he talks to Flynn. Every other time he's talked about her or this situation, he's either been pretty resolved or very angry. I've never seen him like that before. He seemed so vulnerable and helpless," I observe.

"I know. It was a little frightening. Flynn usually brings him back when he has some kind of episode like this. I wouldn't worry." She leans in and hugs me. "And now he has you, too. He'll be just fine." She smiles and I nod. "I'm going to turn in now. My husband is waiting for me."

"Goodnight, Gail. Sleep well," I say before heading back to the bedroom.

Christian is still in the shower when I get to the bedroom. My Blank and Jones playlist is still going and the room is filled with a combination of nature sounds and sweet music. It feels peaceful. I take off his shirt and remove my shorts and my tank top. I stand there naked for a moment, just letting the music wash over me, cleansing me like music often does when I am confused, distraught, or unhappy. I released my hair from the ponytail and let it cascade down my back. I let three songs wash away my troubles before I hear the shower stop. I put Christian's shirt back on and stand next to the chest of drawers with my eyes closed still enjoying the music until the en suite door opens.

I open my eyes to watch my man emerge from the steam of the en suite, his hair and chest still wet and a towel wrapped around his waist. His shirt is open, barely covering my breasts. I walk over to him and allow my fingers to glide across the dusting of wet hairs on his chest. He flinches a bit like he always does when I touch his chest, then I feel him relax under my fingers. I pay attention to the rise and fall of his chest before I kiss him there again, like I had done not two hours previously. I feel his heartbeat under my lips. I close my eyes and take in his scent as I trail my hands gently over his body. He shivers under my touch and it turns me on. I want him. I want to taste him and feel him and love him.

I untie the towel around his waist and let it fall to the floor. He is gloriously wet and the water his hair is dripping onto his chest. I slowly fall to my knees and kiss his stomach and his hips, the fronts of his thighs. The anticipation causes a twitch in his manhood. I stand and take his hand, lead him to the bed and lay him on his back. I watch him put the towel in his hand on the pillow behind his head as I stand at the foot of the bed, gazing at his magnificent body. I run my hands over myself—just once—my hips, my stomach, my breasts, before I lower myself onto the bed and place my lips on the tops of his feet.

He gasps again at the initial contact, but I believe it's because I have never done that before. My lips travel further up his body, and I leave open-mouthed kisses on his ankles, his calves, his shins, his knees—achingly slowly traveling to his thighs, his hipbones and straight across his pelvis. His breathing picks up and I can feel the heat increase between my legs. It's hard to keep this pace, but I need to go slowly...to savor the flavor of his skin, the feel of him on my tongue. I moan into his abs as I hold on to his hips.

"Mmmmm," I hear him moan as he absorbs my kisses. His hands gently grip the bedding as my lips travel back down to his pelvis and begin to explore that luscious "V" that leads to one of my favorite places on his body. I am trailing feather light kisses on the groove of his hips getting closer and closer to the sensitive skin in the crease of his thigh. His breath catches as I travel down the trail of his "V," planting open-mouthed kisses and tasting his flavor as I go. He stiffens as I worship his body, licking and tasting the moisture left behind by his recent shower. At this moment, I am appreciating the fact that my man works out as I watch his abs, his thighs, his pelvis, and of course his penis tense and flex in response to my taunting. He is deliciously sexy—a work of art and a masterpiece of the male form.

"Ana!" His voice is tortured as he fights to maintain his composure, still clinging to the duvet and breathing heavily as I pass my tongue slowly and languidly down one valley then the other, pushing his legs open to give me unfettered access to this area that drives him wild.

"Oh God!" The words tear from his throat, raspy and hoarse, and egging me on as I continue to tease his sensitive flesh. "Ana, please," he begs as I look up at him through my lashes. His eyes are molten, dark, fixed and unblinking begging me to put him out of his misery. I continue my assault on the tasty "V" and he groans in erotic agony as his manhood twitches magnificently, stroking the side of my cheek with each lick, each kiss. I want to relish this moment, his flavor, his smell; I'm taking my time—I will not be rushed.

Once I reach the southernmost part of his valley of pleasure, I dart my tongue out to slowly and deeply caress his testicles while I fist his erection and stroke long and firm. He growls at the sensation and his head falls back on the bed. I hold him at the base of his cock which stands at full attention for me. I take the head into my mouth and suck, running my tongue along the rim and point.

"Ah! Ah! Oh, God!" He cries in ecstasy as his stomach begins to tremble. I drop my head slowly so that my mouth strokes his erection, deep and long, then pull back strongly collecting every bit of moisture the down stroke left behind.

"God! Ana, you're going to kill me!" he exclaims, his knuckles now white from gripping the bedding. Oh no, Baby, I'm going to please you. I close my eyes and savor the flavor of his skin in my mouth, his most intimate place between my lips as I drop my head again on his erection, my lips meeting my hand this time.

"Oh, God, help me!" Okay, now I've got the man praying! I think we have liftoff! I increase my speed just a fraction, just enough to set a slow, delicious rhythm. I release the base of his erection and let my mouth do all the work while my hands wander up and down his hard body.

"Oh yes, Baby, yes," he croons as he begins to slowly stroke my mouth. Yes, that's what I want...feel me making love to you. His hands tangle in my hair but he gently holds my head and lets me set the pace. I manage to get a look at him again and his head is back, that position that he often takes when he is lost in ecstasy, his mouth is open and the tip of his tongue is pressed hard against his top lip. I continue to slowly drag my lips and tongue along his manhood, up and down, up and down, up and down. His fingers tighten in my hair but he still doesn't push my head. I know he's close, and he's letting me love him. I close my eyes and take him into my throat and his legs being to shake.

"Ana, Baby!" he cries as he deepens his stroke. He's still trying to control it, but he's losing the battle. His abs tighten violently and I know that he is trying not to thrust into my mouth. Without losing my rhythm, I drop down hard on him then rise and drop again. On the third drop, he groans loudly.

"Baby!" he pants. "Baby...here I come, Baby...aaahhh! Aaaaahh!" He releases gloriously into my mouth and down my throat, his cock twitching hard between my locked jaws. "Aaah...Ana, God! Aaah!" I release my jaws and run my lips up and down his still impressive and jerking erection. "B...Baby...aahh!" He releases his final juices into my mouth and his hips fall limp onto the bed as he breathes heavily in the aftermath of his orgasm. I begin the journey again along the sensitive skin between his thighs and he is twitching almost uncontrollably. After a couple of minutes he is rising again from the stimulation and I begin to kiss my way back up his body. His breathing is erotic as I kiss from his stomach to his chest and up to his neck. I am still wearing his shirt but it is open and my body is exposed so that I can feel his skin against mine.

His hands grip my hips over his shirt as I grind against him, my clitoris rubbing against his shaft. A gasp of air escapes me—it feels so good. I bite the skin on his neck and his hands travel around to my ass, grabbing it firmly and thrusting into me meeting my grind against him. I don't want to make a sound. I don't want to distract the feeling from him, but this feels so good and I know that he's aware of it. He's watching me as I am breathing hard, my legs wrapped around his thighs, my hands on his chest, and my clit grinding into his erection—over and over again. I'm breathing through my open mouth, refusing to cry out but quickly approaching my first release...any...second...now...

I whimper quietly as fire sears through my clitoris and up through my hips. As I start to shake, he holds my hips steady against him and tenderly kisses my neck as the pleasure flows through me. When my release ebbs, I grab his face in my hands and kiss him hungrily and passionately while adjusting my hips just enough to slide onto his erection while my muscles are still pulsating. I gasp into his mouth at the unbelievable fullness. He grasps me strongly around my waist.

"Aw, fuck!" he exclaims quietly as I slowly start to stroke him. I take his mouth again and work him deeply, pulling him into me balls deep on each grind and feasting on his kisses like a starving woman. He's groaning into my mouth trying to hold me against him as my hips mercilessly ride his impressive shaft. I come up for air but keep my hands on his face and his lips close to mine.

"Rien n'est mieux que nos corps profondément enlacé," he groans, pleasure heavy in his voice. Oh my God, he's speaking French as he raises his hips only slightly on each down stroke.

"Christian," I whimper, "te sentir glisser en moi, me remplir à perfection. Je n'ais jamais connue une telle sensation..."

"moi non plus, mon amour, mon soleil, mon Papillon," he breathes and we are locked in a kiss again.

We were at it forever it seems. One of us would reach a near-climax and slow down because we didn't want it to end, only to build back up to the fiery passion that we were feeling before. The ebb and flow continued until both our bodies were drenched in sweat and crying for release. When we could finally hold out no more, our cries floated across Elliot Bay as our cosmic orgasms ripped our bodies in two.

_Oh...mon amour..._

* * *

_**GREY**_

She is so hot...so sexy. We are both dripping when it was all over but we don't dare try to move. She is completely spent and splayed across my body, my flaccid manhood still cocooned inside of her. We are lying on top of the duvet and I have no idea how to cover us without disturbing this awesome post-coital cuddle we have going on. Fuck it. I hit the switch near the headboard and turn out the bedside lamp, then I grab the duvet on either side of us and wrap us in it like a burrito. I am asleep in moments.

I awake the next morning and we are still wrapped in the duvet, but Butterfly has rolled over onto the bed and has somehow molded her body into mine. Her hair is all over my face and I don't even know how I slept like this. I have her clamped securely in my arms and legs. When I inhale, I catch the strong scent of Butterfly and almost slide back into comfort again. _That's _how I was able to sleep through the night with a face full of hair. I stretch my free arm and leg then reluctantly move Butterfly's hair from my face. I kiss her neck and ear before running my hand along her body.

"Mmmmm," she whimpers, "fifteen more minutes, please." She is too adorable.

"I don't know about you, Butterfly, but I have to get into the office. This is going to be a shitstorm of a day for me." I kiss her neck again.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about what you have your plate today," she says sleepily with a stretch. She is still wrapped in my dress shirt from yesterday and her pink nipple taunts me as she stretches. I lean down and suck it into my mouth, just to get an early morning taste of her skin.

"Oh, no you don't, Mr. Grey," she purrs while playfully pushing my head away from her. "You said you need to get to the office, and I don't want you in the office late like you were yesterday so jump to it, Gorgeous."

"Mmm, _Gorgeous..._ I like that. How about a little quickie before I dash?" I grab her leg and, in one quick movement, roll her over to straddle me and onto my morning woody. She gasps as I slip into her, and her warmth wraps around me.

"What makes you think you can make me come quickly?" she says, her voice breathy with desire.

"The fact that I know your body and I know what you like," I respond grinding my hips up into hers. A second gasp lets me know that I'm right. "Do you want me to prove it?" I ask seductively.

"Show me what you got, Grey," she says with a "come hither" smirk on her face.

"Are you going to fight it?" I ask rocking my pelvis into her core. She shakes her head.

"Uh-uh," she groans while biting her lip. I flip her over quickly without losing my stroke and raise her knees up to my hips. Now I'm fucking, dick going into her balls deep on each down stroke, grinding and digging into that pussy like the buried treasure that it is. That sex sheen shows up on her body almost instantly.

"Oh!" She moans in pleasure as I push her to the edge with deep, deliberate strokes.

"Hands over your head," I command softly and she reaches for the headboard. My shirt on her falls open and her highly aroused breasts are looking up at me. Not yet, Ladies...almost. I hook my arm under her left knee and raise it higher, opening her core wider to my growing, throbbing cock. I feel her getting wetter as I work that poor little pink pussy.

"Mmmmmmm." A tortured moan escapes her chest.

"Do you feel it, Baby?" I coo, maintaining the deep stroke and grinding into her soft center and pretty little clitoris.

"Yes...oh, yes..." she breathes, panting heavily and clenching her fists above her head.

"Do you want it?" I coax, seductively. I feel her tightening around me. I told you I knew your body, Butterfly.

"Yes...oh, God...yes, please..." That's it, Baby, one good hard one for the road.

"Then feel it, Baby, take it!" I growl as I grind hard into her on those last two words. She starts that falsetto cry that lets me know she is about to come. I quickly move my hands to her hands, tangling my fingers in hers and holding them down while simultaneously sucking one of her luscious nipples into my mouth.

"Ah! Christian, Baby!" she sings as she writhes underneath me. I rotate my hips, grinding into her and drawing out her orgasm. It takes me a little longer to reach mine, but with a little concentration, a mouth full of nipple, and a warm and wet pussy on my cock, I find my release about a minute or so after she does. We lay on the bed, breathless and sated after our quickie.

"Wow," she breathes, "I didn't think we could do it that fast."

"That's because we're always concentrating on prolonging the pleasure and never on just finding the release," I say, kissing her neck then her cheek.

"That's a good thing though." She closes her eyes and relaxes on the bed underneath me.

"A very good thing, but now we know we can do quickies, too," I laugh and she giggles with me. "I love to hear you laugh."

"I love to hear you laugh, too," she says. "You're always so serious." I sigh.

"Well, as much as I hate to break up this lovely coupling, I do need to get to the seriousness this morning. Carrick is meeting me and Morgan at my office this morning and they are going to proceed with Operation Down With The Pedophile." I kiss her quickly on the lips and roll off of her, both of us wincing as I withdraw. "What time do you need to be in the office?"

"I'm going in at about 9:00. My first patient isn't until 11 and I only scheduled two patients today. It's going to be a light week, but I'll be back to normal next week." She replies. I stand up knowing that I need another shower after our sweaty tryst last night.

"Do you want to shower with me?" I ask. She shrugs her shoulders and follows me to the en suite. We quickly shower and choose our clothes for the day. I have an extremely serious and stressful day ahead of me and I need every fucker that comes in contact with me today to know that I mean business. On that note, I grab my James Bond Brioni black suit and tie. I know this suit speaks to you before you see it coming and that's what I need. I am only in boxers and socks by the time Butterfly makes her way to the closet. I dress in shirt, tie, pants, shoes and jacket, then return to the closet for cufflinks. I am frozen at the door as I watch Butterfly bending over in Agent Provocateur black bra and panties and straightening her stocking.

For the love of fuck! I just fucked this woman and she is making me want to fuck her again!

She slides into a sleek maxi skirt with taupe and black chevron designs and a black sleeveless mock turtleneck. She sits down to put on her Christian Louboutin black leather covered and taupe suede boots and she still doesn't realize that I'm watching her. She is picking jewelry out of the box on the island when she finally catches a glimpse of me leaning against the door frame and turns around to look. Like me five minutes ago, she freezes on the spot. She looks like a deer caught in headlights.

"Whoa," she breathes, the word barely escaping her lips. Okay, _that's _the response I wanted. Now I know this is the right suit. I stroll over to her and put my arms around her waist.

"You look ravishing, Butterfly," I whisper seductively in her ear while nipping her earlobe.

"So do you," she says, softly, leaning into my lips.

"Still wearing the turtlenecks I see." I say with a smirk.

"I forgot about the tea," she says clearing her throat, "so I had to stop by my condo and get some more 'hickey hiding' clothing." She smirks back at me.

"Mmmm, how many of these do you have?" I ask, exposing her neck. She puts her hand on my chest.

"Oh, no you don't, Grey," she says pushing me back gently. "I refuse to wear turtlenecks for the rest of my life." She adds firmly. I smile and kiss her on the cheek, then go in search of black cuff links. "So, what happens today? Do you go with Morgan to make the statement, or how does that work?" She pulls out a pair of black and gold chevron earring and a black and gold fan necklace. I swear she has accessories for every outfit that she owns. Then again, so do I.

"No, I won't be involved at all. Carrick and Morgan are meeting at my office and Welch will give Carrick the evidence that we have gathered. Carrick will then take Morgan to the Hemsteads to talk to Shane and his parents. I have left it up to Morgan to decide if he will confess to the attack. He says that he was incognito when he attacked the boy so Shane probably wouldn't be able to identify him anyway. I don't know how they plan to handle that. If all goes well, Shane will make a report as well, but I wouldn't count on it." I snap my cufflinks into place.

"So they'll get a search warrant on her house? How long does that usually take?"

"I don't know. Carrick says it could be anywhere from almost immediately to God only knows. With the welfare of a child at stake, I would think they would move pretty quickly." I straighten my tie as Butterfly dons a black and gold bracelet. "How do I look?"

"Like you're ready to kick some ass," she responds, placing a kiss on my lips. "What happened last night, Baby, when you collapsed? You scared me." I really don't want to talk about that right now. I know what happened, I think, but I need my mind to be clear today. She must have read my body language and threw up her hands. "I'm sorry, I won't ask again. Just...go so Flynn, okay?" She beseeches me and I nod.

"I'll call him today," I promise. "Happy now?"

"Don't get sarcastic with me, Christian," she chides gently. "One minute, you're telling about your day and the next you're a crumpled mess on the floor pulling at your hair. I love you and you scared me, damn it!" Okay, she's getting a little upset now. I take her in my arms again and kiss her on the cheek.

"I'm sorry, Baby. I'll go talk to Flynn, okay?" I say contritely. She examines me for a moment and then nods. I kiss her once more before we leave the room for breakfast.

* * *

At approximately 9:00am, Carrick and Morgan walk into my office. I don't know if Morgan looks better or worse than he did last night. I gesture to them to take a seat and summon Welch to bring the evidence that he gathered to my office. I sit on my desk in front of Morgan.

"Are you still up for this, Son?" I ask him. He looks like he hasn't slept all night.

"I guess so," he says. He sounds defeated.

"I want you to talk to someone about what you've been feeling. I think it will help you a lot." He looks up at me.

"You mean, like a shrink?" Oh, he didn't like that idea.

"Yes, I mean a shrink." I confirm.

"I don't need a shrink, Man. I'm not crazy!" he spits.

"Neither am I, but I've been talking to one for years."

"Yeah, and look how that worked out for you. You told me last night that you just got to the point where you could have a normal life."

"That wasn't because the doctor didn't help me, Morgan. That was because I wouldn't listen. He had been telling me all along that this was unhealthy and that she had victimized me. _I _wouldn't listen, and it cost me dearly. I don't want to see that happen to you." I implore him. He sits back in his chair and folds his arms.

"I'll think about it," he answers defiantly. Baby steps...let's get this police report done first.

"That's all I ask," I respond just as Welch enters the room.

"Here's the information that you requested, Sir." Welch hands me the envelope with the evidence that he was able to collect on the Pedophile with Shane. I take it out of the envelope and look it over myself. It was no mistake that I handed the information to Carrick with the picture of a collared Shane in his underwear on top of the stack. Morgan caught a glimpse of the photograph and immediately became enraged again.

"How long did you say she's been doing this?" Morgan asked.

"At least 17 years," I respond. Carrick throws a disapproving look at me. He knows exactly what I did, but I had to do it. I couldn't risk him getting halfway to the police station and losing his resolve.

"Well, we should be able to secure a search warrant with Morgan's testimony, this evidence and the report from the hospital," Carrick assures me. "Christian, a word?" Oh, here we go, a lecture from Daddy. We step into the secret room off from my office for privacy. "I know what you're doing, Christian and it's horrible. We're manipulating this kid for our own purposes and it's no better than what Elena did to him!"

"I have to disagree with you, Dad," I protest. "Yes, he is being manipulated to tell the truth and get this out in the open, but this is nothing like what that sick bitch did to him. For one thing, he has a choice—he can walk away and decide not to say anything against her. I doubt that she made it clear that he had a choice when she victimized him...which leads me to my second point. Unlike when he was in the clutches of that sick, twisted bitch, he is not a victim. He's holding all of the cards now. Finally, he's an adult. He is responsible for his own actions and able to make his own decisions. He's not an underage teenage boy being molded to be the perfect submissive. Having said that, in the future I would sincerely appreciate it if you would never ever compare me to that vindictive whore again in your life. Can we please agree on that?"

I had no idea I was scolding my father until I had completed my speech. The look on his face is a mixture of several emotions all tied up in one moment, the most prevalent of which I think is shock. When he came back to himself, he said, "I'm sorry, Son. I shouldn't have made that comparison, but this is just an awful thing to do to a young man that's already hurting." I can concur with that.

"Dad, this small amount of discomfort for Morgan is a whole lot better than continuing to throw Shane to that dog. This could help with his healing. As a matter of fact, I'm sure that it will. It's a necessary evil. Our only other option is to let her get her hands on another kid. You choose." He knows that I'm right.

"Ugh!" he grunts. "I just hate that these children have to go through this!"

"I know, Dad. Me too."

Morgan and Carrick leave my office and I can't help my trepidation about the meeting they are about to have with the Hemsteads. How will Morgan handle telling them that he was molested by the Pedophile? Will he admit to being the one that assaulted Shane? Will Shane admit to what has happened between the Pedophile and him once all of the evidence has been presented? I hope beyond all hope that everything falls into place.

I spend the next couple of hours combing through reports that I have gathered of expenditures and protocols of each department for what has been affectionately named the "Heads Will Roll" Department Head Meeting this afternoon when I get a call from the front security desk. Why the hell are they calling me?

"Grey."

"_Sir, I am at the first floor security desk. I need permission to forcibly remove this woman!"_ It's Jason and he is clearly at the edge of his sanity and wants to put his foot in the ass of some female. I can hear a woman shrieking like a damn banshee in the background, now calling Jason every disparaging name that she can muster and demanding that he hand her the phone. _"Woman, if you come near me, I will gladly break your neck!"_ Oh, Jason is pissed. Who the hell is this? Some ex-sub who saw the press conference from yesterday? That Meyers woman that I fired trying her hand at blackmail again?

"Who is it, Jason?" I asked.

"Lincoln, Sir." Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me! Does this woman have a death wish? I am doing everything possible to ensure her demise and she insists on walking into the lion's den.

"Bring her up." I instruct him. He's quiet for a moment.

"Are you sure, Sir?"

"I sure am. Bring her ass up here." She's still ranting and raving in the background.

"_Shut up before I slap you!" _Jason yells, and all is silent. Jason has shed all of his professionalism...I think she had better shut up. _"Listen to me carefully, Lady, and I'm using that term loosely. I don't care who you think you are; I don't respect you; I don't even fucking like you. As instructed, I am going to take you to see Mr. Grey. However, if you make one sound besides breathing before we get to his office door, I'm going to grab you by that mass of blonde hair and drag you out of here by your black roots. Is that clear?"_ I don't hear a response on the other end so I can only assume that she must be nodding. _"On my way, Boss." _

"See you when you get here." I stand and straighten my suit. Since this must be the first battle of the day, so be it. I crack my neck like I'm about to get into the ring because as far as I'm concerned, I am.

A few moments later, I hear the "ding" of the elevator and a very angry pair of what I suspect are Jimmy Choos clicking across my reception area. She bursts through the door in a black satin pants suit, the jacket buttoned just below the breast boasting the sides of her $10,000 boob job—no shirt, no bra. Personally, I think she paid too much. She stops short just inside the door. It's apparent that her intention was to seduce me, but I know women, and she is extremely aroused right now. Yes, I know it, I look good—better today than usual—but stop drooling because there is nothing here for you. Jason nearly knocks her down as he brushes past her and comes into the office. The blow jolts her out of her longing gaze as she says, "You can tell your guard dog to leave now!"

"Oh, no, he stays. What do you want?" I ask, perturbed.

"What are you trying to do to me!?" She barks. Well, I'm trying to put your slimy ass in jail, but what are you talking about?

"Care to elaborate?" I say, putting one hand in my pocket and standing like a GQ model.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" she responds, trying to maintain her anger but losing a bit to her arousal. "Sound Community! You pulled your backing and they called in the loan!"

"I told you that if you kept doing what you were doing that I was going to pull my backing. You were warned and you didn't listen, now deal with it."

"What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Christian? I've already sold one of my buildings for much less than it was worth and now I'm paying fucking rent. What do you expect me to do?"

"Not my problem. If that's why you came here, you can leave." I walk back around to my chair and sit down. Genuine sadness fills her eyes...and I don't feel a thing for her.

"We used to be so good together. We were so close. What happened to us? Why are you pushing me away so badly?" Is she fucking serious? She can't be serious. I glare at her.

"You should know when to quit, Lincoln. Your problem is that you don't. You have no idea when to throw in the towel and say, 'I lose.' You just keep going and going until you have lost everything of any importance to you and then you stand there blaming other people for your fuck ups. You didn't think I would find that little bitch that you planted in my PR department?" Apparently, the little bitch hasn't contacted her yet because a look of utter horror comes across her face.

"Yes, _Elena_," I spit her name with utter disdain, "she has been discovered and terminated, and guess who foiled you again? Anastasia! She's the reason that we discovered that there was a mole _and_ she's the one who discovered that the mole was in PR."

Her expression has gone from horror to hatred. "She's ruined everything for us. _Everything_! We were fine until she came along!"

"No! _We _weren't fine! _You _were fine! You had everything you wanted until my brother told me that you tried to recruit him. Then your little world started falling apart. This facade of lies and deceit that you built up all of these years is finally crumbling at your fucking feet. Even now, you can't say 'I, Elena Lincoln, fucked up!' It has to be me or Elliot or Ana or anybody but you. It's amazing though that all of these people that you say fucked up are happily going on with their lives while yours is shattering in your fucking face!"

"I will fucking sue you!" she screeches. "You bad faith bastard! We had a deal! You agreed not to pull your financial backing from me! It's in the damn contract!"

"And you agreed not to contact me without an appointment and legal representation. Yet not only did you send me that ludicrous email before I left town, but you called me 14 times while I was on vacation and proceeded to insult my girlfriend. Then you send the paparazzi after me so that you can stalk me all the way to Anguilla. Oh, and let us not forget that I recorded your little pet telling me that not only did you plant her in my company, but also that you were planning to pimp her out to me once she gave you what you needed. So be my guest...sue me, Mrs. Lincoln. I will take your fucking ass to the cleaners and leave you in the gutter where you belong!"

She looks like she is ready to throw a full-fledged temper tantrum. "I. Will. Kill. Her!" She growls.

"Not if she sees you coming," I say calmly. "You should know that I watched her dismantle three guns in my apartment. She keeps at least one of them with her at all times. Ever since the kidnapping, she's never without one. If she smells you in her general vicinity, she will blow you away. So I suggest that you rethink that plan of action." Again, from horror and anger.

"She has guns in your apartment? What has she done to you!? You hate guns!"

"Oh, cut the fucking crap!" I snap. "Find fault wherever you want, I don't care. I love that woman and nothing that you do is ever going to come between us. So you might as well give up because I am very swiftly losing my patience with you. Now get the fuck out of my office; I've got a company to run here." Her pocket starts buzzing but she ignores it.

"I'm not leaving until you call Sound Community and tell them that this was a mistake. I will be nearly bankrupt trying to repay that loan!" She screams.

"You should have thought of that before you planted a mole in my company, harassed me, and insulted my girlfriend. That woman was kidnapped and is trying to heal from a horrible ordeal and all you can think about is how to exploit or torment her...and you're losing! You're losing terribly and you're too blind or stupid to see it!" Her pocket is buzzing again. She takes out her phone and ignores an incoming call.

"You're the blind one, Christian. She's manipulating you, can't you see it? Can't you see what she's doing to you?" And her pocket is buzzing again. Bitch, answer the damn phone.

"Well, I'd rather be manipulated by her than manipulated by you any day." I come out from behind my desk and stand in front of her. Her breath catches as I glare down at her. "She loves me, Elena, inside and out. With all my flaws and all of my fucked up baggage, she loves me...unconditionally. She did something that you could never ever do...she makes me whole. She's slowly replacing all of those bad memories that you left me with; she's showing me how a woman is supposed to treat a man, how it feels to be complete. There's nothing in the world that you can do or say to make me ever turn my back on that. I would die first, and if that means that I am being manipulated then I will gladly be manipulated, but you will never get your claws into me again." She's panting because I am in her face. This dumb bitch probably hasn't heard a word I've said.

"How can you love her and not me? I made you!" She's still screaming and her phone is still buzzing.

"You didn't make me, you sick bitch, you broke me! You made it so that I couldn't even function in a regular world, around normal people—around my fucking family! You made me, alright. You made me into an emotionally stunted shell of a man. I was already struggling as a boy and you just made it worse!"

_Buzz, buzz._

"I couldn't enjoy the fullness and the pleasure associated with the lifestyle because you had me in back alleys all the time, doing crazy, demeaning shit to me and calling it 'normal'—but, I'm enjoying it now Elena. I'm enjoying it to the fullest—not in the sick way that you introduced me, though. Anastasia and I are exploring new avenues, options that you never bothered to show me because you knew that it meant I would have to connect with someone."

_Buzz, buzz._

"You were never capable of showing those options because it would have meant that you had to put someone else before you, before your own selfish desires."

_Buzz, buzz._

"God damn it, answer your fucking phone!" I snap. She shook herself out of the stupor that had taken hold of her and looked at her phone.

"For Christ's sake, Annette, what is it!?" Her eyes grow wide and all of the color drains from her face as Annette speaks on the other line. "What!?" She gasps, turning toward the window. I wonder if Sound Community is initiating immediate foreclosure on one of her salons? "On what grounds!? Who could have possibly..." She suddenly freezes and whips around to look at me. "Don't let them near the library." She says frantically into the phone. "Just try to keep them away from the library! I'm on my way!" She glares at me as she ends the call. "Did you do this to me?"

"Whatever it is, you most likely did it to yourself, but what the fuck is 'anybody-but-Elena's' fault now?" I ask.

"The...police are searching my house...and all of my salons!" My eyes grow large.

"What the fuck...!?" My surprise is genuine only because I didn't believe they could get a search warrant that soon. Go, Morgan! "Why? Why?" I exclaim, giving my best performance of shock.

"I don't know. Annette said they have a warrant and that they're looking for evidence of child pornography." Child...pornography? Where did that come from?

"What!?" I roar. I guess if she's taking pictures of underage children in submissive positions that would count as child pornography. "What the fuck are you into, Lincoln?"

"Certainly not child pornography!" She shrieks.

"But you were fucking children, so you might as well have been!" I yell. Now for the icing on this delicious cake. "Wait...tell me that you aren't still fucking children." I already knew the answer of course, but I had to pretend that I didn't. Tears spring from her eyes and she grabs her hair. "Damn it, Elena, tell me that you aren't still fucking children!" She begins to weep. I pick something up off of my desk and launch it across the room for effect.

"Fucking hell!" I scream. "You're still fucking children and now they're searching your damn house? You sick whore!" I grab her arms like I did the day she showed up unannounced at my apartment. "Is there anything that can implicate me? Is there?" I shake her with each word. "Answer me you evil, demented bitch or I'll break you in two!"

"No!" she shrieks through her tears. "Nothing!" I can see Jason speaking into his wrist. Yeah, I guess it's time to wrap up this little performance.

"You had better not be lying to me or I swear to God I will make you regret the day you ever met me!" I hiss.

"No, I swear, I swear, there's nothing that can implicate you!" She cries.

"Good," I growl. "Now I want you to leave this place and never come back for any reason whatsoever. I never want to see you again...ever!" I release her arms and fling her away from me just in time for more of my security to burst through my office doors. She falls theatrically on the floor just as they enter. "Pick her up and get her the fuck away from my building, and if you ever see her come near GEH property again, shoot her on sight." I say calmly.

"Yes sir, Mr. Grey," one of them responds and they both reach down and snatch her off of the floor.

"Christian, wait!" she shrieks, her voice full of desperation. "Please! Please don't leave me to face this alone!" she cries.

"You made this bed, now you lie in it! Get her the fuck out of here! If she gives you any trouble, call the police. Apparently, they're looking for her." The two guards drag her out of my office literally kicking and screaming.

"Christian! No! Please!" she wails as they haul her into the elevator and out of my building. I turn to Jason.

"How was that?" I ask of my performance while straightening my tie.

"Very good, Boss, quite believable," he says. I nod as I take out my blackberry.

"_Carrick Grey."_

"Dad, she's on her way. Have them check the library, _now_. The housekeeper has been informed to keep them out of there," I inform him.

"_What was she doing at GEH, Christian?"_

"Well, I'm pulling my backing from her, so the banks are calling in her loans. When Sound Community called in, she came rushing over here to talk some sense into me."

"_Will you ever be done with that woman?" _My father is displeased.

"Well, Dad, sometimes you have to dance with the devil to beat him at his own game. By the way, I need to know the moment that she's arrested."

"_Why?"_

"Because there's a clause in her contract that says all of her business assets will be seized and frozen if she is ever arrested. Once she is convicted, I will pay off the debts and liquidate everything so that she can't use profits from the business that I helped her to start on her defense against molesting little boys."

"_Good thinking, Christian. Remind me to never get on your bad side," _he laughs.

"Daaad, that's not even funny," I chide. I could never do anything vengeful against my father. I don't even like that he hinted to it in jest.

"_I apologize, Son. Let me contact the detective in charge and tell him to pay special attention to the library. Does she have any hidden doors or safes that you can think of?"_ I try to remember but nothing comes to mind.

"I can't think of any, besides the playroom on the third floor and the dungeon in the basement which aren't really secret rooms, but I think it might be a good idea to see if you can secure a blueprint of the house," I tell him.

"_Okay. I'll keep you posted." _

Once I end the call, I summon Andrea to help me organize some notes and key points that I want to make for today's staff meeting. I have also requested that the security team that has worked closely with me and Jason—Davenport, Williams, Lawrence, and Manchester—all be present at this meeting as well. I'm tired of hearing excuses now. I want them all to take account for what happened on their watch, including Welch and Jason. I don't know what's going on here, but the events of these last several weeks are unacceptable. There are some holes in the network somewhere and it's time to patch them up.

I have detailed reports of weak spots and flawed contingencies in each department. Today's meeting will be an overview and there will be meetings with each department in the following days. I hate that I have to take this time to come through my entire company to hold these experts accountable for what has gone wrong in their departments. However, these people must know that I am serious. One mistake irritates me, but several mistakes over more than one department infuriates me.

Andrea has forwarded each of the reports to the respective departments and after another hour, we are ready for the civil war and carnage that is about to take place. I straighten my suit and instruct Andrea to follow me to the Palladium Conference Room. Just as I am about to go inside, I get a call on my blackberry. It's Carrick.

"Hey, Dad. I'm about to go into a meeting," I tell him.

"_Well, I thought you might want to know. Elena Lincoln has been arrested."_

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Thank you to DottiG for inspiration for the love scene in this chapter.**_

_**Translations:**_  
_**Rien n'est mieux que nos corps profondément enlacé - Nothing feels better than our bodies deeply enlaced OR Nothing is better than our deeply entwined bodies (I was trying to get "Nothing feels better than the inside of you" but I heard that it didn't translate well.)**_  
_**Te sentir glisser en moi, me remplir à perfection. Je n'ais jamais connue une telle sensation - To feel you glide inside of me, to fill me to perfection, I have never felt anything like it**_  
_**Moi non plus, mon amour, mon soleil, mon Papillon - Me either, my love, my sun, my Butterfly**_

_**Three more chapters, my lovelies. Don't forget to check out the pinterest board at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

_**Also, shoot me over an email at divinebronzegoddess at gmail dot com if you want to be kept up to date on publishing and progress!**_

_**Feel free to review!**_

_**Love and handcuffs!  
Lynn x**_


	66. Chapter 66: You've Made Your Bed

_**Okay, so I told you that it might happen and it did. I wrote the final chapter and realized that there needed to be a breakdown and a bridge and it just kept going on and on and on...and ended up with another chapter. So now we have 69 chapters (coincidence? hmmm...). I can't guarantee that there won't be a chapter 70, but for right now, it's 69 - no pun intended...yet. **_

_**Of course, thank you to all of my readers for sticking with me this long. I still haven't caught up with my reviews (I'm in chapter 62 somewhere) so please don't think that I have forgotten you. **_

_**To Jay - Thanks for your review. A search warrant has to tell the judge what they are looking for. Initially they are going to be looking for child pornography based on the pictures that they already have as evidence. That will of course most likely lead to more charges once the search warrant is executed. ;-)**_

_**To Lexy - thanks for your review, Darling. Unfortunately, I couldn't get to the pictures that you were trying to show me. Can you email the links to me at divinebronzegoddess at gmail dot com so that I can look at them? Let me know if you want me to put you on my mailing list, too. Thanks again! ;-)**_

_**Thank you to Carol, CG Girl, Gia, Hun, Michelle b, Rauguste, Teresaromance, my "shrine" guest (that would be fucking creep, wouldn't it?), and my unregistered guests that I can't PM - thank you for reading and for your support. **_

_**One down-three to go! All previous disclaimers apply here. **_

_Chapter 66—You've Made Your Bed..._

_**STEELE**_

It was a good idea to keep my workload light for the rest of the week. I need to re-acclimate myself to being back at work and being able to listen to people's life stories and help them through their difficulties. I do admit that I have missed this after having been gone for more than two weeks. It also helps to keep my mind off of my own issues. This morning, I went down to the garage to get in my car and the desire to drive it just wasn't there. I gave Chuck the excuse that I was a little weary and didn't want to drive, so he brought me in to work this morning. Driving is one of those things that makes me feel free and independent. However, when driving feels like a task, I just won't do it and driving _that_ car just doesn't feel right anymore.

Maybe I just don't feel right in it since the Aquarium incident. Maybe it's because the police department destroyed it and even though it has been restored, it just doesn't seem like my car anymore. I still have seven months left on my damn lease. I should be able to trade it in and get something else. I'll check with the dealer, maybe later today. In the meantime, I prepare to see the first of only two patients.

At lunchtime, I stand at my window and stare across the tall buildings at GEH. I am so in love with this man that I can hardly see straight sometimes. Now we have officially announced our relationship to the world. I wonder what kind of psychos are going to come wandering out of the woodwork? It's bound to happen. I totally refuse to believe that She-Thing is the only woman on the planet who has fallen in love with my man or that has some kind of sick obsession with him, especially with his remarkable sexual prowess. No doubt, there are women fantasizing about him right now that haven't even met him, let alone those women who have been subjected to the pleasure and pain experience that is the Playroom. I should surely prepare myself for the crazy-parade that will soon follow the announcement of our relationship.

I sit down at my desk to enjoy the grilled chicken and dried cranberry salad that Gail made for me for lunch today. Chuck has to attend this dreaded meeting at GEH and I have assured him and Christian that I would stay put until he returned. It's not like I could go anywhere; I rode in with him this morning. Marilyn and I managed to get all of the clients back on track for next week, but as it stands, the only other client that was willing to keep her appointment on such short notice was Melanie, the young lady that does the dignity therapy. She has agreed to come in later this afternoon to keep me from having to come in tomorrow since no one else will be coming.

Melanie looks more frail than she did when I left, and I realize that her sickness is really taking a toll on her. I am immediately filled with sympathy for the young woman. We are around the same age and her life is ending while mine seems like it's just beginning. She weakly meanders through her session today, barely lifting her head from the headrest of her tall wheelchair. For some reason today, she wanted to go through a list of probable—and improbable—"what if" situations. I had no idea why she was going through this line of discussion, but I could tell by the pained look in her weary eyes that she was holding something back. I immediately asked her if she wanted to go back to the "no regrets" part of the therapy, but she declined and said that we would cover it next time and left with a strained version of the smile that she gave me every week.

Since I had nothing else to do until Chuck retrieved me, I decided to send a text to the Scooby gang:

****Any suggestions for food and libations this week?****

The responses were almost immediate.

****When and where?****

****Are we having it in the penthouse?****

****What's for dinner? I'm thinking beef.****

****Stag or Drag?****

****Drag I hope, nobody's single anymore are they?****

****Good job at the press conference, Ana. You told that bitch!****

****Oh yeah, was that the Cartier Love Collection that you were wearing?****

****Chris has great taste in jewelry, Girl!****

****Maxie, do you still have my pink shirt? Bring it to F&L.****

****Hello? WHERE AND WHEN?****

When they finally stopped chatting in the group text, I type in,

****Are we done, now? Should I continue?****

****Yes, Madam!** **Okay, that shit wasn't funny.

****You are uninvited, Phil. The rest of you, Friday night at Christian's. Somebody bring the makings for Sangria.****

****Hey, I was just kidding!****

****Say you're sorry, Phil.****

****I'm sorry, Madam.****

****PHILIP!****

"**Okay okay I'm sorry Ana. :-P****

****Asshole. Who has the Sangria?****

****I'll do the Sangria.** **

****Thanks, Val. I'll let Al know. Most likely, he's in a meeting with Christian right now.****

****He'll know when he turns on his phone and sees the group text.****

****Nonetheless, I'll talk to him anyway. Maxie, call me.****

****Will do.****

A few minutes later, my cell phone rings.

"Hey, Babe, how are the wedding plans going?"

_"Terrible! We want a winter wedding, but we don't know what month. We've been together so long, there's really no need to wait a whole year to get married. I don't was a Christmas wedding or a New Year's..."_

"What about just after Valentine's Day? Not right on the day, for Christ's sake, but around that time. Still winter themed, all of the Christmas lights and decorations are gone. There will be hearts everywhere because love is in the air. You'll have the spirit of Valentine's without actually hijacking the day."

_"Oh, God, that's a great idea!" _she exclaims._ "It's so simple—why didn't I think of that?"_

"That's why I'm you MOA, Babe. What about colors?"

_"I don't know. I don't want anything too dark. I know that I want blue, but I'm torn on which shade. I can't decide on what other color,"_ she laments.

"Well, you said that you don't want anything too dark, so we know that midnight and navy are out. Is royal too dark?" I ask.

_"Not too dark, but it is too deep,_" She responds.

"Okay, so you are looking at lighter shades of blue—ice blue, azure blue, Tiffany blue, baby blue..."

_"Ooooo, Tiffany or baby blue."_ I can hear her typing on her computer and I assume she is searching for the colors.

"If you're going with Tiffany blue, you'll want to go with brown or some shade of white, like almond or ecru. Since you said you didn't want to do dark colors, I'd say brown is out. If you want to go with baby blue, you should go with beige or champagne, which I think is a better option." Maxie is typing on the computer again.

_"Oh, Ana, I think champagne is a fabulous idea..."_

After some time, we have worked out her color scheme, her date, most of her guest list—_her_ side anyway—and many of the minor details of her wedding. She has a lot of homework to do as we really can't work out locale until she and Phil decide on the guest list. With the wedding now officially being six months away, she can't afford to dally on the subject.

I didn't have a full fledged session with her, but I did voice my concerns about the meaning of the nightmares that I had in Anguilla, the disagreements that Christian and I had as well as my candy breakdown but more importantly, the breakdowns Christian has been having and how they have affected me. Although our talks are protected, I feel a little funny having conversations with her about Christian's personal story, which is going to present a problem since I am going to have to reveal our lifestyle to her at some point. She helps me work through some of the things that I am feeling and has given _me_ homework to talk to Christian about his breakdowns, particularly the one when he was discussing the situation with Morgan. I haven't told her all of the details, but she's a smart woman and I am pretty certain that she has put two and two together. Nonetheless, it is pretty late in the afternoon when we end our conversation and there is still no sign of Chuck.

It's getting late and I really want to leave now, but I promised that I would stay put until Chuck returned. If it gets too late, I'll ask Phil or Gary to come and take me back to Escala and just let Christian and Chuck know that I didn't want to stay any longer since there's nothing else for me to do in the office. I walk back over to the window and look across at my man's building once again when I hear Marilyn talking to someone in the lobby. I come out of my office to see a clearly frazzled Chuck standing there rubbing the back of his head. He looks like he has truly been taken to task.

"Chuck, geez, what happened?" I ask cautiously. He shakes his head.

"I don't want to talk about it. Are you ready to go?" He is very short with me and I know this had to be one hell of a meeting.

"Um, yeah. Let me get my briefcase. Go on home, Marilyn. Food and libations on Friday."

"Sure, Ana," she says, uncertainty lacing her voice as she looks from me to Chuck. "I'll see you then. Call me if you need me."

The ride back to Escala is quiet. Chuck is looking straight ahead, his jaw is tight and I don't even think he is blinking.

"I don't want to know what happened in the meeting because it's none of my business, but did Christian say that you couldn't speak to me anymore?" I ask Chuck. Why is he being so cold towards me? Have I said or done something wrong?

"No, Ana, he didn't say that, but we have all gotten our asses handed to us. So you have to forgive me if I'm a little uptight right now," he says sternly. Okay, Steele, leave that bull alone.

"Understood," I reply softly.

Chuck takes my briefcase when we get back to Escala and as we walk to the elevator, I glance over at the 300. I forgot to call the dealer today to see what my options are for trade-in and a new lease. I'll try to remember tomorrow.

"Will I be driving you to work again tomorrow, Ana?" Chuck asks as he hands me my briefcase in the great room. I ponder for a moment and realize that I'm not going to drive that car again.

"Yes, please," I reply.

"If you need me, I'll be in the security office until Jason and Mr. Grey get here. They may be a little late this evening," he informs me.

"Thanks for letting me know." He nods and heads off to Taylor's office.

I shake my head and turn around into the puzzled face of Gail Taylor.

"What's up with him?" She asks. I shake my head again.

"Christian had a meeting with all of his department heads today and I can only suspect that it didn't go well," I tell her. "I don't know if Jason chewed out his staff or Christian chewed him out, but he's been like that ever since he picked me up from the office. Did you hear him say that our guys might be late?"

"Yes, I heard."

"Well, I'm not going to wait for dinner tonight. If he's not here in an hour, we'll all just sit down and eat," I say. She nods and I go to the bedroom to change out of my work clothes.

* * *

_**GREY**_

_Elena Lincoln has been arrested.  
Elena Lincoln has been arrested.  
Elena Lincoln has been arrested._

The words play over and over again like harps and church bells in my head.

_"Christian, did you hear me?"_

"Yes, Dad, I heard you. How is Morgan?"

_"As well as can be expected, I guess. He decided to tell the Hemsteads that he was the one that attacked Shane. Under the circumstances, they agreed not to press charges if he agrees to seek therapy. Needless to say, he agreed."_

"Do you think I should refer him to Flynn, or should he go through Helping Hands?" I ask.

_"That's a tough call, Son. Let me ask Morgan how he wants to handle it. I'll let you know."_

"Dad, what are the charges?"

_"Sexual exploitation of a child, child abuse, statutory rape, child molestation—third degree..."_

"Why third degree? Why not first degree?" I ask.

_"Because her victims were both 14 or older."_ Shit. I wanted this woman to fry! _"Christian, I know we want to throw the book at this woman, but with the evidence that they have found along with Morgan's testimony, she's looking at something like 25 years and $100,000 if convicted on all charges and they're not even finished yet."_

"She can spit and put her hands on $100,000!" I snap.

_"Can she spit and put her hands on 25 years?"_ Good point, Dad. Well, that's _some _consolation.

_"Duly noted. What about bail?"_

_"They will most likely let her out on bail if she can post it, so you might want to enforce that clause in Lincoln's contract."_

"She's a flight risk. Why would they let her out?"

_"Nothing that she has done is a Class A felony. Her bail will be high due to the number of offenses, but she will still most like have bail since they are not Level I crimes."_

"What the hell is a Level I crime? Did she have to kill someone?"

_"Uh...as a matter of fact, yes."_ Oh, good grief! God, this woman...I can freeze her business assets, but I don't know what she has in personal assets.

"Is the house still a crime scene?" I ask.

_"Yes. They are trying to get the blueprints from the builders to find secret rooms as you suggested...unless you can remember any."_ I think carefully, but I don't remember any secret rooms in that house.

"That house is so large, Dad, I'm sure there has to be some secret panels there somewhere, but I don't remember any. I'll be sure to tell you if I remember anything, though. I want them to lock her ass up and throw aware the damn key."

_"My sentiments as well, Son."_

"Tell them to check that library with a fine-toothed comb. Pull every book out of the shelves, even check the floorboards. She was adamant in telling Annette not to let them in there."

_"Will do."_

"I have to go now," I tell him. "I have a conference room full of frightened departments heads staring at me through glass doors and walls and I need to put a call in to legal about Lincoln's arrest."

_"Very well, Christian. I will talk to you soon then."_

"Thanks for your help with this. It means a lot."

_"It's the very least I could do."_

I hang up from my father and stick my head in the door of the conference room. "Mr. Forsythe, may I see you for a moment?" Allen comes out of the office with a puzzled look on his face.

"Yes, Mr. Grey?" I appreciate that he maintains the professionalism when we are in the workplace.

"I just received word that Elena Lincoln has been arrested. I need you to initiate the arrest clause in her contract immediately."

"I don't want to miss any of the meeting, Sir. Do you want me to do this right now?" he asks.

"How long will it take you to get up to legal and get this ball rolling?"

"About 15 minutes," he responds.

"Well, I have a 'heads will roll' speech that I am about to give. Do you think you need to be around for that?"

"No, Sir, I don't think so."

"Good. Then get downstairs, get the ball rolling, and get your ass back up here," I instruct him.

"Yes, Sir," he says as he walks to the elevator. I straighten my suit and walk into the conference room. Backs straighten, legs uncross, and voices get quiet as all attention is now on me in anticipation of exactly who's head is on the chopping block.

"I've called this meeting to discuss what has happened in the last month concerning me and concerning my company." No preamble, I just want to get to it. "It has been painfully brought to my attention that there are some severe weaknesses in certain departments in my company. To say that these weaknesses have caused me great distress would me a massive understatement. I have hired each of you because you were proven to be the best in your fields. I have trusted you to be the leaders that dictate the direction of your individual departments. As it turns out, there are very serious details that have slipped through the cracks. The situations attached to these details were disastrous, but they could have been catastrophic.

"I had an adviser tell me that these situations were just a series of unlikely events. On the one hand, I tend to agree that several small things happened that, had they been isolated incidents, any one of them could have slipped past our radar. The problem is that too many of them went undetected, and no matter how many excuses are made or explanations and justifications are offered, my life has been a living hell because of these events that went unchecked. This is unacceptable. This is sloppy. As a matter of fact, if for any reason any one of these events made it to the media along with the reasons that they occurred, GEH would be a sitting duck prime for picking by anyone capable of exploiting these weaknesses. Mine would be the type of company that I would normally pursue to acquire because there is obviously something wrong with the infrastructure.

"If you can't mend the discrepancies that are in your individual departments, I will do it for you. I did not become the businessman that I am today by turning a blind eye to weaknesses in my company. As you have seen, I know how to sniff them out and if for any reason I find that I am out of my element, I know how to find someone to find those weaknesses for me. Playtime is over and the shit has officially hit the fan.

"HR made assumptions about Ms. Meyers and pushed her through the hiring process without following proper protocol and without even checking with me. PR also made assumptions about her and let her get away with more than she should have. Security made assumptions about her and didn't perform the necessary background checks, which would have revealed that something was obviously amiss. IT never found any of her footprints, and even though her actions were quite covert, there were still footprints that could have sent up red flags—such as her attempting to log-in to a terminated security personnel's ID from her own station. We won't even discuss the amount of errors that my security staff has made in the last month. What I would really like to know is how information about my whereabouts ended up in the hands of the paparazzi and my PR department wasn't aware that they knew. I am sure that once the paps find out about something, it hits a hotline somewhere and I am sure that my PR department should know about this hotline—especially when this information has to do with me. Do I need to hire someone else to figure this out for me?

"It's my job to run this company; to make it profitable; to seek out issues and to eliminate them; to seek out ventures that will enhance our profitability. I'm not naïve enough to believe that I can do this on my own. Any chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and I am fully prepared to eliminate weak links to be sure that my company is as strong as it can possibly be. I have left the management of your respective departments and employees to each of you. Now, two of the employees of two separate departments have caused me great distress while they were employed by my company and one of them even after he was terminated. This is unquestionably unacceptable. I do not care about unlikely events, coincidences, and small mishaps. A small mishap here and there that causes a ripple in the pond that doesn't go any further than that ripple happens in every company...you expect that. A mistake that causes a ripple in the pond that results in a tsunami somewhere...that I cannot have, and that is exactly what's been happening.

"There will most likely be some restructuring in some departments and there will be full audits and investigations of policy and procedure as well as reviews of clearances and access to be sure that we are running at peak performance. This is something that should be done on a regular basis, and I am aware that we have done something like this before. However, it is a necessary evil that I now begin to keep a close eye on what it going on in my company and in each department. So you need to inform your departments and your employees that from now on, Big Brother is watching." There were various gasps in the conference room as some know exactly what's about to happen, some are trying to figure out exactly what's about to happen, and some have absolutely no clue exactly what's about to happen.

"I will be meeting separately with key members of each department in the coming days and weeks to review protocols and discuss weaknesses that I have noted and changes that may be occurring in your departments. To emphasize how serious this is, one or more members of my legal staff will be present at every meeting and each meeting will be recorded as this one is right now." More gasping comes from the meeting's participants. "I have sent you all information that I want to discuss specifically and I am expecting you to address my concerns as well as contribute information about your department. This afternoon, it is my intention to meet with Security, Information Technology, and Public Relations, in that order. My security team will remain in the conference room. IT, expect to get a call in about an hour or whenever I have finished speaking to Security. PR, you are on standby. All other departments, expect an email from my assistant concerning when your appointments will be. I am waiting for my legal counsel to return at which time, I will begin the meeting with security. The rest of you, meeting adjourned."

Once Allen returned to the conference room, I was not kind to my security staff by any means. There is no excuse possible that they could give me to explain why two men that were under surveillance were able to kidnap my girlfriend—absolutely none! I do not employ outside agencies to do background checks for my company. When it came time to give Meyers access to my building and interoffice information, the fact that my security team did not perform her background check is a red flag that should not have been ignored. The fact that Harris even made it _to_ the interview process is _well_ beyond my comprehension. How in the hell did a sex-addicted gambler end up on my security staff?

I even spoke to Welch, Davenport, and Jason privately about the fact that Davenport is a recovering alcoholic and that although I appreciate his plight and commend him for his journey in conquering his addiction, my company is a zero-tolerance organization and he shouldn't have passed the background check. I assured him that his position is secure as long as he continued to operate at his current level of performance.

However, I also struck some fear into him. "Make no mistake, Mr. Davenport," _Mr. _definitely got his attention, "you are personally responsible on a day-to-day basis of an asset more valuable to me than anything in my company. If this is something that you cannot handle, I need to know now because if anything _ever _happens to her again on your watch, I will decimate your ass. Is there anything unclear about what I just said?" I know that he is not pleased with my choice of words but right now, I don't care. If anything happens to my Butterfly ever again because these monkeys can't get their shit together, somebody is very likely to pay with their life. So I don't really care about their feelings or their egos right now, and I am very certain that these gentlemen are well aware of this as the knowing look passed from Jason to Welch did not escape me.

"There is nothing unclear, Mr. Grey," Davenport responds mechanically, and I dismiss him to go get lunch and get back to Butterfly with a message that I will most likely be late this evening.

"Mr. Welch," I turn to Welch once Davenport has left, "I understand that you have a skill set not attainable by most, and I appreciate that. Your expertise has been invaluable to me and this company for the last several years. I may have to hire five or more people to pin down the skills, knowledge, and ability that you possess as one person; but, Mr. Welch, I _can _do that. I can locate someone—or several people, if I must—that have your skiptracing and fact-finding abilities. Remember that the next time your brain convinces you that you can take that tone with me ever again that you took in my home on Monday night. You have enough information on my company and my life to bring me to my knees and that still doesn't impress me. No matter what happens, I am still the boss and you are still the employee. Let this serve as your first and last warning that if you ever forget again that I am the one that signs your paychecks, you can find someone else to sign them." I am glaring him straight in the eyes. If you want Battle of the Gladiators, let's do this shit now. He squared his shoulders, straightened his jacket, and I have to say that I was actually surprised by what came out of his mouth.

"I was angry and I did take a tone on Monday evening. It won't happen again, Sir. My apologies." He didn't take down in his apology—he was very firm about it. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was sending the message that he would not be emasculated by me, but that he was also man enough to admit when he was wrong. I nodded my understanding and we continued on with the current issues as well as possible changes that Security could expect. The meetings with Security and IT went much longer than I expected and I am certain that I have a few people pissing in their pants right now. I'm also certain that all the end of this endeavor, more than one person will unfortunately be out of a job.

* * *

Jason and I pull up at John's office just after 5:30 as he could only squeeze me in this evening. Squeeze me in, indeed—with what I pay him, he should _never_ have to _squeeze me in._ Nonetheless, I walk into his office and past his swooning secretary to meet with him and discuss the things that have happened over the last week.

"I...had...a couple of incidents, John."

"Incidents?" He repeats the word. "Okay, the floor is yours." I sigh heavily.

"Our last weekend in Anguilla, I took Ana to Saba Island. I felt we needed some time alone before we returned to Seattle. That night at dinner, she worked me up something fierce, John. Once we got back to the cottage, she bound me." John's head jerked back and his eyebrows reach for his hairline. "It's not the first time she has done it, but...let's just say that it was the most orgasmic experience that I've ever had."

"Whoa!" John exclaims unashamed. "That says a lot, Christian."

"Yes, it does," I breathe heavily.

"Um, do you care to tell me why this was the case? I mean, I don't want a play-by-play, but when you say 'orgasmic,' do you mean quality or quantity?"

"Both!" I answer with fervor. He leans in to me.

"Really?" He puts his face on his chin.

"She...wanted to see how many times I could ejaculate, so she came up with these fantastic, creative ways to do so, promising not to stop until I begged her to...and even after that, I think I came again..."

"You think? I'm intrigued, how do you not _know?_" I've really got his attention now.

"That's why I'm here." I'm about to talk about something really uncomfortable and I sink back in my chair because it's not something I want to do. "I gave her control over my body—trusted her with my orgasms—and it was phenomenal, but the fifth time..."

"The _fifth _time!?" he gasped.

"John, focus!" I chide. He shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively.

"The fifth time, she used a wand on me...very close to my anal area." John nodded. I choked down my pride and pressed forward. "The only person that I had ever given control of my body in that way before was Lincoln. Of course, I came when Lincoln used to stimulate me, but it was nothing like this. With Lincoln, it was _release_ as opposed to _satisfaction_."

"Are you saying that you've never been sexually satisfied?" he asks.

"No, that's not what I'm saying," I retort. "Subs have satisfied me, but that's because I have taken control of _their _bodies, and I sought my satisfaction using them as vessels in whatever way I needed it. So, yes, I have been sexually satisfied before. However, I have let Lincoln _physically _take control of my body several times and she has never once made me feel the way that Ana did. One of the clear reasons for that is Ana made this experience all about me. The only enjoyment that she got out of it was watching me come. A few times, she almost came herself in the process. She was determined that I would be sated to the point of begging before she came even once. It was the hottest, most sensual, sexy, and emotional thing I've ever felt in my life!"

"I can imagine..." John looks a little dazed with the content of this conversation. He is a man, after all, and I can only imagine what must be going through his mind right now. He runs his hand over his hair and shifts in his chair. _Mrs_. John is most likely in for a pounding when this session is over. He clears his throat and regains his composure.

"I can't help but notice that you used the word _emotional _in your description. I've not heard you use that word before when describing your sexual escapades. Care to elaborate?" He has returned to professional Dr. Flynn now.

"I was vulnerable—completely exposed—and she used a toy on me. I was very uncomfortable at first, but then she worked me into it and the experience turned out to be amazing. Except..." I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts. "It took be back to when Lincoln used..." I sigh and run my hands through my hair. "You once told me that doors work both ways—they keep things out and they also keep things in. I'm not sure if I was let out or I let Ana in or vice versa but...there in the midst of it all was Lincoln." I put my head in my hands, and John remained silent. "That bitch penetrated me with a strap-on when I was her sub," I spit.

"Wha...? Christian, you never told me this!" John exclaims.

"I told you that I was her sub. I told you that she was not a kind Domme. I was subjected to nearly every degradation imaginable." John shakes his head at this revelation.

"Christian, how could it have possibly taken you _so long_ to realize that this relationship was toxic and wrong?"

"We've had this conversation, John. As a teenager, I was convinced that this was the way that things were supposed to go with the lifestyle. Even as an adult, I was sure that I was such a difficult teenager that I required a firmer hand. It wasn't until I discovered that she had done this to several teenagers that I realized it was wrong."

"So as long as she did it to just _you_, it was okay, but once she did it to other teenagers, that's what made it wrong," John summarized for clarity.

"Yeah, pretty much." I nod.

"So if you had never discovered that she molested other children, you would have continued to believe that what she did to you was okay?" he asks in disbelief.

"Most likely," I admit.

"Do you still feel that way? Do you still think that if it had just been you, that it would have been okay?" John nearly screeches. I can see it in his eyes; he sees all of his hard work going down the drain.

"John, Dr. Flynn, I realize that this journey has been fascinating for you. However, if you want me to get from point A to point B, you are going to have to let me finish. It's already difficult for me to talk about this." I look at him and wait for his response. He sits back in his chair and crosses his legs, resigned to let me get to my point. I sigh again.

"Lincoln knew that hated that strap-on. It hurt, it ripped away my masculinity, it actually made me physically ill—but she wanted me to remember that she was in control. She's the reason that I can't even experiment with ass-play, and this wand this weekend was the closest that _any _woman has ever gotten to my ass since that bitch. Ana...erased all of that. I can remember the times that Lincoln penetrated me with that fucking dildo, but each time it comes to mind I think about the pleasure that Anastasia brought me. She was so loving and attentive. She took special care to gradually bring me to a fever point of arousal and by the time I released..._when_ I released...holy Mother of God! _Lincoln who?_" I shook my head to regather my thoughts.

"She was so wound up from the experience that once we were done, I satisfied her a few times which didn't take long by the way. Then, for some reason, all of the demons showed up. It was like I opened myself to love and tenderness, and all of the darkness and hatred and demons and monsters and nightmares came rushing out at me all at once! I was completely incapacitated with fear and anxiety. Anastasia was making love to me again and I didn't even know it!"

John moved to say something again, but thought better of it.

"We were talking and I was able to completely open myself to Anastasia and tell her how I felt about her, but the emotion behind what had transpired sexually between us opened all the floodgates that I had closed for so many years. The next thing I know, I'm flashing back to memories of hiding in the closet from that asshole and hoping that he wouldn't find me. All of the things that I had been running from, the things that I kept bottled up, the things I ignored, the things that haunted my nightmares, they all came rushing at me. I was living this out while I was awake and I was scared shitless. I felt everything like it was happening right there and then and I was paralyzed with fear.

"Slowly, I started to hear Butterfly's voice and then she came into focus. She was talking softly and sweetly to me, telling me that she loved me and that she would take care of me—of my heart...and she was making love to me! Fuck if I know how that happened. Five orgasms! I was tender! I thought my dick was out for the count! Lo and behold..." I gesture towards my genitals and shrug.

"Again, it was amazing. It was like she reached into the dark and pulled me out...and I mean literally pulled me out! She pulled the scared little boy out of the closet and she pulled the scared man out of the flashback. She loved me tenderly and when I think I came, I didn't feel it in my dick...I felt it everywhere else! I know that shit is strange, but that's what happened. I don't know if I ejaculated or not, but I know something fucking happened because I saw stars and the next thing I knew I was crying myself to sleep."

John has a look on his face that I can only describe as astounded. "Say something, Man. I don't pay you to sit there and look at me," I say. John actually cracks his neck like he is going into a prize fight.

"First of all, what Elena Lincoln did to you was for the sole purpose of your degradation. A woman gets no sexual satisfaction on the giving end of a strap-on unless there is something on the other side of the strap-on to stimulate her. From your description, I'm assuming that there was nothing."

I nod in agreement.

"This is why you can't partake in anal play when it is performed on you. I take it that Anastasia didn't penetrate you in any way."

I shake my head.

"Would you have allowed her to do so?"

I shake my head again.

"Would you allow her to do so now?"

I look up at him. I can't answer the question because I honestly don't know. I know that Butterfly wouldn't hurt me in any way which is why I allowed her to have her way with me in the first place. Before then, I never would have allowed her to penetrate me anally with anything. Now, I just don't know. I shrug non-committing while shaking my head.

"That's not a definite _no,_" he says. I sigh.

"No, it's not," I admit.

"That's something, Christian. I really want you to think about that—not about allowing Anastasia to penetrate you, but about the fact that you are not completely against it anymore." I know what he's getting at—breakthroughs and all that—but it all still seems so fucked up to me.

"You have been haunted by your nightmares for decades, even after you became an adult and could no longer be harmed by those events. We have talked about this ad nauseum before, but now maybe you can see my point more clearly.

"You said yourself that you had been running from these things, and that's exactly right. You never really got over what happened to you as a child. You never really dealt with these things. You say that you want to just forget these things, but you can't just forget them. They stay with you your whole life and you have to learn to heal those wounds. You can't just shut them down and lock them away and hope that they never resurface. That's why they haunt you in your sleep, because that's when you are most vulnerable.

"Your second most vulnerable time is when you are dealing with emotional overload. You have professed your love to Anastasia and you have opened your heart and your mind to these emotions and that exposes you to every other emotion. It's a package deal, Christian. You can't feel extreme love and not know extreme hate. You can't feel extreme joy and pleasure and not know extreme fear and pain. The extreme bad makes you appreciate the extreme good, but one doesn't exist without the other. It's a painful reality, and it's the reason why you haven't faced your demons before now."

"I just wanted to leave it behind me. If it's behind me, if it can't get to me, then it can't hurt me. Those things can't hurt me anymore. _He _can't hurt me anymore," I point out.

"This is true, he can't hurt you anymore, but the fact that you kept running from it instead of dealing with is why it has all caught up with you now...while you are trying to process these extremely intense feelings that you have for Anastasia. Now you're all raw and exposed because you never properly laid these demons to rest. You beat them away or sexed them away on your subs, but they always came back—whenever you lost control in the boardroom, whenever you had nightmares, and now when you have opened your heart to genuine love. How long are you going to let these demons control you?"

Oh, I fucking hate this! All of these years of therapy and I am just now getting to the point where I might be able to make a breakthrough and live a normal life?

"I'm a businessman, John. I can't turn into a blubbering ball of goo every time something happens—which reminds me. I haven't told you that Lincoln was arrested today."

"What!?" John shoots up in his chair. "How? Why?"

"Without saying too much, I located one of her victims whose statute was still active and convinced him to come forth. His statement along with some other damning evidence led to a search warrant and the Pedophile was arrested," I inform him.

"Well, that should help with some closure for you," John says triumphantly.

"It does but," I sigh again, "yesterday, I was telling Butterfly about it—about how I was trying to explain to this young man that he didn't consent to what happened to him even though he verbally said 'yes.' The fact that he was only 14-years-old means that he didn't consent. Then I started thinking about the things that he said to me. He almost looked just like me, John. She found another boy that looked like me that had a troubled past, and I found out from him that she talks about me constantly—trying to turn these boys into me. She doesn't use my name, but even this kid knew that it was me that she was talking about.

"John, what she has done to these boys is even worse than what she did to me. I moved on. She was still there, but I was no longer infatuated with her. I moved on to other subs and had other contracts. These boys are following her blindly. They are sickly in love and unable to function without her. The kid I spoke to yesterday—the one that actually turned her in—he was flunking out of college, following her around like a lost dog, angry because she had moved on to another child. When I explained to him the reality of what was going on with him, his pain was so deep it was palpable. I saw my 15-year-old self all back over again, only much worse.

"When I went home to talk to Ana and tell her the results of the conversation, I just kept seeing young boys lined up being taken down by her like bowling pins—kids just being used and thrown away. It made me sick, John. She's such a heartless, soulless, creepy bitch and I can't understand why she would do this to these children and not feel _anything_! How can she get sexual gratification out of making these children suffer? How can a _child_ possibly turn you on?" I can feel my pulse racing and I'm starting to get the dizzy feeling again. I grab my head to stop the thumping. It's like I can actually hear my heart pumping my blood through my veins.

"Christian, can you hear me?" I hear John's voice floating into my ears as I try to breathe deeply to control this feeling. I nod that I can hear him.

"Tell me what you're feeling," he instructs.

"Claustrophobic," I choke, "hot...angry...dizzy..."

"Keep going."

"Sick," I seethe, "I hate her. I hate her for what she did...to them...to _me_...I _hate _her!" My head feels like it's going to explode.

"Breathe, Christian. Deeply in through your nose and out through your mouth...breathe slowly." I follow John's directions and breathe. I try not to think about the wretched, horrible bitch or my pulse starts to race again. I think about my Butterfly, my beautiful Butterfly, and all that is good about her...and the fact that she loves me.

John hands me a glass of water and drink it down. "Is that what happened yesterday...when you tried to talk to Anastasia?" I nod.

"One minute we were talking and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor and Butterfly was leaning over me crying," I say. He nods and takes his seat again.

"It sounds like the classic anxiety attack. It's not unusual, especially now since you are being introduced to these new emotions. Now, you have another one to add to your list...empathy."

"Okay...that's not a word that's ever been used to describe me," I admit.

"Well, you have to be able to relate to something to be empathetic. You relate completely to what has happened to these boys. In talking to one of them, you were able to relate to his pain. In not knowing how to process those feelings, you had an anxiety attack. Don't worry—we've identified what it is, so we can easily help you control it so that you don't crumple into a ball when this happens again." He sits back in his seat. "Welcome to the human race, Christian." I make a face at him.

"Asshole." Don't rub it in.

"We have a lot of new ground to cover, Christian. I'm amazed at the breakthroughs this relationship has brought about in you. I'd definitely like to see you on a more regular basis, now. I know that we have been 'as needed' as of late, and we can maintain that, but I would also like to have a standing appointment with you for the next few weeks to work through these feelings and issues. What do you think?" As much as I hate to admit it or to commit to a standing appointment, I know that he's right. I nod.

"Good," he says. "Talk to Falon and have her pencil you in for the standing appointment of your choice for the next four weeks and we'll see how it goes. Sound good to you?" he says as he stands, indicating that our time is up.

"Sure, John," I say, proffering my hand. Once we shake, I turn to leave. Before I open the door, I say, "To answer your question, I was molested. I was sexually abused and statutorily raped by Elena Lincoln. If it had just been me and no other young boys, it would still be abuse and statutory rape. Satisfied?"

John smiles at me and nod as I open the door, step into the lobby, and close the door behind me.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I have the next two days off from my office although I do plan to go into to Helping Hands tomorrow and see how Marlow and his mom are doing. I called them from the office this morning and Marlow was very happy to hear from me. His mom says he's still having some trouble in school and I do plan on talking to him about that tomorrow, but for the most part he's doing okay. That makes me feel good, that he didn't fall apart completely because I wasn't there...not that I expected it.

Gail, Chuck and I had dinner about an hour ago. Chuck had loosened up a bit by then but I dare not ask him about his day or the meeting that he had with Christian. Not only was it not my business, but it seemed like a sore spot with Chuck, so I will make damn sure that I don't ask Christian about it either. Chuck did mention that he and I have a working relationship and a friendship and that won't change, but that if he ever goes on a vacation destination with us again that he won't interact with us like he did in Anguilla. Damn, what exactly happened in that meeting?

Dinner was pleasant nonetheless and we all headed in different directions once we were done. I am surfing the internet to see what kind of car I may want to replace the 300 when I hear the distinct sound of running through the house.

"Ana! Charles! Come quick!" Gail is screaming. I take the 10 seconds it takes to open my safe and I am down the stairs in a second. Gail is running to the television room and I am two steps behind her. She has the remote. _The remote? _She was screaming like she was being attacked and she has the remote!? She quickly flips to the news channel and there on the screen is what looks like a stock photo of a beautifully coiffed and flawlessly made-up Elena Lincoln.

"_Socialite and local entrepreneur Elena Lincoln was arrested today on charges of third degree child molestation, sexual exploitation of a child, and statutory rape." _The newscaster says. I gasp as my free hand flies to my mouth. They arrested her! They finally arrested her! "_Nineteen-year-old Morgan Stampwell indicates that he had sexual relations of an alternative nature with Mrs. Lincoln from the ages of 14 to 17. Washington law states that a victim can report these types of charges until three years after their 18th birthday. Stampwell and his attorney produced evidence that Mrs. Lincoln may still be having sexual relationships with minors, resulting in an emergency search warrant being issued for her home in Kirkland. The search produced damning evidence including several pictures and videos of BDSM activities with children taken in various parts of Mrs. Lincoln's home including her bedroom and two separate rooms converted into BDSM dungeons. Due to the magnitude of the case, it has been handed over to the Seattle Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Unit." _The screen flashes the outside of She-Thing's posh Kirkland manor, then to one of the officers who executed the search warrant.

"_I've never seen anything like this and I've seen a lot," _says Officer Nivell of the Seattle Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Unit. _"This is an upstanding community and I can only imagine what the people who live here must be thinking now. You never know what's happening right under your nose or right next door." _

"_Police are asking that parents in the Bellevue communities and surrounding areas to discuss this matter with their children," _the newscaster says again as cameras follow a cuffed Elena Lincoln being led from her home in a black pants suit, her head bowed. _"Evidence shows that Mrs. Lincoln's elicit activities with children have most likely been going on for several years with what appears to be at least five to ten different children, though some of them could not be identified." _Oh my god, are there any pictures of Christian in there?

_Mrs. Lincoln is the former wife of Caldwell Lincoln, owner of Lincoln Timber. Their high-profile divorce nearly a decade ago took a shocking turn when, for undisclosed reasons, Mrs. Lincoln walked away nearly penniless after being awarded a comparatively small amount of money and one of Mr. Lincoln's cars in the settlement. Mrs. Lincoln is the owner of the well-known Esclava Salon chain in the greater metropolitan Seattle area. If convicted, Mrs. Lincoln could be facing a lengthy jail term and anywhere from $50,000 to $200,000 or more in fines. Arraignment and bail hearings are set for tomorrow morning."_

Holy cow, Batman. Talk about getting your just desserts. "Can you believe this?" I gesture to the television. "When did Christian have time to orchestrate this? I thought the 'meeting' took up his entire day."

"Ana!" Chuck points to my other hand and yes, my Beretta is locked and loaded.

"She was screaming!" I exclaimed. "I didn't know what was going on." I quickly pop the magazine out and release the round in the chamber loading it into the magazine as well. Chuck just shakes his head.

"What do you need with me?" he asks dismayed. "I've got a feeling that you could take _me _down."

"Well, I could, but I do still need you...seriously," I respond sincerely. We all step out of the television room and are confronted with a confused Jason and Christian, both looking at the gun and magazine in my hand.

"Buuut-terfly? Something going on here?" Christian asks calmly. I sigh heavily.

"She was screaming!" I defend again. "I overreacted."

"Actually, no you didn't," Chuck interjects, "I came out with my hand on my firearm, too."

"What the hell?" Jason asks. "Who was screaming? What happened?"

"I was in my office; Chuck was in the security office. Gail starts screaming for both of us. Instinctively, I grabbed my gun. It turns out that she just wanted us to see Elena do the perp-walk," I say.

"The perp-walk?" Christian says. "It made the news?"

"You didn't expect that?" I ask surprised. "High profile socialite? Child molestation? Oh, yeah, She's lucky they didn't get in to get a shot of the playrooms." Christian runs his hand through his hair.

"I'll be so glad when this is over," he says leaving us in the hallway and heading towards the kitchen. I point at him and look at Jason who says, "It's been a bad day." I sigh heavily. I don't think I can give him sex tonight. We made beautiful love last night and had a fabulous quickie this morning. I think I should really let the coochie rest tonight. Yet, if he needs me, I'll be prepared. I quickly take the stairs and lock my firearm and the magazine in the safe in my office and come back down to the kitchen. Christian has cracked open a beer and is leaning on the counter, looking at the now half-empty bottle. Boy, it _has_ been a bad day. I walk over to him and brush his hair off of his forehead.

"What can I do?" I ask, trying to soothe his thoughts. He puts his hand on my cheek.

"Just...spend some time with me...if you don't mind." He sounds a little broken. What could this be? Is he sad about She-Thing's arrest?

"Of course, I don't mind," I say, turning my face to kiss his palm. "Why don't I warm you some dinner? It's late and I'm sure you haven't eaten yet." I head for the kitchen and he grabs my arm.

"I'm not hungry," he says quietly. Whoa—shut the front door! What? He is clearly not himself today.

"Christian," I say softly, "please?" he looks up into my beseeching eyes and nods. I go to the kitchen and quickly heat his dinner before he changes his mind. Good Lord, what happened today? I place his plate in front of him at the breakfast bar along with flatware and a napkin. I make myself a cranberry spritzer and when I turn around to face him, he is tearing into his meal. Good...I feel a little better now.

I sit next to him and let him finish eating in silence, then I clear and wash his plate and flatware and turn out the kitchen lights. I take his hand and lead him over to the couch. I turn on the fireplace and sit his beer and my spritzer on coasters on the coffee table.

"Talk to me," I say taking his hand. He sighs heavily and lays his head in my lap.

"I threatened to fire my entire security team today," he confessed. Wow, that's smart. "I know what you're thinking and you're right—the people responsible for my safety and yours as well as the security of my company and I piss them all off." Yeah, something like that. "Ana, the messes that I found when I audited my company, it's unreal. I don't know what I have been doing that I let it get that bad."

"Could it be that you're preoccupied with me?" I ask. Please say no. Please say no.

"And where were you three years ago when they hired Francesca Meyers?" Hmm, good point. "She slipped past four departments. One of those overpaid assholes should have found her. Instead, everybody in my company assumed that I would be dumb enough to push someone through my company without the proper clearances. I met with Security and IT today. The protocols were all in place—everybody just ignored them. Nobody even asked me, they just assumed. As a result, a sex-addict with a gambling problem ended up on my private security team and his mole girlfriend landed a seat in Public Relations. It's just one big clusterfuckathon." He shook his head as much as he could in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair and gently scratch his scalp.

"Mmm, that feels good," he purrs. "I went to see Flynn today." I almost stopped scratching.

"How did that go?' I ask.

"It went okay. It was rough." I won't ask him to share. He'll share if he wants to. I keep gently scratching his scalp. "The good doctor has informed me that I have set all of my emotions loose since I met you and you have broken down all of my walls. He says it's a good thing, that you are helping him do what he has been trying to do for years. He's going to help me deal with the onslaught of emotions and not have anxiety attacks. That's what happened yesterday when I was talking about Morgan and Elena. God, I hate her so much. I hate her more than the crack whore and her pimp."

"Really? Not that I want you to love her in any way but why do you hate her so much? I mean, they were all responsible for your abuse in one was or another."

"She was worse. She knew what I had been through. In addition, she did it under the pretense of doing it for me...of trying to help me. That's why when I think of what she did to these other kids, I go into a blind rage that ends in a panic attack. I fucking hate her more than anybody in this world." I keep scratching to try to distract him from thoughts of her and anxiety attacks and it appears to be working.

"So what's next?" I ask. Think end-state, Grey.

"She'll get bail but she won't have anywhere to stay because her house is going to be a crime scene. She won't have any of her assets associated with the salon because of the contract that she signed. She will basically only have her car and her personal bank accounts which are only going to be a couple of hundred thousand. I know her bail is going to be insane and she's going to shit bricks when she finds out that Esclava is being seized and most likely sold." I can't help it, I wish that I could be a fly on the wall when she found that out. "Depending on how many charges they pile on her, she may not even be able to _make_ bail."

"Why would they even grant her bail? I mean, they don't know that you are seizing her businesses. For all they know, she could skip town the moment she's free," I protest.

"Well, Dad said that the although the crimes are heinous in a moral perspective, they are not violent crimes in and of themselves, so they can't hold her without bail. I have no idea how they plan to keep her from leaving town." His voice sounds more relaxed now. Good, I was worried he was going to be wound up all night. Not violent crimes? She was beating those kids! They don't call that a violent crime? These weren't adults that partook in a consensual lifestyle - these were brainwashed children! I keep my rage inside because I don't want to dump it on Christian.

"I finally got the chance to see some pieces of our press conference today." I say.

"You did?" he purrs as I continue to gently scratch his scalp. "What did you think?"

"I think I have a future in film." We both laugh softly. "Really, though, we both looked really good on camera, which worried me since I've always heard that the camera adds 10 pounds. I particularly like that the segment that they keep playing is the one where I keep telling that Cheryl bitch where she can shove her money theories. That is the worst for me...for people to think that I am only with you for your money. I didn't even know who you were...not that you weren't important or anything but I don't know every billionaire in the country. I don't think anybody does. Do _you _even know every billionaire in the country? Christian?"

I look down at my lap and he is fast asleep, breathing softly. I examine his lovely face while he is sleeping and content—no furrowed brow, no piercing white-gray eyes, no yelling...no anxiety attacks or emotional breakdowns and crying. My man has such a long way to go, and I know from experience that this is not going to be easy for him. I'm afraid for him—more afraid for him than I am for myself. I've dealt with heavy emotion before, he hasn't. This is going to be very scary.

I stroke his hair off of his face and he stirs just a bit, but falls immediately back into slumber. I promise myself that I will be there for him, to hold his hand and scratch his scalp and help him through the rough parts that he will be facing very soon. I love this man with all of my heart, and I don't care what the press says about our relationship. I plan to spend the rest of my life proving to him how much he means to me.

* * *

A/N: Three more chapters to go, my lovelies! Remember to send me an email at divinebronzegoddess at gmail dot com if you want to know when I plan to publish. I had someone actually ask me this, so I have to specify. I cannot publish this story with the same characters as E. L. James so there will be some changes. It think you will like it because the characters, backstory, and setting will be different.

Feel free to review!

Love and handcuffs,  
Lynn x


	67. Chapter 67: At The End Of Her Rope

_**I had a guest that may have intended to send me a review, but the review was blank—well, not actually blank. It said, "Type your review for this chapter here..." So I just didn't want anybody to think that I deleted their review. Folks get really upset when you do that, lol.**_

_**Lexy—that link simply does not like us. I think I have figured that is at least on tumblr but that's as far as I can get. Every time I try to do a search with the rest of the link, it just goes batshit crazy. Do you have a Pinterest or Facebook account? We will get to it...I so want to see this guy! I really do!**_

_**I'm sorry but I didn't get a chance to look at many reviews. I will catch up even if I'm reading after book I is finished. **_

_**Two more chapters after this one!**_

_**All previous disclaimers apply here**_

_Chapter 67—At The End Of Her Rope_

_**STEELE**_

Christian was right, the Pedo-Bitch made bail. We don't know how, and we don't know where she's staying since that lovely house in Kirkland is currently roped off with that awful yellow police tape and under constant guard as someone _anonymously _tipped off the police that there may be secret rooms that need to be checked. What else are they hoping to find...more smut pictures of that sick bitch with children? Don't they have enough? A long-lost relative locked away somewhere an attic like the doomed Bertha Mason in Bronte's novel? Evidence of ritual sacrifices? Good grief.

I haven't heard anything yet on a date set for David's trial or even if he's sticking to that ridiculous claim of temporary insanity. I've got Al putting all of the things in place for my lawsuit against him, though. He has already filed the motion in court and the moment David tries to liquidate anything, he's going to discover that his assets are frozen. He won't even know what hit him. Even his access to his company has been blocked.

Thursday I went to Helping Hands and talked to Marcia and Marlow. He seems okay for the most part, but Marcia seems to think that his problem is lack of focus—that he sits around too much and thus finds himself with too much idle time to think about his circumstances. We are going to have to find something to occupy his mind. He has so much potential that I would hate to see him fall into the wrong thing simply because he's bored.

It's Friday now and I spend the entire day preparing for my long awaited Food and Libations. I really miss my friends. We've hung out every weekend for many, many years and now I've missed two weekends with them. I don't count the first one since we had and impromptu F&L when I got home from the hospital, but still, I miss my little Scooby gang. Gail has gone out to get more supplies while I get started on the food. Christian decided that he would come home and join me for lunch since I was already in the process of preparing for F&L. Twenty minutes before he was to arrive home, Marc calls from the front desk in quite the state.

"_Ms. Steele, Mrs. Lincoln is here demanding access to the apartment. She claims that she knows that Mr. Grey is here and she's making a terrible scene. I could call the police, but I don't want to make that immediate decision for obvious reasons." _I'm assuming that he is saying this because the press would probably be here in no time if he called the police. If Christian comes back and sees her in the lobby, there is going to be a public altercation—again, newsworthy or at least captured on someone's cell phone.

"_I don't need her permission to enter that apartment!" _I hear her barking._ "I've never needed her permission! I will come and go as I damn well please!" _Marc has clearly had enough of this woman and...

"_Not without the codes you won't!" _he snaps at her._ "And on the contrary, you _do _need her permission to get up to the penthouse. Now stop screaming at me like one of your lapdogs or I will forcibly remove you myself!" _You tell her, Marc.

As with many situations, she didn't seem to hear that last part and proceeds to berate him about how he is hired help and can't speak to her that way.

"_I'm not going to tell you again," _I hear Marc say coldly and that must have gotten her attention because I don't hear her voice on the other end anymore._ "Ms. Steele, what would you like for me to do?" _

"Make her stand right there. Don't tell her anything, just make her stand right there."

"_Yes, ma'am."_ I hang up the phone and call for Chuck.

"What's up?" he says coming out of the security office.

"Elena Lincoln is in the lobby." I say, chopping vegetables for my dinner tonight.

"Do you want me to go and remove her?" He straightens his back.

"No, I want you to go and _get_ her," I respond. He does a double-take.

"Ana, please, after yesterday, I don't want to lose my job..." he protests.

"That's why you're going to stay in the room with me the entire time that she's here, but Chuck, I'm not taking this anymore. Marc told her that she had to get permission from me to get into this apartment, and she flipped the hell out. I'm going to make sure that this bitch knows that I mean business once and for all. When she gets here, make sure that she goes nowhere but from that door to this bar and back. If she puts her hands on me, you don't move unless I call you for help." He glares at me.

"Ana, you can't be serious!"

"I'm dead serious. Text Christian on your way downstairs and let him know what I said. Tell him that if he doesn't want to be bailing me out of jail, he had better get here fast. Now, go, quickly. I want her to know what's going to happen to her the next time she shows up anywhere uninvited." I continued chopping the vegetables. Chuck hesitantly leaves the apartment and I open the drawers making a mental note of where the knives are located.

About three minutes later, She-Thing comes marching into the great room like she owns the place and sits on one of the white sofas. Chuck happily snatches her off the sofa and drags her towards the breakfast bar while she protests loudly. I now get a good look at what she's wearing...animal print Juicy Couture velour romper with basic black stilettos—pretty cute for me but definitely not _her_ style.

"Can't get to your wardrobe, Mrs. Lincoln?" I ask with mirth, still chopping my vegetables.

"I'm here to speak to Christian. I have absolutely nothing to say to you!" she spit.

"Good, because I'm going to be doing all of the talking. Now sit your ass down!" I hiss. Almost on cue Chuck grabs her by the arms and forces her into a seat. "You won't be subjected to me for long," I say as I scrape my vegetables into a pot and dry my hands. "Christian was already on his way home for lunch, but since he's been notified that you're here, he and Jason are probably breaking traffic laws to get here before I hurt you." She scoffs at me.

"You, hurt me? You're dreaming, Little Girl."

"Oh? Did you forget our last meeting in this very spot? They have it on CCTV—should I play it back for you and refresh your memory? Did you forget that I had your haggard, raggedy ass bleeding on the marble and didn't even put my hands on you? Do you need full-on melee for me to show you what I can really do to you, because I'll be happy to oblige," I warn.

"Do you have absolutely no class whatsoever?" she says, a feeble attempt at an insult.

"Seriously?" I say calmly. "You're seriously going to come at me talking about class—you who are looking at 10 to 25 for fucking children? Are we really going to have that conversation?" She falls completely silent with those words. "I don't even need to talk about you anymore, Elena, because you've been splattered all over the news. While you've been justifying your actions all these years, I was standing at the television watching your perp-walk last night. You've spent years molesting and victimizing little boys and have the nerve to tell me that I don't understand what you and Christian had. Well now, my understanding is the least of your worries. Try justifying that shit to a jury of your peers!"

"You're such a self-righteous little bitch!" she sneers.

"Oh, no, you said that you have nothing to say to me, and you're right, you don't!" I seethe. "So you listen to me closely. The world would be a better place if you were not here. No one would miss you, and I am too happy to provide that service!" She gasps.

"What are you saying to me?" She is horrified because she knows exactly what I'm saying. I use my knife as a pointer to drive my threat home.

"I'm saying that if you show up at mine and Christian's home again, or at our jobs, or at his parents' home, or at Helping Hands, or anywhere else that you suspect that we will be, I will take you down. The last person that heard me say that, I let him live, and he kidnapped me. I won't make that mistake twice." My voice is low and menacing and I see red. I could kill this woman right now with my bare hands and not give it a second thought.

I am inches away from her face but that knife is closer. I notice that our eyes are the same color blue—I never paid attention before now, but I was never close enough to look into her eyes as I am now. There is a mixture of various emotions, but behind the fear and the anger and the hatred, I see desperation. She needs Christian in her life and she's not going to just walk away. If anything, she'll have to be carried away—either kicking and screaming or unconscious.

"You're not serious," she says in that confident voice that I know she has used on many young boys. "You're angry and emotional and you want me to believe that you're ruthless. I'd sooner believe Security Boy here was a submissive before I believe that you have a ruthless bone in your body,' she says calmly.

"You're right, I'm not ruthless." She smirks at bit. "I'm _pissed_, and that's worse. I've had enough of you infringing on my life—on my boyfriend, our vacation, our jobs, our home, our family, I've had enough!"

"_Our_ home? _Our_ family? Who the hell do you think you are—his wife?" she shoots.

"Soon enough," I say flashing the platinum and diamond Butterfly ring on my left hand. I know that she can tell the quality of the ring and I don't bother telling her that it's a promise ring and not an engagement ring. "Knowing him as long as you have, I'm sure you know that he's never put a ring on a woman's finger. Tiffany necklaces, Cartier earrings, and Harry Winston bracelets, yes—but rings, never." I know of what I speak because Christian told me himself. Elena is wracking her brain to find one woman that wore a ring from him before me and she can't find one. "So as you can see, I have a hell of a lot more to lose now. You've hurt him and me for the last time, and I'm not going to tell you again to stay away from us."

"There's nothing that you can do to make me stay away from Christian, nothing!" she says definitively.

"Oh, but there is, Elena. You don't seem to understand. I will kill you. I will shoot you dead and watch you bleed then have a drink and take a nap like nothing happened. When it comes to you, I have no conscience. I will drop you like the wretched, diseased creature that you are, then I'll dance on your grave."

My voice is low and controlled as I am breathing in her face thinking how easy it would be to slit her throat right now. One quick slice and we would never have to worry about her again. I would be doing the city of Seattle and the state of Washington a fucking favor—ridding them Elena Lincoln, child molester extraordinaire. Why should my tax dollars pay to prosecute her then to house her for the next several years? One quick slice across that pulled and tucked neck and we would be rid of her ass forever, just one quick...

"Anastasia!"

I didn't even know he had come in. His voice pulls me out of my deadly trance, but I'm still glaring at her thinking of how easily I could just drop her right now. During my warning and in my murderous trance, I hadn't realized that I had moved within a breath of her face and my chopping knife was right at her neck. I watch as Chuck moves around the breakfast bar and stands next to me.

"He's here now, Ana," he says in my ear. "Put the knife down." He's moving closer to me.

"Don't touch me, Chuck, or I'll slip. I swear I will," I say coolly, never taking my eyes off of hers. Jason moves into the great room and Christian starts to walk up behind Elena.

"I saved you the last time. Who's going to save you now?" I say coldly. "Stay. Away. From me. And Christian." She is beginning to sweat and tears are forming in those glassy blue eyes. I stand up straight and slowly move the knife from her neck, placing it on the counter with my hand still on the handle.

She releases the breath that she was holding. She is visibly shaken and trying to breathe, the tears previously held back now flowing freely down her cheeks. She is horrified. Good! I narrow my eyes at her, begging her to dare to say something to me so that I can launch myself over this breakfast bar and finish the job that I started. She sees the danger, senses her imminent demise in the hatred that is oozing from my pores, and cautiously takes two steps backward—away from the breakfast bar.

She turns around and looks up at Christian. She is sobbing now, but he is impassive. She throws herself into his arms, crying hysterically. He jerks away from her, pushing her at the same time, like a bolt of lightening shot through him at her touch.

"Are you crazy? Don't fucking touch me!" he barks at her. She is standing against the breakfast bar with her back to me, still sobbing and trying to control her breathing.

"My...salons..." she breathes through her tears.

"Seized and frozen pending the outcome of your trial," Christian informs her. She moves from the breakfast bar where she can look at both of us. She glares from Christian to me, totally dumbstruck.

"Why are you looking at me? I didn't seize your god damned salons," I spit.

"You can't do this to me!" she shrieked at Christian.

"I can...and I did. You have a morality clause in your contract. If you are convicted, your salons will be liquidated and the proceeds with go to Helping Hands, hopefully to help children like the ones you have screwed up along the way. I told you not to show up without legal counsel. You should have read your fucking contract!"

"No!" she shrieks, pulling at her bleached blonde hair. "I don't have anything left! Just a few hundred thousand dollars! How will I live!?" A few hundred thousand dollars? You call that nothing left? You ungrateful bitch. As if she read my thoughts, her head snaps in my direction.

"You!" she screeched! "This is all your fault!" Oh, here we go with this same old song and dance. You're a grown ass woman and you got caught fucking children. It's time to pay the Piper for God's sake. Her desperation outweighed her sense of self-preservation and she is back at the breakfast bar yelling at me. I can't hear anything that she's saying. All I know is that the desire to rid the world of her essence creeps up on me and she's in my space again.

"Step. Away. From the bar. Bitch!" I growl, my hand wrapping around the handle of the chopping knife once more. Her eyes quickly go from my face to my hand and back to my face again. She snarls at me but wisely backs away from the breakfast bar.

"This isn't over!" she hisses, glaring at me through narrowed, tear-filled eyes.

"Give me a reason. PLEASE, give me a reason." I glare right back at her. Elena turns on her heels and as she is making her exit, she growls at Christian, "Tell your little girlfriend to watch her back!"

That's it! I flip that blade in my hand and with one precise flick of the wrist, the knife windmills just past Elena's head and lands point first into the door just as she is reaching for the handle. Before anyone in the room could turn around to look at me, I've got another knife out of the drawer and back on the counter waiting for her to dare to speak again.

That was your warning shot, Bitch. Next time, I aim to kill.

I look up first at Christian, then at Elena, then back to Christian. They both have the same stunned expression on their faces.

"I warned her," I say to Christian before I turn back to Elena to say "Watch yours!" She quickly scampers out of the apartment without another word. I've never seen her scamper before. Christian turns back to me with the same stunned look on his face.

"God damn it, Anastasia, what the fuck?" he barks. He's angry, or shocked, or...something. I feel nothing. Pure rage has burned every emotion out of me and I just watch him. "And you!" He turns to Chuck. I hate to intervene but I must.

"With all due respect, Christian," I speak in a tone as cool as the tone that I used with She-Thing, "I put Chuck in an impossible position. That fight was going to happen either in the lobby or in this apartment. I thought it best that it happen away from prying eyes and possible press and paparazzi. I asked Chuck to stay close to her and protect me in case she tried to hurt me, which he did. Please, don't be angry at him. It was my fault."

"Hurt _you_? Hurt _you_?" Christian is clearly at a loss for words right now and I am completely impassive. We've switched roles—go figure. "You had a knife to her throat! Then you proceed to launch one at her retreating back! I could have been visiting _you_ at the county jail! Thank God you missed!"

"I didn't miss," I say calmly. His eyes get large.

"Don't be cute, Anastasia, I'm not impressed." he hisses.

"No?" I flip the knife in my hand and launch it towards the door. It lands point first not one centimeter away from the first knife. "How about now?" I say taking another knife from the drawer. "Still not impressed?" I launch the third knife and, of course, perfection. "How about now? How many knives do you have in here?" I reach in the drawer again. Maybe I should have told him that Daddy taught me how to shoot _and_ throw knives. I thought I did.

"Okay, Anastasia, enough!" Christian commands. Jason stands there looking at the three knives in the door. I hear him say "mother fucker" under his breath before he turns to me. I softly say one word that hopefully explains everything.

"Oorah."

Recognition fills Jason face as he nods once and takes the knives out of the door.

"Is there any caulk in the palace?" I ask Jason flatly.

"I'll...go see if I can find some," he says and disappears off into the apartment somewhere. Chuck stays behind, nervously trying not to fidget.

"Chuck, you can go," I say, then quickly add, "unless...Mr. Grey wants you to stay." Christian looks from me to Chuck then nods for him to leave. Chuck couldn't get out of that room fast enough.

"Anastasia, this is insane!" he begins when we are in the room alone.

"How do you mean?" I deadpan.

"How do I mean!? You could have killed that woman!"

"Yes...and I will if she ever tries that shit again." My voice remains cool and controlled. He examines me like I am an unknown entity.

"What's going on, Ana?" he asks. "You're acting like...well, hell, I don't know _what _you're acting like. What's going on?" Maintaining my controlled tone, I tell him,

"That woman is a disease. She is evil personified. She has done everything in her power to manipulate and control you and to sabotage our happiness. She is vermin, a snake, the lowest form of deceit-invested amoebic parasite known to man. There is nothing good or redeemable about her and I feel that the only service that she can be worthy to perform to mankind it to die." And there's that stunned look again. "Even now, when she has lost everything and she is standing at a precipice, she still can't say 'Oh, I did this terrible thing, my bad.' No, it's still my fault or your fault or Jason's fault or Grace's fault or anybody that she can blame it on besides herself. She is a consumption, hell bent on sucking the life and the vitality out of everything that she touches, and I'm not going to let her do that to me...or to you." I turn around and remove my vegetables from the stove which have now scorched beyond usability, so I fill the sink slightly with water and just sit the whole pot in the sink.

"So you're going to _kill _ her? You're going to murder her and ruin your life and mine and everyone who loves you? Is she really worth it...?" Christian has gone off on a full-fledged "why the hell would you kill the pedophile and ruin your life" speech and for once, I just let him yell. It's something that he just needs to do right now. I can't explain to him why it is impossible for me to constantly turn a blind eye to people who clearly want to cause me harm attempting to dictate my life to me. I know the implications of what I said and what I did this afternoon. I know this was quite frightening to Christian to say the very least. He came into his apartment and found me with a knife to the throat of his ex-Domme. There's no way to explain that to the police, especially after I sent Chuck downstairs to get her. I'm not saying that I'm right and I'm not even going to try to argue my case. All I'm saying is that I meant every word that I said to her and there's really no need to discuss it.

"Do you have anything to say?" he asks. "Are you going to defend yourself at all?"

"No," I say shaking my head. Again, he seems horrified.

"So, you agree with everything that I said?" Quite frankly, I don't know what he said after "is she really worth it." What I do know is that if I disagree with anything that he said, it's going to be a fight. However, it's going to be a fight that I'm not going to have, because I refuse to defend myself against anything that I said to that bitch.

"I don't know that I agree or disagree with anything that you said," specifically because I don't _know_ what you said. "I do however know that this fight that you're trying to have with me right now, it's not between us. It's not our fight. So I choose not to have it. If you want to have it by yourself, you have it by yourself and I will listen, but I'm not having this fight with you. This fight that you need to be having is with her—that accused pedophile that accosted and insulted the doorman in an attempt to force her way into an apartment where I lay my head every night after she told that same doorman that she doesn't have to ask my permission to come up here." My voice is still as controlled as it has been all afternoon.

"The only reason why I didn't finish the job is because this is your penthouse. If this had been my condo, I would have treated her like the intruder that she was and they would be drawing a chalk line around her ass as we speak." Just when I think I can't surprise him anymore, he's horrified again. I go off in search of my purse to find my emery board.

* * *

_**GREY**_

What the fuck? Have I stepped off into the damn Twilight Zone? I come into my apartment and find my fragile little Butterfly with a knife at the throat of the Pedophile looking at her like she was going to carve her up any second. I'm only too certain that if I hadn't called out to Anastasia that Lincoln would be dead on the floor right now. She threatens the woman several times thereafter and then proceeds to throw knives at her on the way out the door...well, knife anyway. The others were for my benefit...and what the fuck was that? Did she used to work in a fucking circus?

And what in God's name was Lincoln wearing? I didn't even recognize her!

What's worse is that Butterfly is so damn cold. It's like she can't be touched. I'm trying to get to the bottom of how this crazy bitch got in my apartment in the first place—and how the hell did she make bail anyway—but Butterfly is frosty and unmoving. I've never seen her like this.

"Anastasia, you can't just go around threatening to kill people! What were you thinking? And you had a knife to that woman's neck. It's one thing to beat her ass, which she so richly deserves and we have _all _wanted to watch her die slowly, but to actually go through with it? Even her worse victims would think twice about killing her ass. You have to see that you must have been having a bout with madness a moment ago! You threw a knife at her for fuck's sake!"

She is still just looking at me impassively. I don't even think she blinked. This stare is actually giving me fucking chills!

"Do you have anything to say? Are you going to defend yourself at all?" I ask trying to elicit some type of response from her.

"No," she responds without blinking. _No? _ Where's the explanation for all of this, the justification for why she was pushed so far as to actually threaten to kill this woman and then attempt to do it?

"So, you agree with everything that I said?" I press. She very calmly tells me that she's not going to fight with me because this isn't our fight, that the fight is with Lincoln and that if she were at home, Lincoln would be dead right now for intruding on her property. After that, she just turned around and walked out of the room. Her behavior is concerning me right now. No, scratch that—it's _frightening _me right now. So tell me why I'm more affected by the fact that she _didn't _kill Lincoln because she doesn't feel like this is her home. She comes back into the room with, of all things, a nail file. In the midst of all of this, she felt the immense need for a manicure? Now, I'm completely confused.

"Ana, we really need to talk about this some more."

"So, talk," she says with a shrug as she proceeds to the front door. I pause for a moment to see what she is doing. She begins to gently remove and shave small splinters from the door with the nail file. Oh...well, at least she wasn't doing a damn manicure in the middle of a heated discussion.

"I didn't say _I_ need to talk. I said that _we_ need to talk." Her _zen _is really starting to piss me off.

"I don't need to discuss this anymore. Is there anything that I said to her that you didn't understand?" she asks with no malice. Jason comes out from wherever he was and hands her a large tube of caulk. Where the hell did he find that?

"No, I understood it perfectly," I reply sharply. That's the damn problem!

"Then there's nothing else for me to say." She turns her attention back to the door.

"Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you, but may I have a moment?" Jason says, interrupting me before I have a chance to say anything else. He walks to my study and I follow him, occasionally looking back at this enigma that has replaced my Butterfly.

"What is it, Jason?" I ask sternly once we get back to my study and he closes the door behind me.

"Boss, you're wasting your time. I don't know what transpired or what was said or done before we got back here, but when it comes to Lincoln, that woman out there has snapped. You better believe her when she tells you that if Lincoln crosses the line again, she's a dead woman."

I glare at Jason. What the hell made him such an expert on this?

"Would you mind sharing with me how you can be so sure about this?" I ask sarcastically.

"Look at her! Did you see her eyes? She is beyond frosty—she has graduated to cold and calculating. That asshole that kidnapped her is claiming temporary insanity. No, Sir, _that..." _he's pointing to the door as a gesture towards Butterfly, "...is temporary insanity. She could kill somebody right now and get away with it. We were lucky...the best thing that blonde bitch could have done was to leave this apartment." This has to be the 10th time today that I've been stunned into silence. "Did you hear her? Did you hear what she said after she threw those knives in rapid succession with surgical precision?"

"Hooray or something, I've heard it before," I respond.

"'Oorah.' That's the Marine battle cry. If you hear that outside of a friendly setting, someone. Is going. To die. That woman, one way or another, has pushed 'Butterfly' over the edge. If I were you, I would make it my first priority to keep that woman _away_ from Anastasia. She has already proven that she is a few eggs short of a dozen, but I'm here to tell you that if she fucks with Her Highness in her current state of mind, those eggs will be cracked and scrambled all over the floor."

I literally have to shake my head to absorb everything that he's saying. This crazy bat has literally pushed my baby to the point of wanting to kill her. There is a knock on the door, and I open it to let Davenport in.

"Sir, I thought you should know, Ana is not driving her car. I've been driving her around all week," he says when he enters the room.

"Is there a problem with you driving her around?" Why is he telling me this now?

"No problem at all, Sir, except that she loves that car—or at least she did. Now, I would say that she hates it. She drove it once and hasn't been back in it since."

"Oh...I see. Is there anything wrong with it that you can tell? Any mechanical problems?"

"Not that I can see, but I would have to drive it to tell you if there were any problems with it," he responds.

"I'm going to have you take it out this afternoon. We're staying here, we're not going back to the office. Jason has a set of keys to her car. I had a set made when we had the car taken from the police station to the auto repair facility." He nods and turns to leave. "Davenport..."

"Sir?" He turns around to face me.

"What exactly happened when Lincoln showed up downstairs?"

He gave me his version of what happened but only from when Butterfly told him to go downstairs and get the Pedophile. She knew that she was already over the edge which is why she told Davenport to text me. I'll have to ask Marc what happened beforehand since the largest altercation—besides the knife, that is—appeared to have been with him.

"Okay, go on down and drive her car. I'll see if I can get some answers out of her about it." He nods again and leaves. I turn to Jason. "Call Andrea. Tell her to reschedule any appointments that I have for this afternoon and push all of the meetings back one day. It's looks like we're in for the day." Jason nods and leaves my study. I pull out my blackberry.

"_Allen Forsythe." _

"Allen, I've rescheduled all of the meetings for this afternoon until next week. I need you get an immediate restraining order against Elena Lincoln."

"_The Dragon Lady? On what grounds, pray tell?"_

"Harassment. She keeps showing up—at GEH, my apartment, in Anguilla—even though I have repeatedly asked her to stay away from me. She has spread rumors about my mother and father's marriage..." I sigh. "Allen, I'm one of the boys she molested." I hear Allen gasp on the other end.

"_Who knows this, Chris?" _

"Chosen members of my staff, my family, Ana...and now you," I admit.

"_And we obviously don't want it all over the press,"_ he observes.

"No, we don't." I paused again. "She's obsessed with me. We were still friends until I found out she tried to molest my brother, which I discovered just before Ana and I got together. The events were so close together that she blames Ana for our parting of the ways. As a result, she constantly antagonizes Ana every chance that she gets. Ana keeps telling her to stay away, to leave us alone—but she won't listen. She showed up here and made such a noise downstairs that Ana invited her up. Allen, Ana tried to kill her."

"_Fuck! What!?" _This man scares me a bit when he gets angry. His voice gets very deep in no time flat.

"I came into the apartment and Ana had a chopping knife at her throat. As Lincoln was leaving, Ana threw the knife at her and it stuck in the door."

"_Oh, shit. She pulled out Ginsu Ana?"_ How many damn Ana's are there and how does Al know them all?

"You and I are really going to have to talk about my girlfriend," I tell him. He scoffs on the other line.

"_You have no idea how many dorms and apartments in the metropolitan Seattle area have caulked holes in the walls and doors because somebody pissed that woman off." _Oh hell.

Yeah, my front door has three." I run my hands through my hair.

"_Three? She threw three knives at her?" _

"No. She only threw one at Lincoln. The other two were to show me her precision. She would have thrown more if I didn't stop her," I tell him.

"_Good God, what did this woman do or say to Jewel? She doesn't know that she treading on some very dangerous ground."_

"I don't know what she said, but knowing Lincoln, it had to be something vicious. My girl is throwing knives and calling out 'oorah.'"

"_Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Oorah? Did you say 'oorah?"_ Now he sounds concerned.

"Yeah, the Ma..."

"_How did she sound?" _He interrupts me. I pause. What is he getting at?

"Menacing," I respond honestly. He sighs heavily and I can hear him scrambling around in the background.

"_Where is she now, Chris?"_

"She's in the kitchen."

"_Are you sure?"_ I step out of my study and around the stairs just around into the dining room where I can see Butterfly's leggings and stilettos in the kitchen. I creep back into the study.

"Yes, I'm sure." I can hear the _ding_ of the elevator and Allen is on the move.

"_Don't let her leave the apartment." _What? How the hell does he expect me to keep her in the apartment? _"Does she know where to find Dragon Lady?"_

"I don't think so. I don't even know where to find her," I reply.

"_Well, that's good at least. Whatever you do, keep that woman away from Jewel at all costs."_ Well, that was my plan anyway, but now I'd like to know what this is all about.

"Um, okay."

"_She said 'oorah." _he confirms again. It was more a statement than a question.

"For fuck's sake, yes, she said 'oorah.'" I'm getting irritated.

"_You have met Marine's Daughter Ana. She will kill you and make it look like an accident."_ And the way that this woman has been acting, I completely believe him. I hear him get in the car. _"Val had this boyfriend back in their senior year of college—good-looking guy, popular with the girls. He took...certain liberties with Val. He didn't rape her, but he roughed her up a bit. She called me to come sit with Val while she went to get ice cream. Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker." _

After a few moments, _"I wondered why she didn't ask me to pick it up on my way. She was gone for about an hour and a half and came back with blood on her shirt. I asked her what happened and she wouldn't tell me. The next day, they found that joker running naked through Green Lake Park. He was bruised and cut up a bit, but he was fucking hysterical! We don't know what happened to him, and Jewel never told us. That dude dropped out of school and everything._

"_When Jewel got back to that dorm, she was cool as a cucumber. She took off her clothes and didn't even bother trying to hide the evidence. Hell, she kept his clothes in the trunk of her car for two weeks. She didn't break a sweat and she even had the damn ice cream. She told Val that he wouldn't bother her again. When we asked her how she knew, all she said was_ _'Oorah.' I'm telling you, Chris, when she is screaming mad at you, you are good to go. When she gets quiet, pack up and run for the hills. I am going to try to get you an emergency restraining order but in the meantime, whatever you do, keep that woman away from Jewel. She a whole lot more deadly now than she was in college." _

I run my hand through my hair. This is basically the same thing that Jason told me. "Okay, but see if you can get that RO for me, please. What should I do in the meantime?"

"_Besides keeping Dragon Lady out of the way, talk to her. Try to gauge what she's thinking. It's going to be hard if not impossible, but do what you can and I'll be there as soon as I can." _Oh, that's good. I'm sure that I'll need reinforcements.

"Thanks, Allen. I'll see you shortly. Keep me posted please."

"_I will." _

I approach the great room cautiously and walk to the front door. There are no signs that there were chopping knives sticking out if it a little while ago. Good grief, I'm dating G.I. Fucking Joe.

"Don't touch that," I hear from the kitchen as my hand rises to inspect the patching job. I turn around and Butterfly has chopped her vegetables again—probably with one of the knives that she took out of the damn door—and is back to preparing her dinner.

"Do you have time for lunch or do you need to get back to the office?" She asks, her voice still flat.

"I've got time," I respond before sitting down at the breakfast bar. She quietly begins to construct a chicken Caesar salad.

"Do you want your chicken hot or cold?" she asks.

"Cold, please," I respond. Talk to her, Allen said. Here goes.

"Baby?" I say and she looks up at me. "Tell me what you're feeling."

She looks at me for a long time. It seems like hours, but I know that it's only moments. Then she says, "Nothing. I feel absolutely nothing. All I know for certain is that if that woman ever dares to attempt to cross this threshold again, I'm going to kill her. I'm not going to instruct Marc to keep her downstairs or even ban her from the building. In fact, I'll give her the code to get in myself, but the moment she passes that elevator, she has breached the perimeter and I'm going to light her ass up." Again, she says this without blinking, her tone of voice barely fluctuating. I prefer the adrenaline crying girl; that chick is dangerous.

"Butterfly, you are really scaring me," I confess. She puts the salad down in front of me.

"Christian, I have given her several warnings. From day one, I told her to stay away from me. She has been warned several times to stay from you. You have made it painfully clear that you want nothing to do with her and she. Can't. Hear. You." She puts a cranberry spritzer in from of me.

"She has no sense of self-preservation and that's not my fault. Every time I have come in contact with this woman from the first day I met her, I have inflicted some kind of physical pain on her to the degree of drawing blood, and she insists on taunting me. You play with toys, you don't play with _me. _I'm not her sub; I'm not her employee; and God help them, I not one of those poor little boys that she has molested all of these years. She had better understand that I am not one to be trifled with. She needs to stay away from me because when I say that I will kill her, I mean that I will _kill _her." That's the most fluctuation that I've heard in her voice all day.

"Butterfly, I don't want you to be out in the marketplace and see the woman at one of the fruit stands and shoot her!" I respond.

"That's not my intention either. I'm going to try to stay away from that old bat, too. So I'm not going to go looking for her...yet, but if she tries to hurt me, or you, or Grace and Carrick, or _anybody _that I love, I'm going to send her to meet her maker." What makes her think that Lincoln would want to hurt Grace or Carrick?

"She is obsessed. She's the worst form of obsessive personality—the form that understands that bad attention is attention nonetheless. No matter what you do, she doesn't see it as rejection. At worst, she thinks you're going through a phase. At best; she thinks you're playing some coy little game with her. So she's just going to keep coming back and the last time that she approaches you or me or us, she's going to be completely unhinged and there's no telling what she will do. Yes, I did say 'the last time,' because that will be the time that one of us or heaven forbid _all _of us will go down. So anytime she comes around us from now on, I'm going to be ready for her."

Butterfly is in full-on 'Oorah' mode and I can't seem to reach her. She's showing no anger, no emotion. She is cold, calculating, and logical and has every intention of going through with what she is saying. Her words from earlier this week come back to me in stereophonic sound:

_I love you...I'll never let her hurt you again._

As far as Ana is concerned, this woman is an immediate threat to Homeland Security and must be neutralized now.

"I swear to you, Butterfly, she won't come near you again. I will do everything in my power to assure that she never comes near you or us again. I am seeking a restraining order as we speak," I try to assure her. She stops her preparation for just a moment to glare at me...the only bit of emotion that I've seen from her since I walked into the apartment and she had a knife at the Pedophile's neck. As quickly as the emotion flashed on her face, it was gone. That small amount of control chilled me more than the most detrimental acquisition or difficult CEO I have ever had to face.

"Well, you know how I feel about restraining orders. They are useless pieces of paper thought up by some bureaucrat that is supposed scare an already crazy person into leaving you alone. Nobody takes into account that this person is already so damn loony that they need a court order to stay away from you. A lot of good it did me while I was chained to a bed on Vashon Island." She turns around a prepares some meat on the counter, then turns back to face me while drying her hands.

"I believe you, Christian," she says a little softer than she sounded before and I finally think I'm getting through to her. "I completely believe that you will do everything in your power to keep that woman away from me. You've already done everything in your power to keep that woman away from me, but she keeps coming back. So I'm telling you now that it's time for me to take matters into my own hands. If that woman ever comes near me again, that will be the _last _time that she ever comes near me."

"Ana, please, try to be reasonable about this." I believe more than she does that the Pedophile is a waste of space and oxygen, but if my Butterfly is pushed to the point of killing this bitch, I could lose my baby forever.

"I am being reasonable," she responds. "You've told her that you don't want to see her. You've blocked all of her numbers out of your phone. You've banned her from your home and your business. You've pulled your support from her two largest loans. You've told her not to contact you without legal counsel. You've done everything short of hiring a pilot and skywriting that shit. You've even orchestrated her arrest, and she still can't acknowledge an overt declaration that you don't want to see her again. She needs a more hands-on illustration that she is not wanted, and hopefully I gave it to her today. If not, then it definitely will be final the next time that she shows up.

"She keeps coming back and keeps coming back like a bad rash, and every time she shows up she taunts me and tests me and infuriates me. After everything that I have been through—that _you _have been through—we deserve to live our lives without that woman's constant harassment. She keeps pushing that button and I'm not going to let her do it anymore. She's not going to go away on her own, that is obvious—and a restraining order doesn't mean shit to her just like it didn't mean shit to David. She is not going to look at it and say, 'Christian has moved on with his life and doesn't want me around anymore.' She's going to look at it and say, 'That bitch, Anastasia, she's trying to take my Christian away from me—I'll show her!' I am directly responsible for everything going wrong in her life right now, including the fact that she got caught molesting children."

Of course, she's right about that last part—the Pedophile said it herself. She's a complete narcissist that blames everyone and everything but herself for her condition. The pondering look on my face may have given way for Butterfly to think I don't believe her.

"You seem to need convincing. Let me explain how things work in her mind." Oh god, I really don't want to hear this...but Allen said keep her talking.

"You discover that she approached Elliot and finally accepted that she's a child molester. Within that same time frame—the same day in fact—you and I start dating. Of course she blames Elliot for not being able to keep his 'mouth shut,' but you must have come to this conclusion with some influence from me, because there is absolutely no way possible that you could have figured this out on your own. Never mind that you are the brilliant head of a multibillion dollar organization. There's no way on God's green earth that you could have put two and two together and figured out that a stanktastic, nasty bitch that liked to fuck children 11 - 17 years ago may still be fucking them now!

"Now you hate her, not only because she's a filthy pedophile, but also because she has controlled you for the last 14 years. Now you're pushing her away, rejecting her, pulling your support from her companies. In the midst of all of this, she has lost her best friend—not because she molested her best friend's son, mind you, but because _I_ was there.

"She's still screwing around with these kids which by the way has nothing to do with you and therefore—by association—has nothing to do with me, but for some reason unknown to her, she has now been arrested and discovered. I am the bane of her existence—the reason why her life is completely falling apart. How could I not have had something to do with this, too?

"You discovered a mole in your company—my fault, even though she planted the mole three years ago. You've pulled your financial backing from her salons—my fault, even though she couldn't follow directions on terms of contact. You pulled out of the partnerships weeks ago—my fault, even though she stood in your parents great room and announced to everyone that loves you that you live an alternative lifestyle when you weren't prepared to divulge that information, if ever. She's been molesting children for 17 years and has now been caught—my fault, even though I was nine when she started this sick shit. She's been arrested and her salons have been seized—my fault, even though it was a clause in her contract that she failed to read. She has made this horrible bed of nails that she now has to lie in, but apparently, I'm the one standing there with the damn hammer." She slams a bowl down on the counter. More emotion...yes, this is good.

"She's never going to stop, Christian. She is going to keep going and going because she has some twisted idea in her brain that you are always going to want her back. You are never going to let her go. You are just going through a phase right now and when the phase is done, no matter where she is or what condition she is in, you are always going to want her back. So she has to stay put and wait for that fateful day. She has to remain a fixture in your life even if it means making our lives miserable and I'm not putting up with it for another second. I'm not going to sit idly by and let her hold on to this delusion that she has the upper hand in our lives. She has been warned repeatedly, and she doesn't get it and she never will. I am only too happy to help her _get it!_" She spit the last words with venom.

I walk around the breakfast bar and take her in my arms. "No, Christian!" she says, trying to push me away from her, but I pull her closer to me and nuzzle in her hair. "Christian, no!" I'm taking a chance because I know that this tiger can knee me in my balls any moment, but I don't let her go. I clamp my arms around her and pull her hard against me. She struggles in my arms, trying to resist but I have her locked in place as I begin to kiss her neck, ear and cheek. "Christian...no..." Her fight is leaving her as she breathes heavily in my arms. I forcibly take her mouth with mine and kiss her deeply—bruising and searing. She whimpers in my mouth as she falls limp in my arms and submits to my will. I pull back from the kiss, still tasting her breath, my lips brushing against hers.

"Butterfly...please," I say against her lips, "I can't lose you. I can't...I'll die without you. If you hurt that woman, I will lose you. I don't care about her, I care about you. I love you. With everything I know, I love you. Please, Butterfly...please..." She has to hear me. I know that she is completely serious about killing this woman and I can't let that happen. I can't let the situation occur where she could possibly harm that snake and end up in jail. Even now, that bitch is still controlling my life—still dictating how things are going to go. "I haven't done everything that I can do, Butterfly, but I will...please...please, Baby. Don't let her control us anymore. I will make sure that except for accidental public meetings, she can't get near us."

She opens her eyes and looks up at me. The chill is gone. Her beautiful sapphire blue eyes are full of love and longing as she gazes at me. There's my Butterfly. I kiss her again without closing my eyes. Please don't leave me again, Butterfly. I can't take it.

"For you," she says softly. "I will keep my wits about me...for you. I won't just see her in the grocery store and pull out my Boo...but Christian, I mean it," she continues, her voice cracking, "I won't let her run our lives anymore. If she comes into this house again, I will end it." I'm still looking in her eyes and I see the tears threatening behind her determination.

"I understand, Baby," I relent. I can't stop her from protecting the place that I soon want her to consider her permanent home. "I love you so much. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that horrible woman was ever part of my life. I'm so sorry she's putting you—putting _us _through this. Please forgive me. I'll take care of it, I swear." Her head drops back as I kiss her neck again.

"Okay," she pants. "Okay...I trust you..." Those words ignite something inside of me and I thrust her against the wall. Just like we were by the pool in Anguilla, we are devouring each other's kisses, touching everywhere our hands can reach. I lift her up and she wraps her legs around me. These damn leggings! I can't help it. I grind my throbbing erection into her core through our clothes and she gasps in my mouth. I continue to grind, gyrating my hips and praying that she is getting the same delicious friction that I am.

"Ah, Christian!" There's my answer. I don't stop the rhythm though I want to thrust harder and deeper, but I'm going to come soon. I pin both of her arms above her head, holding both of her small wrists with one hand while cupping her ass with the other. I add just a little pressure to my grind and she wails, "Christian, oh g...god...!" and she releases. Thank fuck! That extra pressure sent me over the edge just one grind later and I take her mouth with mine, our cries of passion muffled in our kiss.

* * *

_**STEELE**_

I still want to kill her...but that will have to wait. I have a house full of guests and a Chateaubriand to serve. I had to cook my vegetables twice but everything is ready and I managed to escape to the bedroom to shower and change before anybody else arrived.

Allen is always early. Of course, he cautioned me to stay away from She-Thing for the weekend since he couldn't convince the judge to give him an emergency restraining order. Christian would have to show just cause and he had no intention of leaving me in the apartment today. Good call. I was a powder keg ready to blow. Some of the tension was released after we dry-humped like teenagers in the kitchen...but I still want to kill her.

My aggression showed in my choice of wardrobe for the evening, though I didn't realize it until I was dressed and had already rejoined the party. Christian was in the middle of a sentence and stopped. He had his back to me and just sensed when I walked in the room. I strode quickly to the kitchen without waiting for him to turn around.

I am wearing a red Jane Norman slinky cross over bust dress. It hugs me everywhere and has a small opening right at my abdomen. My hair is pulled up into an extremely high, severely slick and straight ponytail. My earrings are large black onyx wire-wrapped teardrops. My shoes are Stuart Weitzman black French Cuff Suede high-heeled sandals with grommets in the cuff. I have matched my shoes with a black lace choker with grommets and a black leatherette bracelet decorated with grommets and a miniature lock and key. Although my wardrobe screams "vamp," I kept my makeup modest as usual.

All of the hors d'oeuvres are served and everyone is munching away when I bring the Chateaubriand to the dining table. Everyone comes into the dining room and raves how wonderful it looks and I take in the compliments. Christian is staring at me, shamelessly and salaciously, as I go to the kitchen to get the rest of the meal. I barely clear the door when I feel him snatch me back and push me hard against that same wall we utilized earlier.

"Are you _trying _to turn me on?" he says in a low, sexy voice.

"Is it working?" I purr. He nods. "Then, yes," I taunt as he brings his hand up my body, rubbing my breast then continues up to my choker.

"This looks like a collar," he says, gently stroking my neck and choker with his thumb.

"Yes," I say, seductively, trying to maintain the aggressive control I feel.

"You're not wearing a bra," he adds, still stroking with his thumb and causing shock waves to shoot to my core.

"No," I say coyly, dropping my head and looking up at him through my lashes. His hand tightens a bit around my throat causing my head to jerk back and he moves his face closer to mine. He is only a breath away from me and my body is on fire.

"Do you want me to fuck you right here?" Yes, fuck yes...but, no. I shake my head. "Then stop doing that," he hisses. He runs his tongue from my ear to my chin and I whimper.

"Control, Mr. Grey. We have guests," I say softly.

"Yes, we do." He purrs, and covers my mouth with his.

I am bringing out the asparagus and braised turnips and Christian is right behind me with the potatoes and carrots. We set the dishes down and Al is looking at me in the weirdest way. I look back at him, but he says nothing. I check my clothes to make sure nothing is askew...nope, all covered. What's the problem?

"Christian, dear, that's a beautiful shade of lipstick," Maxie teases and the room bursts into laughter. Was that it? No—he still looks strange.

"Yes, I was necking with my boyfriend in the kitchen. Now eat!"

Dinner goes very well. In addition to the Scooby gang, Mia and Ethan showed up with Elliot and Val. The whole crew is getting on very well. We all have an extremely good time and everyone seems to be very relaxed, even Al seems to loosen up although I have no idea what the problem was. Anyway, Maxie talks about the wedding without giving anything away and Gary and Marilyn are quite clingy. I could tell they still they haven't sealed the deal yet. As usual, the guys fall into the regular guy banter—this time about fishing and, of all things, boxing—and the girls once again take to the balcony.

"Ana, tell us all about Anguilla," Val croons. Since this is the first time that we are all together since my trip, I have to fill them in on all of the juicy details.

"Well, I can't say too much since Christian's baby sister is present," I protest.

"Sister, yes—baby, no...and no, I would prefer not to hear about my brother's sexcapades," Mia confirms and we all laugh.

"Well, one of the highlights of the trip was that Gail and Jason got married," I say. There were gasps all around as the girls start to fawn all over Gail, offering congratulations and wanting to see the rings.

"Oh, Gail, they are stunning!" Val says. "Jason sure has good taste."

"Yes, he does. He chose me," Gail jests, soliciting a laugh from us all yet again. "It was beautiful," she continued, starry-eye and now she has the attention of four young women with Cinderella dreams. She tells the story of how Jason proposed and the barefoot wedding with the locals coming to bless the union. Thankfully, she left out the part where Christian put his foot in his mouth and had to grovel for forgiveness, but her description of the ceremony and reception was enough to leave any woman sighing for romance.

"Well, we have to throw you some kind of party now that you're home," Mia insists.

"Absolutely not," Gail protests. "My wedding was small, beautiful, and special as was my reception, and that's the way that I want to remember it."

"Well, yeah, but _we _didn't get a chance to celebrate with you," Val chimes in.

"You're celebrating with me now," Gail says raising her glass. "You ladies have welcomed me into your friendship every time you come here when someone else would have—and often did—considered me 'the help.' I appreciate that very much and every time I am allowed in your company, it's a celebration." My friends start the cooing and the hugging, Mia included, and I walk over to the railing to absorb the night air.

"So, Jewel," Al's voice breaks me out of my momentary concentration.

"So, Al...you want to tell me what that look was all about earlier?" I ask him. He scratches his head.

"Yeah, that. Look, I really like working for Christian. If I ignore some of those little bitch-acting bucketheads in his legal department, I have a really great time there and I make money hand over fist...but if he's hurting you, I will quickly beat his gorgeous rich ass!" He's quite serious.

Hurting me? What the fuck...?

"Allen, what are you talking about?" I ask in horror. He pulls me a little further away from the girls.

"I saw you in the kitchen! He had his hand around your neck!" he accuses. Oooooh. Well. How do I explain this?

"Hmm, that, yeah," I put my hand on my forehead and my other hand on my hip. "Al...do you know anything about collars?" He frowns at me.

"Collars? You mean like for dogs?" he asks confused.

"No...I mean like...for people," I just spit it out. He's still frowning.

"What are you getting at, Jewel? I'm lost." He's not going to make this easy.

"Christian and I partake in an alternative lifestyle," I respond.

"Partake?" he tests the word. "What alternative lifestyle? What are you talking about?"

"I occasionally...wear collars." As realization dawns, Al's eyes grow large. "_We_ occasionally wear collars," I correct.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he nearly barks and I shush him.

"Keep it down!" I command. "This is my boyfriend and it's nobody's business what we do in our private time but you're my best friend and that's why I'm sharing it with you so keep your pants on!" I spit all in one breath. Al is clearly uncomfortable with my revelation, but opts to remain silent so that he can get some more information. I sigh. "When I was in college, I went to a BDSM bar—strictly for research—but it was hot and I was turned on. I've been curious about it ever since. Then I met Christian and he was already in the lifestyle. He told what he did and shared his story with me. So we are trying different things to see what we like. He doesn't make me do anything that I don't want to do, and if anything becomes too much for me, I have safe words."

"Safe words? Ana this shit is a bit much." Okay, we have slipped over into SeriousLand because he just called me 'Ana.'

"Sit down, Al," I sit on the large chaise away from the girls and wait for Al to sit next to me. "There are so many aspects of BDSM. There is simply no one way to live this lifestyle. Every BDSM relationship is as unique as the couple in it. One of the most common misconceptions is that it's all about beating up on women, and that is simply not true. People are always spouting things and they have no idea what they are talking about. I have heard so many different things about the lifestyle from uninformed, ignorant narrow-minded people on the outside looking in—people who have never experienced the lifestyle or even bothered to look into it. They see something on television or on the internet and they just run with it, with absolutely no education whatsoever.

"This is why the BDSM lifestyle is considered taboo and practiced in secret. Yes, there can be some really creepy, freaky shit in this lifestyle, but everything in a legitimate and ethical BDSM relationship is sane, safe, and consensual. No one is forced to do anything that they don't want to do. Safe words are in place because limits are tested—both sexual and physical. Christian is very physical, while I'm very sexual. So we both have safe words."

"You mean, you get to..." he just waves his hands, "...on _him?_"

"Oh, yes!" I exclaim. "I have taken that man to his sexual wits end...and he has done the same to me. He is my first BDSM experience. I am his first BDSM _relationship_. So we now must explore new avenues where we would like to go because it's actually new territory for both of us. Some of the things that he has tried on me he has tried on other women. However, since there was no emotion with these other women, it turned out...differently. A lot of the things that we do are trial and error which is why there are safe words. He has never hurt me except for the time he almost made my head explode trying not to come..."

"Fuck, what a way to go!" Al whispers salaciously, and I giggle at him.

"We have some exploring yet to do, but it's what we do, and we both enjoy it immensely."

"Well, what about the choking?" Al accuses.

"Well, to be quite honest with you, a light squeeze can be quite effective at the right moment," _quite_ effective, "but he wasn't choking me, Al. He was caressing my choker—it looks like a collar." I clarify. He stares at me for a moment, then I think the light went on.

"Oooooohhh, okay. I get it now," he says a little hesitantly. "Does he hit you, Jewel?" I sigh. Handle this carefully, Steele.

"It's like I said, Christian is a physical person while I'm a sexual person. I could probably hit Christian with anything. I've actually scratched him and drawn blood, and he liked it. In fact, he was proud of it, but me—maybe a spanking or a light flogging, but that's it."

"A flogging? You mean like with a cat o' nine tails?" He's all in, now.

"Yes, or with a long-tailed flogger or even a slight lashing with a riding crop." I shrug.

"Shit! That sounds so hot. Oh my God, you slut! I'm so jealous! No wonder you look like a little vamp tonight. You lucky bitch!" he whispers sternly.

"You are my best friend and I trust you with my life. So when you asked me, I told you the truth because I don't want to hide anything from you—but as you know, Christian is a very private person. So please don't mention this to him unless he mentions it to you...I'm begging you!" I beseech him.

"Jewel, Darling, I am that man's attorney. My lips are sealed, but..." he looks around conspiratorially, "can you give me some pointers?" I laugh aloud.

"Sure Al," I say as we rejoin the party.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Bertha Antoinetta Mason was the wife of Edward Fairfax Rochester in Charlotte Bronte's novel Jane Eyre (my most favorite story in the world). She was insane and instead of sending her to an asylum, he locked her in the attic and kept a caretaker for her. **_

_******Two more chapters, my lovelies. Don't forget to check out the pinterest board at pinterest dot com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/**_

**__****Also, shoot me over an email at divinebronzegoddess at gmail dot com if you want to be kept up to date on publishing and progress!**

**__****Feel free to review!**

**__****Love and handcuffs!  
Lynn x**


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